When The Devil Holds The Candle

'I know he's there. Damn you!'

'You don't know any such thing.'

Her voice was calm. The polar opposite of his own pounding heart.

'His cap is lying on your kitchen counter.' Silence again. That gave her something to think about! He stood there fidgeting, trying to compose himself.

'You should clean up better after yourself,' he snapped.

'I'm doing just fine. But have you cleaned up after yourself?'

He listened to that composed voice, trying to decipher what she was thinking. How could she be so calm?

'Yes,' he replied. 'I just need Andreas.'

'What about the baby?'

'I don't have a baby!' he shouted. 'And I don't feel like playing your games. I just want Andreas!'

'Andreas is crying,' she whispered. 'He's crying for the baby.'

He felt a sudden stab of terror.

'The baby at Furulund. It's dead now.' Zipp stood and stared at the phone book.

Funder, Furnes, Fyken. What was she talking

about? He stared at the newspaper on the table, felt sure she must be bluffing.

'A head injury,' she said softly. 'Infants are so fragile. If you don't stop bothering me, I'll call the police and tell them that you killed him. A little boy, only four months old. They're looking for you.

'I tried to stop the pram!' he yelled. A tiny click, and the line went dead. Outside the window he could see the spire of the church. A crack in the blue sky. He was still shaking. A tiny baby. He had to look through the newspapers, make sure that she was lying. She was just testing him. He would read the papers himself later. First he had to try to relax. He stumbled downstairs, lay on the sofa, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Two hours later he woke up. His mother was calling from the top of the stairs.

'Telephone! The police. They want you to go down to the station.'

He was shaking so hard that he had to use both hands to put a five-kroner coin into the parking meter. The news about the baby was in Aftenposten, for God's sake. The woman was right! Could the attack come under the heading of manslaughter? It was the mother who had failed to set the brake properly. Damn it! He felt the ground shifting under his feet, as if he were walking through a bog. A trickle of sweat ran from his temple, and he couldn't move his eyes the way he wanted to. They were staring, like two balls of glass, saying: Guilty, guilty, guilty! He was sniffling as he fought with the fucking parking meter, that damned money hog, this damned world he'd been thrown into. Had he asked for this? Was anyone happy that he was here?

He pressed his shoulders back and thought: Pull yourself together, man. They just want to talk about Andreas.

As he walked to the front entrance, he repeated to himself: I don't remember, I don't remember. If they realised that he was lying, or hiding something, they would have to prove it. He entered the reception area and gave his name at the desk. Had to stand there, alone, and wait. A man came towards him, wearing a uniform. Not the young guy with the curls this time. This was going to be worse. He straightened up, wanting to meet the situation with confidence, only to discover that the man was a head taller than he was. He was struck by the feeling that his case was hopeless, it would be impossible to fool this monolith of a man. The aura of friendliness surrounding him was just a veneer. It didn't for one second hide what he was truly made of. Zipp was reminded first of iron and steel, then oiled wood and finally lead crystal as he met the man's grey eyes. He felt a prod on his shoulder. It directed him to the lift, into a corner.

'Konrad Sejer.'

The voice was deep, threatening. This was undoubtedly one of the bosses. Why? The office surprised him. It looked like any other office, with a child's drawings, photographs, thank-you cards, things like that. A good chair. View of the river. He could see the sight-seeing boat gliding past, must be one of the last tours of the season.

'Zipp,' Sejer said. 'I'm going to order some coffee. Do you drink coffee?'

'Jesus, yes.'

It hadn't got off to a good start. His voice wavered. I don't remember, I don't remember. Sejer left the room. Zipp wondered what the consequences would be if he lied. This was just a conversation, wasn't it?

He thought of what his mother had said: 'I know you'. There was something about this man that gave him the same feeling. He must try to maintain a friendly tone. As long as the tone remained friendly, he was safe. Sejer came back with a coffee pot and two Styrofoam cups.

'Good of you to come,' he said. As if Zipp had had a choice. The grey man knew this, he was just playing a game. Suddenly he seemed terribly dangerous. Dejection swamped him. A dull fear that he wasn't going to get out of this in one piece.

'Sure. But I don't understand what I'm doing here,' he stammered. 'I told you everything about that night.'

The man shot him a glance that felt like a blast in his eyes.

'It's more serious now,' Sejer said curtly.

'Before, it was one day, now it's three; that's a whole different story.'

Zipp nodded mutely.

'For your sake, I hope we find Andreas,' Sejer went on. He watched the stream of burning hot coffee trickling into the white cup.

For your sake? What the hell did he mean by that? Zipp was about to ask that very question. What the hell do you mean by that? Wasn't there some sort of insinuation in the question? That if they didn't find him . . .

'He's your best friend, right?'

'Yes he is.' Zipp said. Now he felt as if it were being used against him, the fact that they were friends, that Andreas was his best pal. Stay calm, he told himself, just answer the questions.

'I'm going to be honest with you,' Sejer said.

'I'm an old-fashioned kind of man.' He gave a winning smile, which made Zipp think that either he really was nice or he was one hell of an actor. He decided the latter was more likely. 'One of my officers, Jacob Skarre, has already talked to you. I'll get directly to the point. In his report, he made it clear that during the course of your conversation he had the strong impression that you weren't telling the truth. That's why you're here. Do you understand?'

Zipp shrugged. Calm, stay calm. Breathe from your stomach.

'The thing is, I've had experience before with Officer Skarre's intuition. And I have no choice but to take it seriously.'

Zipp stretched out his legs and laid one foot over the other.

'What I've been thinking, just as a possibility,' Sejer said, 'was that the two of you did something together that evening that may have had an unexpected outcome. Something you've decided not to tell us, because you're afraid of the consequences.' Zipp was rolling some spit around in his mouth. Finally the deep flow of words stopped. He was apparently waiting for an answer.

'No objections?' he said at last.

'We were in a bar,' Zipp said.

'So tell me in your own words all that happened that night,' said Sejer. He was now sitting in his chair.

'My own words?' Zipp stammered.

'What you did, what you talked about. Maybe that will give me some idea of what's going on.' Did he know more than he was saying? Had the woman with the pram described them down to the last detail?

'Sorry.' Zipp hesitated as he searched for what the inspector called 'his own words'.

'You don't have to feel embarrassed. This conversation stays in this room. You're not being taped or recorded. You can speak freely.' Such phrases the man used! Now he was trying to give the impression that he was an ally, but he wasn't, was he?

Zipp straightened his shoulders. 'Well, there's not much to tell. We were in a bar having a beer. After that we went to my house. Watched a video. Wandered round town for a while. Andreas went home to bed. That's all.'

Sejer nodded encouragement. Zipp started to believe that this man wasn't here to ask him about the baby after all. He was indeed concerned about Andreas, and nothing else. Zipp tried not to take a defensive position.