He took a deep breath. “I certainly hope not. It would be hard to squeeze you and your assembly line of confirmation-aged lovers into the sauna downstairs with Morten. But there are plenty of other houses and apartments that do have central heating.”
“I’ve got a really good solution for the whole thing.”
No matter what she had in mind, it already sounded expensive. “A really good solution would be a divorce, Vigga,” said Carl. Sooner or later it had to happen. Then she would demand half the value of the house, and during the past few years it had increased considerably, brought on by the insane rise in the housing market in spite of fluctuations. He should have simply demanded a divorce while houses still cost half of what they did today. It was as simple as that. But it was too late now, and he’d be damned if he was going to move.
He turned his eyes to the vibrating ceiling under Jesper’s room. Even if I took out a loan when we divorced, my expenses couldn’t possibly be more than they are now, he thought. In that case, he imagined she’d have to take back responsibility for her son. They had the biggest electricity bill on this side of town; there was no doubt about that. Jesper had to be the energy company’s elite customer number one.
“Divorce? No, I don’t want a divorce, Carl. I’ve tried that before, and it wasn’t a good thing. You know that.”
He shook his head. Then what the hell did she call the situation they’d been living in for the past couple of years?
“I want to have a gallery, Carl. My very own gallery.”
OK, here it came. In his mind he saw Vigga’s paintings, which were nothing more than meter-high, deranged blotches of pink and bronze gilding. A gallery? Good idea, if she wanted to make more space in her garden cottage.
“A gallery, you say? And I imagine that it will have a gigantic furnace. So then you can sit there all day, warming yourself on all the millions of kroner that are going to come pouring in.” Sure. He could see the whole scam.
“You’ve always been the sarcastic type,” said Vigga. And then she laughed. It was the laugh that got to him every time. That damn seductive laugh. “But it’s really a fantastic idea, Carl. There would be so many possibilities if I had my own gallery. Can’t you just picture it? And maybe one day Jesper will have a famous mother. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Infamous, Vigga. That’s the proper word, he thought. But what he said was: “So you’ve already found a place, is that right?”
“Oh, Carl, it’s so charming. And Hugin has already talked to the owner.”
“Hugin?”
“Yes, Hugin. He’s a very talented painter.”
“Better between the bed sheets than on the canvases, I’d guess.”
“Come on, Carl.” She laughed again. “Be nice.”
14. 2002
Merete had been waiting on the restaurant deck. She’d told Uffe to hurry up just before the door to the men’s room slammed behind him. Only waiters were still in the cafeteria at the other end of the ferry; all the passengers had gone down to their cars. Uffe needs to hurry up, she thought, even though the Audi was at the back of the line.
And that was the last full thought she managed to formulate in her former life.
The attack came from behind and it was so surprising that she didn’t even have time to scream. But she did notice the hand pressing the rag hard against her mouth and nose, and then, more vaguely, she was aware of someone pushing the black button that opened the door to the stairwell down to the car deck. Finally, she was conscious only of a couple of distant noises and the sight of all the metal walls in the stairwell whirling around, and then everything went black.
The cement floor underneath her when she woke up was cold, very cold. She lifted her head, feeling an intense pounding inside. Her legs felt heavy, and she could hardly raise her shoulders off the floor. She forced herself into a sitting position and tried to orient herself in the pitch dark. She considered shouting but didn’t dare; instead she took a deep breath, without making a sound. Then she cautiously stretched out her hands to test if there was anything close by. But there was nothing.
For a long time she just sat there before venturing to stand up, slowly, every nerve on alert. She was determined to lash out at even the slightest sound. She would hit as hard as she could. Hit and kick. She sensed that she was alone, but she might be wrong.
After a while she felt more clear-headed, and then the fear came creeping in, like an infection. Her skin grew hot, her heart beat harder and faster. Her eyes, blinded by the dark, flickered nervously. She’d read and seen so many terrible things.
About women who disappeared.
Then she took a hesitant step forward, holding out her hands. There might be a hole in the floor, an abyss just waiting to swallow her up. There might be sharp implements and glass. But her foot found the floor, and there was still nothing in front of her. All of a sudden she stopped and stood motionless.
Uffe, she thought, feeling her jaw start to quiver. He was on board the ship when it happened.
It took a couple of hours for her to sketch a floor plan of the room in her mind. The space seemed to be rectangular. Maybe twenty to twenty-five feet in length and at least fifteen feet wide. She had run her fingers over the cold walls; on one of them, at eye level, she’d found a couple of glass panes that felt like two enormous portholes. She’d hammered on them with her shoe, jumping back at each blow. But the glass didn’t break. Then she’d touched the edges of something that felt like an arched doorway set into the wall, although maybe not, because there was no door handle. She’d slid her hands over the wall, in the hope of finding a handle or maybe a light switch somewhere. But the surface was smooth and cold.
After that she systematically explored the whole room. She cautiously paced from one end to the other, turned around, took a step to the side, and then made her way back. Upon reaching the far wall, she repeated the whole exercise. When she was done, she concluded that she and the dry air were all alone in the room.
I need to wait over there, next to what feels like a door, she thought. She would sit down at the base of it so she wouldn’t be visible through the glass panes. When someone came in, she’d grab their legs and give them a yank. She’d try to kick the person hard in the head over and over.
Her muscles tensed and her skin felt clammy. She might have only the one chance.
After she’d sat there so long that her body had grown stiff and her senses were dulled, she got to her feet and went over to the opposite corner to squat down and pee. She needed to remember which corner she had used. One corner as a toilet. One where she sat and waited by the door, and one where she would sleep. The smell of urine was strong in the desolate cage. She hadn’t had anything to drink since sitting in the ship’s cafeteria, and that could easily have been hours ago. Of course it was possible that she’d been unconscious for only an hour or two, but it could also have been a whole day or more. She had no idea. All she knew was that she wasn’t hungry, just thirsty.
She stood up, pulled up her trousers, and tried to remember.
She and Uffe had been the last passengers near the toilets. They were probably also the last ones on the sun deck. At any rate, the two men over by the big picture windows were gone when she and Uffe passed by. She had nodded to the waitress who came out of the cafeteria, and she’d seen a couple of kids punch the door opener before disappearing below deck. Nothing else. She hadn’t noticed anyone coming that close to her. Her only thought had been that Uffe needed to hurry up and come out of the bathroom.
Oh God, Uffe! What had happened to him? He was so unhappy after he’d hit her. And he’d been so dismayed that his baseball cap was gone. There were still red patches on his cheeks when he went into the toilet. So what
