‘Shuddup!’
‘Now, now,’ I said. ‘Let’s calm down a bit, shall we?’
They looked at me, both of them. For a moment it was as if they had united against me, a strict father, an angry teacher or an exacting confirmation priest. I was happy now that I had taken the rifle off them.
I thrust out my hand, smiled and motioned towards the bottom of the valley. ‘Let’s get moving. I’m freezing my arse off!’
They neither laughed nor smiled, but both nodded, and soon we were on our way down. I stepped to the side and let them pass. ‘I’ll bring up the rear,’ I determined, without saying why. Neither of them objected.
Like a quiet, gloomy procession we stumbled our way down the scree, to the uprooted tree and from there into the forest. As we approached the others, I called out again: ‘We’re coming! Silje and Jan first, me at the rear!’
‘Fine, Veum!’ Standal answered, without the loud-hailer this time.
With which they were upon us. I heard the muffled sounds of a brief scuffle in front of us as Silje was shoved aside and three to four policemen overpowered Jan Egil, then the click of handcuffs.
‘Vaaaaarg!’ Jan howled desperately as he kicked out in the dark. ‘You said I wouldn’t be handcuffed!’
I charged through the undergrowth. ‘Nor should you be! I’ve got the rifle here!’
‘Are you or the police in charge here, Veum?’ the sergeant snapped. ‘We obviously have to ensure that there are no further attempts to escape.’
‘But for Christ’s sake! He’s only a child.’
‘He’s seventeen years old and responsible for his actions.’
‘But I promised him!’
‘And who gave you the authority to promise anything at all?’
‘Bloody knuckleheads!’
At once his face was there, right in mine. ‘Mind your step now, Veum — or we’ll handcuff you, too.’
I looked around. We were standing in a tight clump in the forest. Silje had sought shelter in Grethe’s arms, and I met her eyes over Silje’s shoulders. She warned me with a glare and shook her head as a sign that I shouldn’t attempt any further provocation. Around us stood police officers, tired and irritable. Jan Egil had given up. He was almost hanging from the arms of two officers, attached to one by handcuffs.
Silje suddenly turned round. ‘But I’m the one who did it!’
Everyone focused on her. Standal barked: ‘What?! What did you say?’
‘I’m the one who did it!’
‘Did what?’
‘Shot ’em!’
‘What did you say? Are you telling us the truth? Do you mean that?’
‘D’you think I’m lying?’ Her face was red with repressed fury. ‘About something so serious?’
‘No, no — I sincerely hope not,’ Standal mumbled, caught off guard and perplexed.
‘He was an old pig!’
Standal regarded her with a flinty look.
‘You mean…’
‘Uncle Klaus!’
‘Silje!’ Grethe reproved.
An excited mumble spread through the officers around us. ‘There’s the motive!’ I heard one of them say, looking around triumphantly. ‘Isn’t that what I…?’
Standal seemed to have run out of words. He just stared down at the young girl, depressed, with that disgruntled expression of his.
‘Now listen here,’ I said. ‘We’re not going to stand here for the rest of the night, are we? For God’s sake let’s get back down to civilisation, get a roof over our heads, put on some dry clothes and then we can sort out this business down there.’
Standal visibly pulled himself together. ‘Of course. You’re absolutely right there, Veum.’ Not without some difficulty, he took command again. ‘OK, men!’ He pointed to two of them. ‘You go first. Then you…’ he pointed to the man handcuffed to Jan Egil, ‘… and him. You follow, Reidar. Then you…’ He pointed to some other officers. ‘Next you three…’ That was Grethe, Silje and I. ‘We’ll form the rearguard,’ he concluded, indicating himself and the young officer with the loud-hailer, Flekke. ‘And… Olsen! When we reach Angedalen… make sure the cars come up to us and keep the bloody media pack a hundred metres away, at least!’ As an afterthought he added: ‘And when you get contact on the walkie-talkie, inform them that the ambulance can go back. We won’t need it, I’m happy to say.’
He turned to me and held out his hand for the rifle. ‘Veum… I’ll take that.’ I passed him the heavy Mauser, and he beckoned to one of the officers, who conjured up a large black bin bag, in which the rifle was placed.
After some final instructions we set off down the path again. No one said anything. We had enough to do to find our footing and make sure we didn’t crash into the person in front. I saw Silje’s and Grethe’s heads bobbing up and down ahead. Behind me I could hear Standal puffing and panting down my neck. There was a strange atmosphere in the group. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts. There was a marked sense of relief that the whole thing was over, but at the same time we knew that we had been given something new to mull over. It was me who did it, Silje had said and like an inner echo I heard Jan’s own voice from ten years ago say: Mummy did it…
Were there any similarities? Were there any connections at all between these dramatic incidents?
I had promised him that not a stone would be left unturned until I was satisfied I had a result. But right now we were not talking about a stone or two but a whole landslide of complex events.
The first thing to do when I got down to Forde was to have the last ten years of Jan’s life mapped out, from the time we parted in Bergen, to attempt to find out what might have led to the atrocity committed.
We were approaching the end of the gradient now. The path flattened out, and we were in open country again. By the old hay barn we came to a stop, while the two foremost officers went down to make sure that Standal’s orders were being followed. From a distance we could see the throng of press people being pushed down the hill, and their protests reached all the way up to us, like the distant baying of a pack of hounds.
‘I’ve got my car down there,’ I said.
‘You can pick it up tomorrow, Veum. Now you’re coming with us,’ Standal said.
When the area was clear, we continued on down. Jan Egil was put in the first car; Silje, Grethe and I in the back seat of the second, with the sergeant in the front and a police officer behind the wheel. It was only then that I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to one.
The press people had waited a long time, in vain. There wouldn’t be many kind words for the Forde sergeant in the following day’s newspapers, I guessed. There was a storm of flashes as we passed them, but it must have been difficult to see who was sitting in the cars, and both Jan Egil and Silje had jackets over their heads and were bent forwards in their seats.
As we swung onto the road, I cast a glance back. They were following in our wake in a line. A safari without a trophy and a funeral procession without a corpse, I said to myself, before closing my eyes and leaning back in the seat. But I didn’t doze off. I didn’t sleep for a second the whole night, and early next morning I staggered out of bed, as fresh as an ageing teacher on the last school day before the summer holidays.
22
I shuffled bog-eyed into the bathroom, had a thin pee and then went into the shower, where I stood with my head against the cold wall. A minute or two passed before I could be bothered to turn on the water. Once I had done this, I stood letting the water run and run as if there were little else to do on this depressing morning in a dark, miserable world.
Eventually, I unwrapped a small packet of soap, washed and rinsed, turned off the water and ventured back in front of the mirror. I was a man in my next best years, had just turned forty-two, but was hardly recognisable. My hair was standing up, like after a permanent shock, my skin was grey and wan, and even my stubble was pale and
