to be certain. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. His shirt was wrinkled. The teller and bank manager and a number of witnesses had been interviewed, one after the other. He had made his own notes of what he had seen, had turned his memory inside out to try to remember all the details he could. The police artist had listened and nodded and produced an excellent sketch. And he himself had acknowledged the likeness, at least initially, although afterwards he began having doubts. Now he straightened up in his chair as someone knocked on the door. Skarre came in with Gurvin.
The community officer stared at Sejer with interest. 'I hear you have a hostage situation.'
He fumbled a little with his sunglasses and sat down. The roles were reversed now. He was here with the big boys who had every conceivable type of equipment available to them.
'I'm sitting here staring at this wretched video,' Sejer said gloomily. 'The quality is so poor.'
'Can we see it?' Skarre asked eagerly.
'Of course. Put your glasses on, if you need them.'
He started up the tape again, waiting for their surprise. There were the teller windows. The young girl appeared first from the entrance leading to the square. She looked around a bit uncertainly and went over to the brochure rack. No more than 15 seconds later the bank robber came in. He stopped short at the sight of the customer who had arrived before him. Hurriedly he reached for a form and began filling it out. Then the door opened for a third time, and that's when the exclamation came.
'What on earth!' Skarre cried. 'Isn't that you, Konrad?'
He gave his boss a bewildered look. Sejer had decided to take the whole thing in his stride. He started laughing. Gurvin stared at the two of them astonished.
'Damn right it's me. I was walking down the street on my way to work and out of the blue I had the feeling that a person I passed looked like a bank robber. So I turned around to see where he was going, saw him go into the bank, and decided to follow.'
'And? What happened?'
'As you can see on the video, I peeked inside, noticed the young girl, saw that everything was nice and calm. And I left.' He looked at them both, and gave an eloquent shrug. 'I just left.'
Skarre started laughing. Gurvin felt an immense regret that he himself had no colleagues.
'As soon as I was out of the bank, the robber struck. Take a look now.'
There he was, striding across the bank, there he took his hostage. A moment later the shot was fired. Gurvin gasped, blinked several times and stared in disbelief.
'We have to find that girl,' Sejer said. 'If we don't get her out of this situation in one piece, we run the risk that hostage-taking will become fashionable, which is just about the worst thing that could happen. And because of this awful video, it's more or less impossible to identify her, even if someone reports her missing today. And yet…' He rewound the tape and played it over again. 'There's something that doesn't seem right.'
'What's that?' Skarre said.
'Something about the way she reacts. Or rather, her lack of reaction. She doesn't scream or wave her arms around. It almost looks as if she's in a trance. Or, to put it another way, as if she's not surprised. As if the attack is something she was expecting. Maybe it was a set-up.'
Skarre looked at him in surprise.
'Let's say it was all pre-arranged, that they were in it together. That she was his girlfriend.'
'I don't think she's his girlfriend,' Gurvin broke in. His eyes were fixed rigidly on the flickering screen. 'That hostage is a man. And his name is Errki Johrma.'
Suddenly he realised what had happened. It rose up through his consciousness like a great shock. He had taken a madman hostage!
He drove as fast as he dared go without attracting attention, keeping a watchful eye on the traffic in his rear- view mirror. His pulse was still fast, his body taut and tense, and he was hyperventilating. It made him dizzy. He scowled at the man sitting next to him.
'I'm asking you again: what were you doing in the bank so early in the morning?'
Errki heard the snare drums. They were playing a drum roll that was a long way off tempo. He didn't answer, just opened and closed his fists and stared down at the floor of the car as if he were looking for something. The words were drowned out by the drums. Don't move, don't say anything. He rocked back and forth in his seat and closed his eyes.
'I said, what the hell were you doing in the bank so early in the morning!'
This time Errki heard the angry voice. The man was scared. He stored this away in his mind and began silently to shape an answer. Nestor listened to his thoughts; he had to approve of the words before they were released. That's why it took time. Nestor was meticulous. Nestor was -
'Are you deaf, man?'
Am I deaf? thought Errki. That was a new question that required a new answer. He shoved the first one aside and started working on the second. Nestor was still listening. The Coat was silent. No, he thought. I can hear perfectly. I can hear his pulse pounding in his veins because his blood pressure is too high, and he's expending a huge amount of energy on something as simple as trying to communicate. But does he really want an answer that hasn't been properly thought through? Isn't it a mark of respect to take your time finding an answer? On the other hand – does he deserve respect? Of any kind?
Demanding money from a young teller was no great feat, at least not in Errki's opinion. And besides, he had a gun. But the man was plainly excited by his exploits. It was making his cheeks bulge even to bursting point. Now he needed to let off steam.
'Is it possible to get some kind of answer around here?'
His voice, a nice tenor, was ruined by the drums, which scrambled the words and gave him a shrill sound. Too bad, thought Errki. Men were more concerned with other things than their voices. Muscles. Bravado. Having the right jeans to wear. Such pitiful things. Errki had discovered that he had the ability to drive a grown man almost mad without even trying, just by keeping silent. It was tough for the man not to get an answer. Not to find out who you were. What you were. Errki still didn't say a word.
The robber was breathing hard next to him, his curly hair damp with exertion. He looked in the rear-view mirror and reduced his speed, then turned off the road and stopped. The engine was still running. He threw a quick glance at Errki and snarled between clenched teeth, 'I have to take off some of these clothes. Don't try to run away!'
Errki didn't have any intention of escaping. The pistol bothered him. He could feel it piercing his body like a ray of light. Now the robber placed his gun on the dashboard, above the steering wheel. He struggled to pull off his sweater and then the corduroy trousers, keeping his gloves on. It wasn't easy because the car was so small. He groaned and cursed and tugged at the trousers, but at last he was done, and more sweaty than ever. Now he was sitting there dressed in what must be a form of disguise, Errki thought. Nestor chuckled softly from the cellar. Under the clothes he had removed, the robber was wearing a pair of gaudy Bermuda shorts covered with fruit and palm trees, and a blue sleeveless shirt with Donald Duck on the chest. He reached across Errki and opened the glove box. He took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. His outfit was perfect. Errki couldn't help staring. The muscular man looked so odd in his colourful shorts. He was fighting to control his voice.
'You don't understand any of this, so keep your mouth shut! Just shut up unless someone speaks to you!'
Errki hadn't said a word. In spite of his leather jacket and black trousers he wasn't sweating. He concentrated on not moving. If he remained motionless, he would be almost invisible.
'Damn, you smell terrible!' The robber sniffed loudly to show his disgust and opened the window even further. Errki wondered whether he expected a reply to this or whether he was just slinging a little shit. To be on the safe side, he kept quiet. Besides, Nestor was singing a beautiful hymn in a low voice, and it would be best to take advantage of his good mood. Errki didn't think much about where they were headed or what might happen later on. He was using all his strength to close himself up and hold everything else out. This man. This moment. The gun. But he couldn't stop his hands. They kept on opening and closing, faster and faster.
'Can't you stop doing that with your hands?' the robber said, his eyes wide. 'It looks so creepy. It's driving me crazy!'
Errki began rocking back and forth instead. It was impossible to make himself invisible here, with the storm in
