Death In Oslo

‘Papers? Now listen-’

‘No papers, no weapons. Please form a queue here, then I’ll-’

‘I think it would be best if I spoke to your boss,’ the American said.

‘He’s not here,’ the customs officer replied. He had big blue eyes and a friendly smile. ‘Now, let’s get this sorted as quickly as possible.’

The American turned towards his increasingly impatient colleagues and started a somewhat muted conversation. One of the women took out her mobile phone. She tapped in a number with nimble fingers.

‘There’s no reception in here,’ the customs officer said gleefully. ‘So you can just forget about that.’

The woman continued to listen for any sign of life at the other end. Then she shrugged and gave the man, who was obviously some kind of boss, a look of exasperation.

‘I really must protest,’ he said to the customs man, with a look that stopped the short duty officer from interrupting again. ‘There has obviously been a breakdown in communications on several fronts. To begin with, we were supposed to be met off the plane by our Norwegian colleagues. But instead we’ve been shown into this… labyrinth, without anyone to accompany us, and without knowing where to go.’

‘You have to go out through there,’ the customs officer said, pointing to the closed door.

‘Then I suggest that you open it. Now. This is an embarrassing error on your part, and I’m losing patience.’

‘I suggest…’ the customs officer said, with a slight pause that gave him enough time to jump up on to the counter, with an agility that no one would have expected of him, ‘that you do as I say. Out there…’ his voice rose to a shout as he pointed towards the arrivals hall, ‘other people decide. But in here, in this corridor, at this desk where you’re now standing, it’s me who knows the rules. And according to those rules, it is strictly forbidden to bring weapons into my country…’ he was nearly screaming now, ‘without the required papers. So please, start queuing, for God’s sake!’

He broke into Norwegian. His face was flushed and he was sweating. The Americans stared at each other. Someone muttered something. The woman with the mobile phone made another equally unsuccessful attempt to call for help. There was a pause of about thirty seconds. The customs officer hopped down from the counter and stood arms akimbo. Another thirty seconds passed.

‘Here,’ said the boss suddenly, and put his weapon on the counter. ‘But I can assure you, there will be consequences.’

‘Only doing my job, sir!’

The customs officer was grinning from ear to ear. It took him nearly half an hour to collect in all the guns and place them in the plastic containers that were stored on a shelf at the far end of the room. When he had finished, he gave a two-fingered salute and pressed the button to open the doors.

‘Have a nice stay,’ he said and laughed when nobody answered.

He was only doing his job. Surely they could understand that.

III

When Johanne woke up, work was the first thing she thought about. She lay there without moving and squinted at the morning light. She had just finished a research project before having Ragnhild and hadn’t really started on anything else since, so neither she nor the university would suffer too much if she took the two years’ unpaid maternity leave to which she was entitled. She and Adam had agreed on that, as they were afraid that they might not get a nursery place for Ragnhild. They had both been well established when they met, and could pay the mortgage with only one income. They lived a simple, quiet and good life. Kristiane was improving too. They were all in a better place.

Johanne liked the routine of being at home. Life went at a different pace when she was with the children. She had always enjoyed making food, and the long mornings gave her the opportunity to do it from scratch. They had let the cleaner go, and even the cleaning was now part of the contemplative boredom that she had come to appreciate. Ragnhild slept for a couple of hours in the middle of the day, and sometimes Johanne felt that she really had time to think, for the first time in years.

It was a good life. For a while.

Maybe that time was over now.

Suddenly the idea of quiet mornings in the house was not so appealing. She listened for the sound of Ragnhild’s chattering, but then remembered that the one-year-old was still with her grandparents. She felt unusually stiff. Slowly she stretched her arms over her head and turned over.

Adam wasn’t there.

It was not like her to sleep so heavily. She usually woke up several times during the night, and would be wide awake within seconds if there was the slightest noise from the kids.

She sat bolt upright, cocked her head and held her breath so she could listen better. But the only thing she could hear was a car engine idling some way off and the spring chirping of ecstatic birds outside the bedroom window.

‘Adam?’

She got up and pulled on her dressing gown, then padded out to the kitchen. The clock on the cooker said it was nearly quarter past eight. Silence everywhere. There was a half-finished cup of coffee on the worktop. When she picked it up, she could feel it was still warm, so it wasn’t long since he’d left. There was a note beside the cup.

My love, I have to do my job, I’m sure you understand. And when you don’t even give me a good reason to try to get out of it, I have no choice other than to go. Not easy to say when I’ll be home, as I don’t even know what the job entails. I’ll ring as soon as I can. Your Adam.

Johanne took a sip of the lukewarm coffee.

Adam was going to be Warren’s liaison. She had asked him not to. She had threatened him with what she thought was his worst nightmare. And yet he had got up as she slept, quietly made some coffee, written a short, cool note, then slipped out.

She stood with the sheet of paper in one hand and the cup in the other for a long time.

She couldn’t go to her parents. Her mother would just get hysterical and her father would take it to heart, as he always did when the world was against him. Johanne often wondered if her parents were fonder of Adam than they were of her. Her mother certainly always bragged about him to anyone who bothered to listen. Adam was showered with attention by his in-laws, and he was the one who got all the honour every time Ragnhild impressed anyone with her language and motor skills.

‘It’s actually me who’s at home with her all the time,’ Johanne would sigh, before masking her irritation with a smile.

She couldn’t go to her sister’s either. Marie’s perfection had become an insurmountable hurdle between them. She was beautiful, well dressed and childless. The very thought of invading her harbourside flat with baby food and smelly nappies made Johanne hyperventilate.

She read the short note again. The letters became unclear. She tried to blink away the tears. They coursed their way down her nose and she wiped away some snot on her sleeve.

When they had gone to bed the night before, she had been certain that he had understood. He had snuggled up to her in bed, without saying a word, his hands warm and strong, just the way she loved them. Adam knew that she needed protection and that Warren Scifford must not be allowed anywhere near their safe, routined life in Haugesvei. When he stroked her hair, she had been convinced that he realised all this. She was certain that she’d seen the acknowledgement in his eyes that Warren’s very presence threatened all that they had that was beautiful and true and pure. And she had fallen into a deep, blissful sleep.

Then Adam had just left.

He hadn’t taken her threat seriously. He hadn’t taken her seriously. Well, he was going to find out how just serious she was.

Johanne packed the bare necessities. She folded enough clothes for a few days for herself and their younger daughter, and put them in a small suitcase.