“He can’t have gone before seven. The surveillance team swear they saw him look out of the window at five to seven. In other words he can’t have more than an hour’s start, hopefully less. For all we know, he might have scarpered only minutes before it was discovered.”
Hanne Wilhelmsen was trying to calm Hakon’s agitation, but without much success.
“Warn the other stations in the area. They’ve got to stop him at all costs.”
He sounded breathless and kept gulping noisily.
“Hakon, just listen. We’ve no idea where he is. He may have gone home to Grefsen and be watching some comedian on TV and having a drink with his wife. Or driving round the city. But the crucial point is that we’ve got nothing on him that would justify another arrest. The fact that our surveillance team let themselves be duped is clearly a problem, but it’s our problem, not his. We may well be tailing him, but he’s not doing anything illegal by giving us the slip.”
Even though Hakon was beside himself with anxiety, he had to admit that Hanne was right.
“Okay, okay,” Hakon interrupted as she was about to continue. “Okay. I know we can’t move heaven and earth. I understand what you’re saying. But you
Hanne sighed. This was a new tack.
“You can’t seriously think it was Jorgen Lavik who knocked me out? And that he was the one who sneaked up from a custody cell to your office and stole the statement and then got back down again closing all the doors behind him? You must be joking!”
“He needn’t have done it himself. He might have accomplices. Hanne, listen to me! I know he’s after her!”
Hakon was really frantic now.
“Will it set your mind at rest if we take the car and go over there?”
“I thought you’d never suggest it… Pick me up by the riding school in Skoyen in a quarter of an hour.”
Perhaps the whole thing was just an excuse to see Karen. He couldn’t swear that it wasn’t. On the other hand, his dread lay like a physical knot of pain beneath his ribs, and was definitely not just a figment of his imagination.
“Call it male intuition,” he said ironically, and sensed rather than saw her smile.
“Intuition’s neither here nor there,” she scoffed. “I’m doing this for your sake, not because I agree with you.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Since speaking to him twenty minutes ago on the phone she’d been getting an increasing feeling that his agitation might well be justified. It was difficult to put a finger on what had made her change her mind. His certainty, perhaps: she’d lived long enough not to ignore other people’s instincts and presentiments. Besides, Lavik had seemed so demoralised and desperate when she’d last seen him that he might be capable of anything. Nor did she like the fact that Karen Borg hadn’t answered the phone all evening-it might mean nothing, of course, but she didn’t like it.
“Keep trying her number,” she said, inserting a new cassette into the player.
Karen was still not responding. Hanne glanced across at Hakon, put her hand on his thigh, and patted him gently.
“Relax, it’s good if she’s not there. Anyway…”
She looked at the clock on the dashboard.
“Anyway, he couldn’t possibly have reached there yet, not even by the most pessimistic reckoning. He’d have to find himself a car first, and in the unlikely event of his having one ready to hand near the cottage, he still couldn’t have got away until after seven. Probably later. It’s twenty past eight now. Stop worrying.”
That was easier said than done. Hakon released the little lever on the right of his seat and let it recline as far as it would go.
“I’ll try,” he muttered disconsolately.
Twenty past eight. He was hungry. In fact he hadn’t eaten all day. His elaborate preparations had taken the edge off his appetite, and his stomach had become unaccustomed to food after ten days of semi-fasting. But now it was rumbling insistently. He indicated and pulled off into a lit-up parking area. There was plenty of time for something to eat. He had about a three-quarter-hour drive left. Plus another quarter of an hour to find his way to the right cottage. Maybe even half an hour, since the students’ meeting there had been so long ago.
He parked the Lada between two Mercedes, but it didn’t appear intimidated by such exalted company. Lavik smiled, gave it a friendly pat on the boot lid, and went into the cafe. It was an unusual building, rather like a UFO that had taken root in the ground. He ordered a large bowl of pea soup, and took a newspaper to the table with him. He was in no great hurry now.
They had already passed Holmestrand and the tape had played both sides. Hakon was bored with country music, and hunted in the tidy console for something else. They didn’t say much on the journey; it wasn’t necessary. Hakon had volunteered to drive, but Hanne had declined. He was content not to, but less happy about the fact that she’d been chain-smoking ever since they passed through Drammen. It was much too cold to open the window, and he was beginning to feel sick. His own chewing tobacco didn’t help. He used a tissue to get rid of it, but couldn’t avoid swallowing the last few bits.
“Would you mind leaving the smoking till later?”
She was embarrassed and very apologetic, and stubbed out the cigarette she’d just started.
“Why didn’t you say something before?” she asked in gentle reproof, throwing the packet onto the backseat.
“It’s your car,” he murmured, looking out of the window.
There was a fine layer of snow all over the fields, and here and there long rows of straw bales wrapped in white plastic.
“They look like gigantic fish balls,” he remarked, feeling even sicker.
“What do?”
“Those plastic rolls. Hay, or whatever it is.”
“Straw, I think.”
He caught sight of at least twenty huge bales a hundred metres from the road on the left; this time in black plastic.
“Liquorice fish balls,” he said, his nausea increasing. “Can we stop soon? I’m getting carsick.”
“There’s only fifteen minutes to go. Can’t you hold on?”
She didn’t sound annoyed, just anxious to get there.
“No I can’t, to be honest,” he said, putting his hand up to his mouth to emphasise the precariousness of the situation.
She found a suitable place to leave the road a few minutes further on, a bus stop by a turn-off to a little white house, which was all in darkness. It was as desolate a place as could be, on a trunk road through Vestfold. There were cars rushing by at regular intervals, but no other life to be seen anywhere.
The fresh, cool air did him good. Hanne stayed in the car while he took a walk along the short track. He stood for a few minutes with his face into the wind; then, feeling better, made his way back to the car.
“Danger over,” he said, fastening his seat belt.
The car coughed irascibly into life when she turned the ignition key, but faded immediately. She made repeated
