'Tulla Asalid's boyfriend?'
'Tulla's boyfriend with a younger woman. At least twenty years younger. Blonde, attractive and giggling.'
'He must have finished with Tulla then,' Sejer said, 'and found himself a new girlfriend.'
'Or he's defrauding her,' Skarre said. 'Like he normally does. And I can't bear to think of that. Given what else has happened.'
'We mustn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps she's a relative. There's a lot we don't know.'
'Relatives don't snog each other,' Skarre said. 'I think we should warn Tulla, I think we owe her that. She's got enough to worry about as it is.'
'We're police officers,' Sejer objected. 'We don't get involved with people's love lives.'
'But this isn't about love,' Skarre argued. 'He's after her money.'
'I must remind you that Brenner has served his sentence. You have to give him a break.'
Skarre shook his head. 'Tulla's the one who deserves a break.'
'All right,' Sejer said. 'You win. Let's see if the right moment comes along.'
Skarre went over to the fax machine, bent down and stared at it.
'What are you doing?'
'I'm summoning up an answer,' Skarre said. 'Human beings are filled with psychic energies which we never use. I'm summoning them now.'
Sejer gave him a strange look. 'Now listen to me,' he said calmly. 'You don't like Wilfred Brein. You think he's a self-important and unsympathetic man and it would suit you very well if he turns out to be guilty. Elfrid Lowe would derive some small comfort and the general public would breathe a sigh of relief. But just because a man behaves brusquely towards the police doesn't mean he's guilty. Lots of people have very strong feelings about us.'
'Why are you suddenly lecturing me?'
'To save you disappointment,' Sejer said. 'The fact that he went up there doesn't link him to the crime. Besides, he does appear to have a bad hip.'
'Very well,' Skarre said. 'So he abducted Jonas August on one of his good days.'
He crossed the floor and opened the door to the corridor.
'Come on,' he said. 'Let's go down to the canteen.'
They found seats by the window and drank some Farris mineral water, faking a calm they did not possess. They waited. They watched people come and go. They studied the snowflakes falling outside. Muffled sounds drifted through the room, the clinking of glass and cutlery and muted voices. The smell of coffee. Skarre smoothed out a paper napkin. Sejer fiddled with his mobile phone, there were no new calls, no new messages. They waited. From time to time they glanced at each other across the table, then they looked away and sought out the window, the falling snow.
Finally they could no longer contain their curiosity. They returned to the office and settled down in their chairs in deep thought. There was nothing more to say. It was during this loaded silence that the fax machine finally started whirring and the men shot up and rushed over to it. Sejer snatched the sheet, leaned against the wall, his eyes racing across the few lines. Then he let his hand drop.
'So what have we got?' Skarre asked.
'A match,' he said. 'Irrefutable, undeniable proof.'
CHAPTER 41
Brein opened the door. He was standing on his own two feet this time, but when they told him why they had come, he collapsed against the door frame.
'No!' he screamed. 'I want you to leave me alone!'
They allowed him a few minutes to sort out of a couple of essential things such as packing his blood-thinning medication, which he claimed his life depended on. He asked to call his father, but they told him no. He put a packet of cigarettes in his pocket and followed them to the police car. He did not utter a single word during the thirty-minute drive to the station. Sejer watched him in the mirror. Now it was Brein's turn to look like a small boy who had been abducted.
Once they reached the station he was placed in a cell, where he sat for four hours. He perched on the edge of the bench and stared down at his lap, at his hands with their blue veins. Several times he got up and went over to look out of the window. The cell faced a backyard with a brown Portakabin and several parked patrol cars. He saw Volvos and Fords. A row of green wheelie bins was lined up against the Portakabin. He paced the floor. He could take only a few steps before he had to turn around. He thought about those who had occupied the cell before him, thieves and robbers, murderers. He had nothing in common with them. He sat down on the bench once more and folded his hands. No one had come to check up on him, to see if he was all right, didn't they have to do that? They had promised him something to eat, but no food had arrived.
He felt a sudden urge to lie down and close his eyes, but it would be like surrendering, and he did not want to surrender, he was going to fight. So he continued to perch on the edge and to despair. He listened to the sounds outside, the traffic, scattered voices and shouts. Sometimes he would shudder violently, his heart racing; he had nodded off and woken up with a jerk. A cup of coffee would have been nice, he thought, another human being, a voice.
The four hours turned into a restless walk between the bench and the window; all the time he was trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead. Listen to me, he wanted to say, I can explain, it's not what you think! They seemed friendly enough and polite, and they did have rules to follow, but he didn't want to be naive, he didn't want to weaken, they weren't going to get him, they weren't going to pin something on him which wasn't true. For a moment he raged with indignation at everything that had happened. He had been carried along by life itself, temptation had dropped right into his hands, and he had acted in accordance with his desires, it was like falling into a river and being swept along by the current. Wasn't he merely being human? He sensed how the heat surged through his body, and then he collapsed once more, because deep down he knew better, of course he did. They would show him no mercy, they would reel off their accusations, drag him through the mud like he was something inferior. Distraught, he tried to keep control of his thoughts, because it felt safer, but they overpowered him and he bowed his head in shame.
CHAPTER 42
Wilfred Arent Brein was not a handsome man. Nature had not been kind to him. He had a gaunt face and thin lips devoid of colour. He was conscious of his shortcomings and it showed; his eyes were evasive and changed, at times, to a sullen look.
'I was promised something to eat,' he began.
Sejer was reminded of a stray dog begging.
'Oh?' he said. 'Were you? We'll see to it. Presently.'
He sent Brein a questioning look. 'You haven't eaten much recently?'
Brein scowled at him. 'I think you owe me an explanation.' He tried to sound assertive, but there was not much strength left in his feeble voice.
Sejer leafed through a pile of papers on the table, checked the time and read a few sentences on a document.
'Why haven't you been eating?'
'Surely it's my own business how much I eat,' Brein said. He jerked his head. It was a repetitive, nervous twitch.
'Of course,' Sejer said. 'I was just expressing concern. You've been having problems?'
'I live with a great deal of pain,' he said. 'I have done for years. Some days all I can do is lie on the sofa and groan. But you need to explain to me why I'm sitting here,' he added. 'You owe me that much.'
