had initially been uncertain as to whether he should take her, he was glad he had done it now. Of course, there was something special about Emilie. When he heard that her mother had died, he had decided to leave her alone. But thankfully he’d changed his mind. She was a grateful little girl. Said thank you for her food and was pleased to get the horse, even though she said practically nothing when he gave her the Barbie doll. He was still unsure what he was going to do with Emilie in the long run, when it was all over. But that didn’t really matter. He had plenty of time.
Sarah was a little witch.
But he could have told you that beforehand. The bite mark on his arm was red and swollen; he carefully stroked the skin and was annoyed that he hadn’t been more cautious.
As he looked out the window at the brow of the hill, squinting against the morning sun, he wondered why he hadn’t started earlier. He had put up with too much for too long. Given in too often. Tolerated too much. Got too little. Given in too much. It started when he was four years old. Probably even earlier, but that was the first time that he could remember.
Someone had sent him a present. He didn’t know who. His mother picked it up from the post office.
The man with the remote control liked to reminisce. It was important for him to think back. He turned off the TV and poured some coffee into his cup. He should really be getting the cornflakes and water ready. But memories were his fuel and had to be tended to when they demanded it. He closed his eyes.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, on his knees on a red wooden chair. He was drawing. In front of him was a glass of milk; he could still remember the sweet taste that clung to his palate, the heat from the burner in the corner; it was the start of winter. His mother came into the room. His grandmother had just gone to work. The package was wrapped in brown paper, creased from the journey. The string was tied crosswise with lots of knots and his mother had to use the scissors, even though they normally saved the string and brown paper.
The present was winter clothes. A blue jacket with a zipper and a ring in the zipper. There was a picture of a truck with big wheels on the front. The pants had elastic cords to go under the feet and crossed suspenders over the back. His mother helped him put them on. He was allowed to stand on the kitchen table. He licked his lips to get the taste of sweet milk and the lamp bumped his head as it swung backwards and forwards. His mother smiled. The blue clothes were light. They weighed nothing. He lifted his arms when she had zippered the jacket. He bent his knees and thought he could fly. The jacket was warm and snug and smooth, and he wanted to go out in the snow with the picture of a truck across his chest. He smiled at his mother.
The man dropped the remote control. It was nearly eight o’clock, so he didn’t have much time. Of course the children in the cellar wouldn’t starve if he skipped a meal, but it was best to get it out of the way. He opened the kitchen cabinet and looked at himself in the shaving mirror that hung on the inside of the door.
His grandmother had come back. She had forgotten something and she stiffened when she saw him.
Someone else got the clothes. Another child. Someone who deserved them more, his grandmother said. That he remembered very well. His mother didn’t protest. Someone had sent him a present. It was his, but he didn’t get it. He was four years old.
His face looked grimy in the mirror. But that wasn’t how he felt. He felt strong and decisive. The cornflakes box was empty. The children would have to go hungry until he got home. They would survive.
TWENTY-SIX
Johanne Vik had been working, half concentrating, all evening. The night manager at the Augustus Snow Inn was a boy who must have lied about his age to get the job. His mustache was obviously darkened with mascara and in the course of the evening it got lighter. And there were now black specks all around his nose, where he couldn’t help squeezing his pimples. He gave her the code of the hotel’s own Internet server, so Johanne could log on from her room. If she had any problems, all she needed to do was call room service. The boy smiled broadly and smoothed his mustache with his forefinger and thumb. It had now nearly disappeared.
She should be tired. She yawned at the thought. She
Irritated, she massaged her neck and let her eyes roam around the room. On the floor, just inside the door, was a note. It must have been lying there since she got back. The stairs up to the second floor were old and creaked loudly. She hadn’t heard anyone. There was no one else staying up here; the room across the hall was empty and dark. She had gone in and out of her room three times to get coffee, but hadn’t noticed the note before.
It was received at six o’clock pm.
Stubborn. Stubo. Adam Stubo. The note included some phone numbers. At home, at work, and his mobile, she assumed. She wouldn’t call any of them. Her thumb ran gently over his name. Then she scrunched up the note. Instead of throwing it away, she stuffed it quickly into her pants pocket and logged on to
A little girl had disappeared. Another one. Sarah Baardsen, eight years old, abducted from a full bus during rush hour, on her way to her grandmother’s. The police had no leads at the moment. The public was furious. In the areas around the capital, from Drammen to Aurskog, from Eidsvoll to Drobak, all after-school activities for children had been cancelled until further notice. Chaperone services had been organized for children on their way to and from school. Some parents were demanding compensation for staying at home; after-school clubs could not guarantee that the children would be given adequate supervision one hundred percent of the time, and there wasn’t enough staff to reinforce supervision. Oslo Taxi had set up a special children’s taxi service, with women drivers who prioritized mothers travelling alone with children. The prime minister had called for calm and reason and the children’s ombudsman had cried openly on television. A psychic woman had had a vision of Emilie in a pigsty and was supported by a Swedish colleague. There is more to life than meets the eye, the Norwegian Farmers’ and Smallholders’ Union responded, and promised that every pigsty in the country would be searched by the weekend. A Progress Party politician from Sorlandet had in all seriousness submitted a proposal to the National Assembly for the reintroduction of the death penalty. Johanne got goose bumps on her arms and pulled down her sleeves.
Of course she wouldn’t help Adam Stubo. The stolen children became her own, in the same way that she always saw Kristiane, her own daughter, in pictures of starving children in Africa and seven-year-old prostitutes in Thailand. Turn off the TV, close the newspaper. Don’t want to see. This case was like that. Johanne wanted nothing to do with it. Didn’t want to hear.
But that wasn’t entirely true, either.
The case fascinated her. It appealed to her in a grotesque way that left her breathless. In a kind of unwelcome epiphany, she realized that she actually wanted to let everything else go. Johanne wanted to forget Aksel Seier, drop the new research project, turn her back on Alvhild Sofienberg. In fact, she wanted to get on the first plane home and let Isak look after Kristiane. Then she would concentrate on one thing and one thing only: finding this person, this beast who went around stealing people’s children.
The work had already begun. She was only able to concentrate fully on other things for short periods. Ever since Adam Stubo first contacted her, she had unconsciously, anxious and reluctant, tried to construct a preliminary picture of the man, but she didn’t have a firm enough foundation, enough material. Before she left, she had rummaged around in some old boxes under the pretense of organizing. Her notes from when she studied in the States were now on the enamelled shelves in her office. They were going to be moved somewhere else. A real spring cleaning. Nothing more than that, she had tried to convince herself as she stacked books in piles on the desk.
More than anything, Johanne wanted to help Adam Stubo. The case was a challenge. A real nut to crack. An intellectual test. A competition between her and an unknown offender. Johanne knew that she could all too easily
