“Your daughter? I remind you of… Trine?”
“No.”
He patted his chest.
“You remind me of my wife.”
Lina came running up the stairs.
“Oh, hi.”
Her friend looked at the unknown man with open curiosity.
“Adam Stubo,” stuttered Johanne. “Lina Skytter.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Bye, then.”
Adam Stubo held his hand out. Before Johanne had a chance to take it, he put it helplessly in his pocket. Then he nodded briefly and left.
“Wow,” said Lina and shut the door behind them. “Quite a man! But not for you. Absolutely not.”
“You’re right,” said Johanne, irritated. “Why are you here?”
“He’s too strong for you,” Lina babbled on as she walked toward the living room. “After that Warren episode, tough guys are not for Johanne Vik.”
She threw herself down onto the sofa and then tucked her feet up.
“You need Isak types. Sweet, small men who are not as intelligent as you.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Lina sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose.
“Did you let him… was he allowed to
“Shut up, Lina. What do you want?”
“To hear about your trip to America, of course. Remind you that we’ve got the book group on Wednesday. The last one was the third time in a row you couldn’t make it, you know? The other girls are starting to wonder if you can’t be bothered anymore. After fifteen years. Hah!”
Lina flopped back into the sofa.
Johanne gave up and went out to get a bottle from the wine rack in the cool bedroom. First she picked out a bottle of Barolo. Then she put it back carefully. Beside the rack was a box of wine.
On her way back in to Lina, she wondered if Adam Stubo was a teetotaller. He looked as if he could be. His skin was firm and even, without open pores. The whites of his eyes were so white. Maybe Adam Stubo didn’t drink at all.
“Here’s your wine,” she said to Lina. “I think I’ll just have a cup of tea.”
THIRTY-ONE
It was comfortable to drive. Even though a six-year-old Opel Vectra was not the best car, he was comfortable. It hadn’t been long since he’d changed the shock absorbers. The car was good. The stereo was good. The music was good.
“Good. Good. Good.”
He yawned and rubbed his forehead. Mustn’t sleep. He hadn’t stopped at all and was getting close to Lavangsdalen now. It was twenty-five hours since he’d rolled out of the garage at home. Well, if you could call it a garage. The old barn doubled as a shelter for the car and storage space for all sorts of junk that he didn’t have the heart to throw out. You never know when you might find a use for something. For example, he was now very glad that he didn’t get rid of the old jerry cans that the previous owner had left behind. They looked rusty and worn on first inspection, but once he’d given them a good going over with a steel-wire brush, they were as good as new. He’d been collecting gasoline for weeks. Got Bobben down at the co-op to fill the tank as usual. Not too often and not too much, no more than he’d usually bought since he moved to the small farm. Then, when he got home, he siphoned a few quarts off into the jerry cans. Eventually he had fifty-three extra gallons of gas. He wouldn’t need to buy any on the way north. No stops where he could be seen or leave behind any fingerprints on money. No video cameras. He was driving a suitably dirty, dark blue Opel Vectra and could be anyone. Joe Bloggs out for a spin. The license plates were dirty and difficult to read. Not the slightest bit unusual; after all, he was in the north of Norway and it was spring.
In Lavangsdalen the snow still lay like a dirty gray frill around the tree trunks. It was seven o’clock on Sunday morning. He hadn’t passed any cars for several minutes. On a gentle curve, he took his foot off the pedal. The track he turned into was wet and ravaged by potholes, but it was fine. He stopped behind a stony ridge and switched the engine off. Waited. Listened.
No one could see him. He took off his watch. A big black diving watch. Alarm clock function. He would sleep for two hours.
Two hours was all he needed.
THIRTY-TWO
To be expected, really.”
Alvhild Sofienberg took the story of Aksel Seier’s disappearance remarkably well. She faintly arched an eyebrow, then stroked a distracted finger over her downy upper lip and made a barely audible smacking sound, as if her dentures were loose.
“Lord only knows how I would have reacted to news like that myself. It’s hard to imagine. Impossible. But he looked as if he had a good life?”
“Definitely. Well… it’s actually very hard to say anything about his life based on our brief meeting. He lives in a fantastic place. Right by the sea. A beautiful beach. He has a good house. It seemed like he… fit in. In his surroundings, I mean. The neighbors knew him and cared about him. That’s really all I can say.”
“Incredible,” muttered Alvhild.
“At least, given the circumstances,” said Johanne.
“I mean these new computer things.”
Alvhild waved her fingers around.
“Just think, it took less than a week to find out where in the world Aksel Seier lived. Incredible. Absolutely incredible.”
“Internet.”
Johanne smiled.
“You’ve never thought about getting Internet access? You might enjoy it, as you’re just…”
“Lying here dying,” said Alvhild sharply. “That would be something, wouldn’t it? I’ve only got my IBM typewriter from 1982. Unfortunately it’s a bit heavy to have on my lap, but if I have to, I have to.”
She looked over at the desk by the window, where a berry-red machine stood with a sheet of blank paper at the ready.
“I don’t write much anymore, so it doesn’t really matter. I’ve written my will. My children visit me every day. They’re well cared for and as far as I can see, reasonably happy. The grandchildren seem to be behaving themselves. Sometimes they even come to see me without making it too obvious that they’ve been ordered to do so. I don’t even need a telephone. But if I’d been younger…”
“You’ve got such beautiful eyes,” said Johanne and swallowed. “They are so… blue. They’re so unbelievably blue.”
Alvhild’s smile was fresh, a smile that Johanne didn’t deserve. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
