Alvhild’s fingers stroked her cheek, dry and hard, like twigs on a dead tree.
“Now you’ve made me happy, Johanne. My husband used to say exactly the same thing. Always.”
There was a knock at the door. Johanne sat up quickly and pulled away from the bed, as if she’d been caught in the act of doing something wrong.
“I think it’s time for a rest now,” said the nurse.
“I’ve got no say over my life anymore,” Alvhild complained, and rolled her eyes.
Johanne couldn’t withdraw her arm. Alvhild’s hand was grasping her wrist like a clamp.
“You think you can just disappear now then?”
The nurse stood impatiently by the bed, hand on hip and looking at the ceiling.
“Just a minute,” Alvhild said through tight lips. “I’m not quite finished with this young lady. If you wouldn’t mind just waiting in the hall, I’ll soon be ready for my afternoon nap.”
The white uniform withdrew with some hesitation, as if she suspected that Johanne had ulterior motives. They heard that she didn’t go far and the door was left ajar.
“I don’t see what more I can do,” stuttered Johanne. “I’ve read the documents. I agree with you. Everything indicates that Aksel Seier was subject to a gross miscarriage of justice. I’ve found the man, travelled halfway across the world, talked to him. If I was set a task, I’ve completed it.”
Alvhild laughed, a low, hoarse laugh that swiftly changed into a dry cough.
“We don’t give up that easily, Johanne.”
“But what…”
“There must be a notice of death.”
“What?”
“The old woman who went to the police in 1965. She believed that her son was guilty. That’s what led to Aksel Seier’s release! The reason that she went to the police was that her son had died. All I know about the woman is that she lived in Lillestrom. You and your Internet… Do you think you could find a notice of death in the local paper from June 1965? There would only be mention of one family member.”
Johanne looked over at the door. Something white was moving backward and forward, impatiently.
“One relative. How do you know that?”
“I don’t
She waved her hand.
“But enough about that. Try. Look.”
The nurse’s patience was exhausted.
“I must put my foot down now. Mrs. Sofienberg needs all the rest she can get.”
Johanne smiled lamely at Alvhild.
“If I get time, I’ll…”
“You’ve got time, my dear. At your age, you have all the time in the world.”
Johanne didn’t even manage to say good-bye properly. Only when she was out on the street did she realize that Alvhild’s room no longer smelled of onions. She was also reminded of something that she hadn’t thought about since she got back from the States. She had seen something in Aksel Seier’s house, something that had caught her attention, but too late. For one reason or another, she’d been reminded of it up in Alvhild’s room, during their conversation. Something that was said, or something she’d seen.
She developed a headache on the way home.
“His name is the King of America.”
“What?”
It was the ugliest animal Johanne had ever seen. Its fur was the same color as the contents of Kristiane’s diapers when she was at her worst, yellowy-brown with darker, unidentifiable specks. One ear stood straight up and the other flopped down. Its head was too big for its body. The beast’s tail beat like a whisk and it looked as if it was laughing. Its tongue nearly wiped the floor.
“What did you say his name was?”
“The King of America. My dog. Dog tag.”
Kristiane wanted to carry the dog, which seemed enormous to be only three months old. But the puppy didn’t want to be picked up. In the end, Kristiane followed it into the living room, on all fours, with her tongue hanging out of her mouth.
“Where did she get the name from?”
Isak shrugged.
“We’re reading
“Jack,” Kristiane called from the sitting room. “He’s also named Jack.”
A shiver ran down Johanne’s spine.
“What is it?”
Isak stroked her arm.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Yes. I just don’t understand the child.”
“It’s only a name. God, Johanne, it’s nothing to get…”
“Forget it. What have you been up to?”
She turned her back on him. The King of America peed on the living-room carpet. Kristiane was about to pull down a container of cereal from the cupboard in the kitchen. She was standing in the top drawer and could fall at any moment.
“Oops!”
Johanne caught her and tried to give her a hug.
“Jack likes cornflakes,” said Kristiane, and she wriggled loose.
The lid opened and she dropped the container. The dog came running. Soon child and dog were rolling in cornflakes. They crunched against the floor and Kristiane howled with laughter.
“At least
“Shhhh!”
Isak laid his finger over her mouth; she pulled back.
“Jack’s beautiful. Has something happened? You look so… there’s something about you.”
“Give me a hand,” she replied curtly, and went to get the vacuum cleaner.
She really could not fathom what had made Kristiane decide to name the dog Jack, King of America.
THIRTY-THREE
He felt strangely nervous. Perhaps he was just tired. The two hours’ sleep on a side road in Lavangsdalen, three quarters of an hour’s drive from Tromso, had helped of course. But he still didn’t feel all that bright-eyed. The muscles in his lower back ached. His eyes were dry. He blinked furiously and tried to squeeze out some tears by yawning. His nervousness manifested as a prickly feeling in his fingertips and an uneasy hollow feeling in his stomach. He gulped some water from a bottle in long, deep gulps. The car was parked behind the student apartments at Prestvannet. Students come and go. They borrow cars. They have visitors. It was the perfect place to park. But he couldn’t sit in the car for much longer. Someone would notice. Especially here, where there were so many single women. He put the top back on the bottle and took a deep breath.
It took less than five minutes to walk to the small path at the top of Langnesbakken. He knew that, of course, as he’d been here before. He knew her habits. Knew that she was always at home on the last Sunday of the month. Her mother would come at five o’clock sharp, as she always did. Just to check. To check her property. Disguised as a family meal. Sunday roast, a good glass of wine and beady eyes. Clean enough? Nice enough? Has
