“Plans? On Friday night?”
“Can Kristiane stay over, yes or no?”
“Of course she can, dear. She’s always welcome. You too. You know that.”
“Yes. See you about six then.”
She quickly ended the call before her mother managed to say anything else. Johanne had no plans for Friday night. She had no idea why she’d asked. She and Isak had agreed that if they needed someone to babysit for Kristiane, they would always ask each other first.
She called her voice mail again. Adam’s messages had been deleted. She must have hit the button through force of habit. Lina had phoned while she was talking to her mother.
“Shit!”
Johanne was good at multitasking. She managed to cope every day because she could do lots of things at once. She could plan a birthday party for Kristiane while she did the laundry, at the same time as talking on the phone. She listened to radio programs while she read the paper and managed to digest the content of both. On the way to day care, she planned what they would have for supper and what Kristiane would wear the next day. She brushed her teeth and made oatmeal and read out loud for Kristiane-all at the same time. On the rare occasions when she was going out with other people, she dropped her daughter off at Isak’s or with her parents while she put on her makeup in the car mirror. That’s the way women were. Especially her.
But not at work.
Johanne had chosen to do research because she liked to study things in depth. But it was more than that. She could never have been a lawyer or a bureaucrat. Doing research allowed her to be thorough. To do one thing at a time. To cast a wide net, take time to find connections. Research allowed her to doubt, whereas her daily life demanded fast decisions and make-do solutions, compromises and smart shortcuts. In her work she had the opportunity to go over things again if she wasn’t satisfied.
But now everything was a mess.
When she had hesitantly agreed to research the possible miscarriage of justice against Aksel Seier, it was because it was relevant to her project. But at some point or another-she couldn’t pinpoint when-the case had started to develop a life of its own. It was no longer anything to do with her life at the institute, with her research. Aksel Seier was a mystery that she shared with an old lady whom she was drawn to but at the same time wanted to forget.
And then she had let herself get involved with Adam’s work.
And not five ladies for dinner on Wednesday. She just couldn’t cope.
FORTY
It was only eleven o’clock in the evening on Monday, May 29, but Johanne had already been in bed for an hour. She should have been exhausted, but something was making her uneasy, keeping her awake, without her knowing what it was. She closed her eyes and remembered that it was Memorial Day. Cape Cod would have had its first real weekend of the summer season. Shutters would have been stored away. Houses aired. The Stars and Stripes would be flying from newly painted flagpoles; the red, white and blue national pride flapping in the wind while the sailboats cruised between Martha’s Vineyard and the mainland.
Warren would no doubt have been in Orleans and installed the wife and children for the summer, in the house with a view over Nauset Beach. The children must be grown up by now. Teenagers, at least. Without wanting to, she started calculating. Then she forced herself to think about Aksel Seier. She had a list of names of people who had worked in the Ministry of Justice in the period from 1964 to 1966 in front of her. It was a long list and it told her nothing. Identities. People. People she didn’t know and whose names meant nothing to her.
She had constantly been looking over her shoulder in Cape Cod. Of course they wouldn’t meet. First of all, it was a good fifteen-minute drive from Harwich Port to Orleans and second, there was no reason for anyone from Orleans to go to Harwich Port. The traffic went in the opposite direction. Orleans was big. Bigger, at least. More shops. Restaurants. The fabulous Nauset Beach on the Atlantic Ocean made Nantucket Sound look like a kiddie pool. She knew that she wouldn’t bump into him, but she kept looking over her shoulder all the same.
Again she ran her finger down the pages. Still they told her nothing. The director general, Alvhild’s boss in 1965, had been dead for nearly thirty years. Cross him off. Unfortunately, Alvhild’s closest colleagues had nothing to say. Alvhild had already asked them long ago if they remembered anything, knew anything about Aksel Seier’s extraordinary release. Cross them off.
Johanne dropped her felt-tip pen. It fell down into one of the folds in the duvet. A black stain grew instantly in the middle of all the white. The telephone rang.
Private Number, said the display.
Johanne didn’t know anyone who had a private number.
It must be Adam.
Adam and Warren were about the same age, she thought.
The phone continued to ring when she lay down and pulled the duvet over her head.
The next morning she had a dim memory of the telephone ringing a few times. But she wasn’t sure; her sleep had been heavy and dreamless, right through the night.
FORTY-ONE
Given the exceptional circumstances, the principal was nervous, even though staff numbers had been bolstered by two young trainee teachers. After all, she was the one who was responsible. In her opinion, a trip to the technology museum was reckless and unnecessary, but the others had convinced her. It was close enough for them to walk there and the ten children would be accompanied by four adults. The children had been looking forward to it for so long, and surely there were limits to the restrictions an insane abductor could impose on them. It was broad daylight and not yet noon.
The children were between three and five years old. They walked hand-in-hand, using the buddy system. The principal walked in front, with her arms out, as if she could somehow protect the children better that way. One of the students was at the back and the kindergarten’s only male employee walked beside them on the roadside, singing marching songs so that the children walked in time. Bertha, who was in fact the cook, was on the inside of the pavement.
“Left, right, hup-two-three, everyone keep up with me,” shouted the man. “One foot, two foot, on the ground, nobody look around. Keep your butt tight, shoulders back…”
“Shhhh,” said the principal.
“Butt,” screamed a child. “He said butt!”
Bertha stumbled over a crack in the asphalt and got left behind. One of the little girls let go of her friend’s hand to help.
“Butt,” repeated two boys. “Butt, butt!”
They passed the entrance to the Rema 1000 supermarket. A delivery van was trying to turn out onto Kjelsasveien. The principal made angry gestures at the driver, who replied by giving her the finger. The van rolled slowly forward. Bertha screamed; little Eline stood petrified in front of the bumper. An unleashed dog lolloped over
