Punishment aka What Is Mine

for her. He held it up and laughed.

“Warren says I could have been a good player,” he said.

“Warren says a lot,” said Johanne, putting plates on the table. “Food will be ready in fifteen minutes, so you’d better get a move on.”

The document was grubby and full of scribbles she couldn’t understand. But it wasn’t difficult to read the contents of the table. Adam sat down on the sofa beside her and leaned over to look at the piece of paper that was on her knee, the knee closest to him that brushed his thigh every now and then. They were each holding a steaming mug.

“Can you see anything of interest?” he asked.

“Not much. And I agree with you that the nurse doesn’t seem important.”

“Because she’s a woman?”

“Maybe. Hmm. And the plumber too. Apart from…”

A cold thought made her shudder. The plumber lived in Lillestrom.

Pull yourself together, she thought to herself. It’s a pure coincidence. Lots of people live in Lillestrom. It’s just outside Oslo. The plumber has nothing to do with the Aksel Seier case. Get a grip!

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she mumbled. “I’m just researching something else, an old case from… Forget it. It’s really got nothing to do with this. I think you can forget the plumber.”

“I think so too,” he nodded. “We agree. But why?”

“Not quite sure.”

She ran her finger over the page again. She stopped at the column headed “Contact.”

“Maybe because it’s the fathers he’s been in contact with. He is the only one of these people who has only been in touch with the fathers. Tonnes Selbu, Emilie’s father. Lasse Oksoy, Kim’s father. For one reason or another, I think it’s got something to do with the mothers. Or… I don’t know… Look. He helped Tonnes Selbu with the translation of a novel, but they never actually met. Pretty loose connection.”

“Strange to talk to a plumber about a novel,” Adam said into his mug.

“Maybe it was about a central heating engineer,” she said drily. “Who knows? But look here! July 23, 1991!”

“What about it? Where?”

“Lena Baardsen said that she had a relationship with Karsten Asli in 1991. That relationship must have made a strong impression on her. She remembers the date she last saw him, even though it was nearly ten years ago. July 23, 1991! Do you remember things like that?”

He was sitting too close to her. She could feel his breath on her face, coffee breath with warm milk. She straightened her back.

“I’ve actually never been together with anyone other than my wife,” he said. “We started dating in secondary school. So…”

He smiled and she couldn’t bear to sit there any longer.

“… I have no idea about that sort of thing,” he continued as he followed her with his eyes when she disappeared into the kitchen. “But surely it’s more typical of women to remember details like that, I would think.”

When she came back without actually having gotten anything, she sat down in the chair on the other side of the glass table. His expression was unreadable.

She couldn’t understand him. On the one hand he seemed to be showing a nearly intrusive interest. Surely it couldn’t be purely professional. Not the way he had carried on, first having her nearly hauled into his office, then seeking her out in the U.S., and then picking her up at ICA, of all places. He was interested. But because he never did anything to follow up, never did anything other than come looking for her, to talk, he made her feel…

… stupid, she thought. I don’t even understand myself. I invite you to dinner. You walk around in my apartment in my shirt with my name on it, you put the duvet over my child. You spend time with my child, Adam. Why is nothing happening?

“I think it’s odd,” she said lightly. “Remembering a date like that.”

The piece of paper lay between them.

“I have always been deeply skeptical of photographers,” smiled Adam. “They distort reality and call it real.”

“And I of gynecologists,” she said, not looking at him. “They often lack the most elementary form of human empathy. The men are worst.”

“That sounds rather judgemental to be coming from you. What’s your view on youth workers?”

They both laughed a little. It was good that she’d moved. He didn’t make a fuss about it. Just settled down, as if it was in fact more comfortable to have the whole sofa to himself.

“Have you got any further with the cause of death for Kim and Sarah?”

“No.”

He drank the rest of what was in his mug.

“If we assume that there actually is a cause of death,” said Johanne, “then…”

“Of course there’s a cause of death! We’re talking about two healthy, strong children!”

He looked older when he wrinkled his brow. Much older than her.

“Could they have been… frightened to death or something like that?”

“No, not as far as I know. Do you really think that’s possible? To frighten someone with a healthy heart to death?”

“No idea. But if our man has found a way to kill people without leaving a trace…”

She felt a shiver down her neck again. She lifted her hair and ran her fingers through her bangs.

“… that means that he has ultimate control. And I guess that fits in with his profile.”

“What profile?”

“Wait.”

She stared at the piece of paper. It was lying so the text was facing Adam; the writing was so small that she couldn’t read it upside down. She held a finger in the air, as if she needed complete silence to finish her train of thought.

“This man wants revenge,” she said tensely. “He has a serious, antisocial personality disorder or he’s a psychopath. He can do what he’s doing now because he feels that it is right or justified. He believes he has a claim to something or other. Something he never got or that was taken away from him. Something that is his. He’s taking back… what is his!”

Her finger was like an exclamation mark between them. Adam’s face was immobile.

“Could he be… Is the murderer actually the father of these children?”

Her voice was trembling; she heard it herself and coughed. Adam paled.

“No,” he said eventually. “He’s not.”

Johanne’s finger gradually sank.

“You’ve checked,” she said in a disappointed voice. “If the children are their fathers’ children?”

“Yes.”

“It would have been nice to know,” she said. “Especially as you think I can help you.”

“I just hadn’t gotten that far yet. We know that Emilie’s biological father is not Tonnes Selbu. But we don’t think he knows that himself. The other children…”

He sank slowly back into the sofa and opened his hands.

“Everything indicates that they are their fathers’ children.”

Johanne’s eyes didn’t leave the piece of paper. The King of America was whimpering on the other side of Kristiane’s closed door. Johanne didn’t get up. The dog’s whining rose in volume.

“Should I-?” Adam started.

“I had a bit of a girls’ night here yesterday,” she interrupted. “We got a bit tipsy, all of us.”

Jack started to howl.

“I’ll let him out,” said Adam. “He probably wants to pee.”