Punishment aka What Is Mine

She threw her arms around herself and rocked from side to side, with her head down, as if she was holding a baby in her arms.

Damaged goods, Warren had once said about a boy they had found after he’d been held hostage for five days. Those kids are damaged goods, you know.

The boy couldn’t speak, but the doctors said there was a good chance that he would regain the ability. It would just take time. They should also be able to do something about the damage to his rectum. It would just take time. Warren shook his head without emotion, shrugged his shoulders, and again exclaimed:

Damaged goods.

She was too young then, too young and in love and full of ambitions for a career in the FBI, so she said nothing.

“Can I stay the night?” said Adam.

She lifted her head.

“It’s late,” said Adam.

She tried to breathe. Something was caught in her throat and she froze.

“Can I?” asked Adam.

“On the sofa,” said Johanne, and swallowed. “You can sleep on the sofa, if you want.”

She was woken by a strip of sunlight squeezing its way in through the gap between the blinds and the window frame. She lay still for a long time, listening. The neighborhood was quiet; one or two birds had already started their day. The alarm clock said it was six o’clock. She had only slept for about three hours, but she got up all the same. It was only when she went to the bathroom that she remembered that Adam had stayed the night. She tiptoed out into the living room.

He was sleeping on his back with his mouth open, but there was no noise. The blanket had slipped half off to reveal a solid thigh. He had on blue boxer shorts and her football shirt. His arm was resting on the back of the sofa and his fingers were clutching the coarse material, as if he was holding on in order not to fall on the floor.

He was so like Warren on the outside. And yet so different in every other way.

One day I’ll tell you about Warren, she thought to herself. One day I’ll tell you what happened. But not yet. I think we’ve got plenty of time.

He grunted a bit and a small snort made his Adam’s apple jump. He turned over in his sleep to find a new position. The blanket fell to the floor. She carefully laid it over him again; she held her breath and tucked the red checkered blanket around him. Then she went into the study.

Sunlight streamed in through the window to the east and made it difficult to see. She pulled down the blinds and turned on her computer. The secretary at work had sent an e-mail, with five messages. Only one of them was important.

Aksel Seier was in Norway. He wanted to meet her and had left two numbers. One was for the Continental Hotel.

Johanne hadn’t thought about Aksel Seier since she’d found Emilie. Unni Kongsbakken’s story had been forgotten in that tomb on Snaubu farm. When Johanne had been wandering aimlessly through the streets of Oslo, before Adam picked her up and took her to the homemade bunker on top of a hill some miles northeast of Oslo, she had been uncertain what to do with the old lady’s story. If there was anything she could do.

All her doubts vanished now.

The story of Hedvig Gasoy’s murder was Aksel Seier’s story. He owned it. Johanne would meet him, give him what was his and then take him to meet Alvhild. Only then would she be finished with Aksel Seier.

Johanne turned around. Adam was standing barefoot in the doorway. He was scratching his belly and gave a lopsided smile.

“It’s early. Really early. Should I make coffee?”

Without waiting for an answer he padded over to her and cupped her face in his hands. He didn’t kiss her, but he was still smiling, more broadly now, and Johanne felt a fresh morning breeze coming in through the half-open window, stroking her legs through her pajamas. The summer the meteorologists had promised for so long was finally here.

“I think it’s going to be a lovely day,” said Adam, and didn’t let go of her. “I think summer is finally here, Johanne.”

SIXTY-NINE

When Johanne met Aksel Seier at the reception desk of the Continental Hotel on the morning of June 9, she barely recognized him. In Harwich Port he had looked like a fisherman and odd job man from a small New England town, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Now he looked more like a tourist from Florida. His hair had been shaved off and he had nothing to hide behind anymore. His face was somber. He didn’t even smile when he saw her, and didn’t ask her to sit down. It was as if he had no time to lose. He spoke in English when he told her that his son was in the hospital following a serious car accident. It was a matter of hours, he said bluntly. He had to go.

“Do you…” Johanne started, then hesitated, completely thrown by the fact that Aksel Seier had a son, a son who lived in Norway, a son who was now lying in the hospital and was about to die. “Do you want company? Do you want me to come? Keep you company?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I think so. Thanks.”

It was only when they were in the cab that she put two and two together.

Later, in the days and weeks that followed, when she tried to understand what had happened in the taxi on the way to the hospital where Karsten Asli lay dying, she was reminded of her old math teacher from secondary school.

For some reason she had chosen science. Maybe because she was good at school, and science was for the smart ones. Johanne had never understood math. Big numbers and mathematical signs were as meaningless to her as hieroglyphs; symbols that remained closed and silent in the face of her persistent efforts to understand. During an exam in her second year, Johanne had what she later thought of as an epiphany. Suddenly the numbers meant something. The equations worked. It was a glimpse into an unknown world, an existence where strict logic ruled. The answers were at the end of a beautiful pattern of symbols and figures. The teacher leaned over her shoulder; he smelled of old people and camphor lozenges. He whispered:

“There you go, Johanne. See! The young lady has seen the light!”

And that’s exactly what it felt like.

Aksel had talked about Karsten. She didn’t react. He told her about Eva. She listened. Then he mentioned their surname, almost in passing, in a subordinate clause as the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital.

There was nothing that could surprise her anymore.

She felt the hairs stand up on her arms. That was all.

Everything fell into place. Karsten Asli was Aksel’s son.

“There you go, Johanne,” whispered her math teacher and sucked on the lozenge in his mouth.

“The young lady has seen the light.”

There were two plainclothesmen in the corridor, but Aksel Seier barely noticed anything or anyone. Johanne realized that he hadn’t yet been told what his son had done. She made a silent prayer that it could wait until it was all over.

She put her hand on Aksel’s shoulder. He stopped and looked her in the eye.

“I’ve got a story for you,” she said in a low voice. “Yesterday… I found out the truth about Hedvig’s murder. You are innocent.”

“I know that,” he said without emotion, and didn’t even blink.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Johanne continued. “When this…”

She quickly looked over at Karsten Asli’s room.

“When all this is over. Then I’ll tell you what actually happened.”