‘With regard to this theory about a madman, one of those ticking bombs that everybody is talking about all the time-’
‘An asylum seeker,’ Sigmund chipped in, and was about to expand on this theme when a crushing glance from Adam made him hold up his hands in a placatory gesture.
‘If that were the case, we would have found him long ago,’ said Adam. ‘That type of murder is carried out by psychotic individuals who happily roam the streets after doing the deed, spattered with blood and tormented by inner demons until we find them a few hours later. It’s been three weeks now, and we’ve seen no sign of any maniac. No one is missing from the psychiatric clinics, nothing suspicious has been discovered at the centres for asylum seekers, and I think it’s actually…’
He tapped the pad with his pen.
‘… out of the question that we’re looking for that kind of murderer.’
‘I should imagine that’s exactly what the Bergen police are thinking.’
‘Yes. But they’re still keeping the door open.’
Sigmund nodded.
‘That door should just be closed,’ said Adam. ‘Along with several other doors that are just creating draughts and chaos with all their possibilities. These poison-pen letters, for example. Have you ever been involved in a case where the murderer was one of the people who’d sent that sort of thing?’
‘Well,’ Sigmund said hesitantly. ‘In the Anna Lindh case the murderer was unhappy about-’
‘The Swedish Minister for Foreign Affairs was murdered by a madman,’ Adam interrupted. ‘In every practical respect, if not in the legal sense. A misfit with a psychiatric background who suddenly caught sight of a focus for his hatred. He was arrested two weeks later, and he left so many clues that-’
‘That you and I would have picked him up in less than twenty-four hours,’ Sigmund smiled.
Adam grinned back.
‘They’ve been really unlucky, the Swedes, in several really, really serious cases…’
Once again they fell silent. From the room next door came the sound of a running shower and a toilet being flushed.
‘I think that’s a blind alley, too,’ said Adam. ‘Just like this abortion business the papers are making so much of at the moment. It’s the anti-abortion lobby that sometimes commits murders in support of their point of view. In the US, anyway. Not the pro-abortionists. That’s just too far-fetched.’
‘So what are you thinking, then? You’ve gone through virtually every possibility we’ve got! What the hell are you sitting there pondering?’
‘Where was she going?’ said Adam, staring blankly into space. ‘We have to find out where she was going when she was murdered.’
Sigmund emptied his glass and stared at it briefly before resolutely opening the plastic bottle of Famous Grouse and pouring himself another decent measure.
‘Take it easy,’ said Adam. ‘We’ve got to make an early start.’
Sigmund ignored his warning.
‘The problem is, of course, that we can’t ask Eva Karin Lysgaard,’ he said. ‘And her husband is still flatly refusing to say anything about where she was heading. Our colleagues here have told him he has a duty to answer, and have even threatened him with a formal interrogation. With the consequences that could have-’
‘They’ll never subject Erik Lysgaard to a formal interrogation. It would be pointless. He has suffered enough – and is still suffering. We’ll have to come up with something else.’
‘Like what?’
Adam emptied his glass and shook his head when Sigmund lifted the bottle to offer him a top-up.
‘Door-to-door enquiries,’ Adam said tersely.
‘Where? All over Bergen?’
‘No. We need to…’ He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out a map of the town. ‘We need to concentrate on a limited area somewhere around here,’ he said, drawing a circle with his index finger as he held the map up to show his colleague.
‘But that’s half of bloody Bergen,’ Sigmund said wearily.
‘No. It’s the eastern part of the centre. The north-eastern part.’
Sigmund took the map.
‘You know what, Adam? This is the stupidest suggestion you’ve ever come up with. It’s been made absolutely crystal-clear in the media that there’s a great deal of uncertainty about why the Bishop was out walking on Christmas Eve. If anyone out there knew where she was going, they would have contacted the police long ago. Unless, of course, they have something to hide, in which case there’s still no bloody point in going around knocking on doors.’
He threw the map on the bed and took a large swig from his glass.
‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘she might just have gone out for a walk. In which case we wouldn’t be any closer to finding an answer.’
Adam’s face took on the glassy expression Sigmund knew so well.
‘Any more bright ideas?’ he said, sipping his whisky. ‘Ideas I can shoot down right now?’
‘The photo,’ said Adam firmly, before glancing at his watch.
‘The photo. Right. What photo?’
‘It’s half past eleven. I need to get some sleep.’
‘Which photo are you talking about?’
Sigmund showed no sign of heading off to his own room. On the contrary, he settled himself more comfortably in the armchair and rested his legs on the bed.
‘The one that disappeared,’ said Adam. ‘I told you about the photograph that was in the “spare room”…’
He drew quotation marks in the air.
‘… where Eva Karin used to go when she couldn’t sleep, according to the family. There were four photographs in there the first time I saw the room, and three when I went back two days later. The only thing I remember is that it was a portrait.’
‘But Erik Lysgaard doesn’t want to-’
‘We’ll just have to forget Erik. He’s a lost cause. I’ve spent far too long thinking the key to finding out more about this mysterious walk lies with him. But we’ve reached stalemate there. Lukas, however-’
‘Doesn’t seem all that keen to cooperate either, if you ask me.’
‘No, you could be right there. Which means we have to ask ourselves why a son who is obviously grieving – and who really wants to find out who murdered his mother – is so reluctant to help the police. There’s usually only one explanation for that kind of thing.’
He looked at Sigmund with raised eyebrows, challenging him to follow his reasoning through to its conclusion.
‘Family secrets,’ said Sigmund in a dramatic tone of voice.
‘Bingo. They often have nothing to do with the matter in hand, actually, but in this case we can’t afford to make any assumptions. My impression of Lukas is that he’s not really…’
There was a long pause. Sigmund waited patiently; his glass wasn’t empty yet.
‘… he’s not really sure of his father,’ Adam said eventually.
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re obviously very fond of each other. There’s a striking resemblance between them, both physically and in terms of personality, and I have no reason to believe there’s any problem with the relationship between father and son. And yet there’s something unresolved between them. Something new. You notice it as soon as you’re in the same room with both of them. It’s a long way from hostility, it’s more a kind of…’
Once again he had to search for the right words.
‘… broken trust.’
‘Do they suspect each other?’
‘I don’t think so. But there’s something unspoken between them, some kind of deep scepticism that…’
Once again, mostly as a reflex action, he looked at his watch.
‘I mean it, Sigmund. I have to get to sleep. Clear off.’
‘You always have to spoil the party,’ mumbled his colleague, putting his feet on the floor. His room was two
