Adam put his hands to his face. His breath was coming in short gasps. Johanne had never noticed it before, but his wedding ring was digging so deep into his finger that he probably wouldn’t be able to get it off.
‘You have to find this woman,’ she whispered, moving so close to him that her lips brushed his ear. ‘And then you have to get Erik to tell you the name of the person to whom he revealed this great secret.’
‘The first part will be easy,’ he said from behind his hands, his voice muffled. ‘I think the second part will be impossible.’
‘But you have to try,’ said Johanne. ‘At least you have to make an attempt to talk to Erik Lysgaard.’
The Bishop’s widower was sitting in his usual old armchair staring blankly out into the living room, which was almost in darkness. Only a lamp next to the TV and a candle on the coffee table cast a soft, yellow glow over the room. Lukas was sitting in his mother’s armchair. It was as if he could feel the warmth of her on his back, the contours of the mother he missed with an intensity he couldn’t possibly have imagined before she died.
‘So at least we know the reason,’ he said quietly. ‘Mum died because she took a stand. She died for her generosity, Dad. For her faith in Jesus.’
Erik still didn’t answer. He had barely said a word since his son had arrived three hours ago, and he had refused to eat any of the food Lukas had brought with him. A cup of tea was all he had managed to get down, and that had taken some persuasion.
He had, however, agreed to read the newspaper. In a way that was a sign of life, Lukas thought.
‘Why hasn’t anybody contacted me?’ his father said, so unexpectedly that Lukas spilt a little of his own tea. ‘I don’t think I should have to read about this in the paper.’
‘They rang me. I had Inspector Stubo on the phone this morning, from Flesland. He had to go back to Oslo, and I didn’t think it was a good idea for them to send somebody else to talk to you. You’ve kind of… got used to him. I knew you wouldn’t be listening to the radio or watching TV, and you don’t answer the phone either, so I thought it was best if I came myself. I came as soon as I could, Dad.’
Erik gave him a long, lingering look. His eyes were red-rimmed, and from the corners of his mouth a deep, dark furrow ran down either side of his chin. His nose was narrower now, and seemed bigger. In the flickering candlelight he looked half-dead.
‘You don’t sound very well,’ he said. ‘You sound as if you’ve got a cold.’
‘Yes.’ Lukas smiled wearily. ‘I’m not on top form. But it’s good to know this, Dad. To know there was a particular reason why she was murdered. We should be proud of the fact that she…’
His father gasped. Snorted, snivelled audibly and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said in a loud voice.
‘But Dad, things will be easier now. Stubo thinks this is a major breakthrough, and they’re almost bound to clear up the case. It’ll be easier for both of us to move on when we know what-’
‘Did you hear me? Did you hear what I said?’
His father was trying to shout, but his voice wouldn’t hold.
‘I don’t want to talk about this! Not now. Not ever!’
Lukas took a deep breath and was about to say something, but changed his mind. There was nothing more to say.
Sooner or later his father would reach a turning point in his grief. Lukas was sure of it. Just as he himself had felt a strange sense of relief when Stubo rang while they were getting William dressed, in time his father would also find comfort in the knowledge that Eva Karin had died for something she believed in.
There was no longer any point in going on at his father about the photograph.
When Astrid told him late last night that she had given the photograph to Adam Stubo, he had yelled, ranted and sworn at her. In the middle of his outburst he had hurled a glass vase on to the kitchen floor. It exploded into a thousand pieces, and only when he saw her terrified expression and realized she was afraid he was going to attack her did he manage to calm down.
It didn’t matter so much any more.
His mother’s murder would be cleared up, and it evidently had nothing to do with a missing sister. Adam Stubo had promised him over the phone that the photo would be returned as soon as they had made copies, and had said it was probably less central to the murder than he had first thought. The body would be released and the funeral could take place in just five days.
That would help all of them.
His father, too, he thought. It was more important for his father than for any of them to be able to draw a line under this before too much longer.
When all this was over, Lukas could look for his sister in peace. Whatever Astrid thought. At any rate, there was no need to bother his father about why the photograph had been moved from his mother’s room and hidden in the attic.
He still had a sore throat. The tea tasted bitter, and he put down the cup.
His father was asleep. At least it looked that way: his eyes were closed, and his scrawny chest was moving up and down with a slow, even rhythm.
Lukas decided to stay. He closed his eyes, pulled his mother’s old tartan blanket over him and fell asleep.
Long Day’s Journey into Night
When the telephone rang it was as if someone were tugging at him. Adam grunted, turned over and tried to get whoever was holding his calf to let go. He kicked out at thin air, pulled the covers over him and groaned again. The sound of the mobile grew louder, and Johanne put the pillow over her head.
‘It’s yours,’ she said sleepily. ‘Answer the bloody thing. Or switch it off.’
Adam sat up abruptly and tried to work out where he was.
He fumbled around on the bedside table in confusion. His old mobile had turned out to be beyond repair, and he wasn’t used to the ringtone of the new one.
‘Hello,’ he mumbled, and noticed that the glowing numbers on the clock were showing 05:24.
‘Good morning, it’s Sigmund! Were you asleep? Have you read
‘Of course I haven’t read the bloody paper, it’s the middle of the night.’
‘Do you know what’s in it?’
‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam growled. ‘But I assume you’re intending to tell me.’
‘Go away,’ Johanne groaned.
Adam swung his legs around and rubbed his face with one hand to wake himself up.
‘Hang on,’ he said, pushing his feet into a pair of dark blue slippers.
Johanne and Adam had sat up until three. When they finally stopped discussing the case, they decided to wind down with an old episode of
Now he was practically unconscious.
He stumbled into the bathroom and the stream of urine splashed against the bowl of the toilet as he held the phone up to his ear and said: ‘Right, I’m listening now.’
‘Are you pissing?
‘What’s going on with
‘They’ve got every single bloody name. Of the victims.’
Adam closed his eyes and swore, silently and with feeling.
‘I can’t get my head round this at all,’ said Sigmund. ‘But all hell has broken loose here, as you can imagine! There are journalists everywhere, Adam! They’re calling me and everybody else non-stop, and-’
‘Nobody’s called me.’
‘They will!’
Adam shambled into the kitchen, trying not to make a noise as he picked up the kettle with one hand.
‘I realize we’re in deep shit when it comes to leaks,’ he said with a yawn. ‘But did you really have to wake me
