There was something about his eyes, something critical, which signalled that he would not allow himself to be deceived and would not automatically believe what they told him. Reilly grew nervous. The hedge trimmer could come down on them at any moment.
‘We’ve been up since nine,’ Axel said. ‘He would not have gone far on his own. He scares easily.’
‘Does he have a mobile?’ Skarre asked.
‘It’s inside,’ Axel said, ‘and that’s weird. That he didn’t put it in his pocket, because he always does.’
Skarre turned to the divers who were leaning against the rescue vehicle.
‘All right,’ he called out. ‘Let’s get started.’
He fixed his glance on Reilly.
‘Were you drinking last night?’
Reilly shrugged. ‘We had a little wine. Jon was the first to go to bed, but he wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you were thinking.’
‘I don’t think anything,’ Skarre said.
Then, having considered this for a moment, he asked: ‘Are you missing anything?’
‘What do you mean?’ Axel frowned.
‘Is anything missing?’ Skarre explained. ‘Did Jon Moreno take anything with him?’
‘We haven’t noticed anything missing,’ Axel said.
Skarre issued instructions to the emergency team, and the divers started carrying their equipment down to the lake. Skarre himself joined Sejer in the cabin. Reilly followed. He went to the kitchen and lifted the kitten out of the cake tin. His hands were the size of plates. You could eat porridge out of them, Axel used to say. The kitten was lying there, curled up.
‘Where did you find it?’ Sejer said.
‘In the forest,’ Reilly said. ‘The other kittens were dead. So was their mother. I brought it inside. There are foxes around here.’
‘Yes,’ Sejer said. ‘They need to eat too.’
‘It’s not food,’ Reilly said gruffly.
They sat down in front of the fireplace. Sejer wanted to know their names, dates of birth and where they worked. If they often came to this cabin at Dead Water, and why it was called Dead Water, did they know? Did they have a map of the area? No, Axel replied. He mostly asked questions about Jon. About how long they had known him. If he was depressed, if he had indicated that he might want to end it all. They said he had been quiet the whole evening, a little introverted, as though he was struggling with difficult issues. He pops anti-anxiety pills all the time, Axel explained.
‘What’s he scared of?’ Sejer asked.
Axel was momentarily wrong-footed.
‘This anxiety of his is complicated,’ he said, ‘because we don’t know all the things that he worried about.’
‘He was scared, but you never asked him what he was scared of?’ Axel and Reilly looked at each other.
‘I don’t think you quite understand anxiety,’ Axel began.
‘Yes,’ Sejer said, ‘I do. And I expect old friends to know one another. His pills, where are they? Did he take them with him?’
Reilly looked up from the kitten.
‘He always keeps them in his pocket. Never goes anywhere without those pills. Not that they do him much good, in my opinion. Jon trembles like an old man. Like this.’
He held up his hand to demonstrate.
Sejer picked up a Nokia mobile phone lying on top of a pile of newspapers.
‘Jon’s mobile?’
The sight of the mobile made Reilly nervous. He got the feeling they had overlooked something. Perhaps it has to do with truth, he thought, it has its own quality which you cannot emulate, its own pure tone.
‘So what do you think?’ Sejer wanted to know.
‘Well,’ Axel said, ‘we fear the worst. That he might have jumped into the lake. Last night. While we were sleeping.’
‘Why would he have done that?’
‘He was hospitalised. In a psychiatric ward.’
‘Is that a reason?’
Axel smiled patronisingly. ‘You probably don’t understand what I mean,’ he said.
‘Can he swim?’ Skarre asked.
‘No,’ Axel said. ‘Jon can’t swim.’
The search and rescue team was moving towards the lake.
Reilly followed Sejer and Skarre with his eyes. They acted as if they owned the place. The cabin, the grassy bank and the lake. There was something very organised about them, a sense of purpose which made him feel uneasy.
Sejer looked at the green boat, then across the lake.
‘How deep is it?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know,’ Axel said.
‘Have you touched the boat?’
‘No.’
Sejer squatted down. ‘I’m asking because I can see that someone has moved it,’ he said. ‘It used to lie higher up, there are marks in the grass.’
We did not see those, Reilly thought, because it was dark. We did not even think about them. That’s it, we’re going to get caught.
Sejer wandered up and down the shore; Skarre walked alongside him. They conferred quietly with each other.
‘This is the only place you can wade into the water,’ Sejer observed. ‘If Jon walked into the lake, then this is where he did it. The rocks on the other side look inaccessible. Or what do you think?’
‘How do you get up into the mountains?’ Skarre asked.
‘From the other side,’ Reilly explained. ‘It’s a long way. And it’s very steep.’
He closed his mouth. It was best to shut up and let the police draw their conclusions in peace. When the whole miserable business came to light one day, they would just have to deal with it then. Sejer talked to the divers and agreed on an approximate point where Jon might lie.
‘If he’s in the water at all. There are other possibilities,’ Sejer said.
The rubber dinghy was launched and the divers waded into the water. The Red Cross team would search the forest area around the lake. Abel the Alsatian strained on his leash, keen to get going. The divers were now some distance out and one of them had gone under with a powerful torch. When their work was well under way and the search party had disappeared into the sheep fields, Sejer asked to see where Jon had been sleeping. They returned to the cabin. Axel opened the door to the smallest bedroom. The room was almost bare, with red gingham curtains, a small bedside table and a paraffin lamp. On the wall hung a photo of the King and Queen of Norway. Axel pointed to the sleeping bag. It was green with orange lining and lay in a messy heap on the foam mattress. A blue nylon bag was leaning against the wall.
‘Is that Jon’s bag?’
They nodded.
‘What time did he go to bed?’
‘It was around midnight. Or what do you think, Reilly?’
‘Midnight,’ Reilly mumbled.
‘You said he was quiet last night? That he was quieter than usual?’ Sejer asked.
‘He was very depressed,’ Axel explained, ‘and has been for a long time: that was why he had been admitted to Ladegården. Jon is a worrier, he can’t handle very much. We should not have let him sleep on his own,’ he added. ‘I don’t know what we were thinking.’
A flash of anguish crossed his face. He is in control of every single muscle, Reilly thought.
‘Do you know why he fell ill?’ Skarre asked.
They shook their heads.
‘People get ill,’ Axel said. ‘It happens.’
‘Did it happen suddenly?’
‘I suppose it was gradual.’
‘And when did it start?’
Reilly felt like giving up right there and then. They would want to know everything. They would talk to Jon’s mother and his friends, the staff at the hospital and his colleagues at Siba Computers, where he had worked over the past year, and everyone would add a piece to the puzzle. All the police would have to do was put them together.
I need to get high, he thought.
‘It started last winter,’ Axel said.
He had decided to tell the truth as far as possible. Other people would r
emember that was when it had started. It was a question of being one step ahead.
‘He was having trouble sleeping. It must have been around Christmas. He lost weight. He was off sick from work. In spring it got worse; eventually he couldn’t manage even the simplest things and he spent the whole summer in bed. We went to visit him a couple of times, but he turned his face to the wall and wouldn’t talk to us. He was admitted four weeks ago. We’ve been so worried,’ Axel said, ‘and we don’t know what’s happened, but we fear the worst.’
‘Let’s not meet trouble halfway,’ Sejer said.
‘It usually works out all right,’ Skarre said.
Four hours later they found the body of Jon Moreno.
The rubber dinghy was pulled ashore and the search in the forest was called off. The Alsatian padded over the grass, alert, its ears pricked up. Axel and Reilly went down to the lake to see Jon. Axel with the solemnity befitting a man in mourning, Reilly with downcast eyes and trembling hands.
Jon was lying on a stretcher. Never before had he looked so small, so defenceless. Reilly turned away and took a few steps towards the forest. Poor Jon. Consumed with guilt and shame. The next instant he felt bitter because he would have to bear this torment until the day he died. And even worse, it dawned on him, Ingerid Moreno would ask them to be pall-bearers. From now on they would have to pretend. They would have to fake it for the rest of their lives, weigh up every single word, calculate every gesture, every glance.
He stopped and looked back. It was not easy to see that it was Jon lying on the stretcher, it was just a skinny carcass with the face of a stranger. How much death takes from us, he pondered – warmth, colour and vitality. Now there is only wet, grey skin over sharp bones. Axel went over to the stretcher. He fell to his knees and mumbled a few words which the wind carried in Reilly’s direction.
‘Sorry, Jon, for not taking better care of you.’
They were told to come to the police station.
Axel closed the windows in the cabin and Reilly cleared up the rooms. All the way back to town he sat with the cake tin on his lap as he fretted about what the police would do to them. Axel insisted it would be a mere formality. Everything would be over and done with in a matter of minutes.
‘What more can we say apart from what we’ve already told them?’ he said. ‘Jon went to bed around midnight and that was the last we saw of him. We’ve just simplified events. They can’t pin anything on us. What evidence is there?’
Reilly stroked the kitten. They did not talk much the rest of the way because ultimately no words could express what had happened.
Three hours later they parked outside the police station. They had to wait in reception. Again Reilly voiced his concerns about everything that could go wrong.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Axel reassured him. ‘It’s a straightforward story. It’s impossible to screw it up.’
Reilly became aware of two people crossing the room. One of them seemed familiar. He gripped Axel’s arm.
‘It’s Ingerid,’ he whispered.
Reilly had known that this was something they would have to get through, but it was happening sooner than he had imagined, and he hadn’t had time to prepare himself. Ingerid Moreno was accompanied by a female police officer and now she spotted them. She collapsed and started sobbing. Axel shot up from his seat.
‘We didn’t know he was in such a bad way,’ he said. ‘If we had known, we would have taken better care. And if the hospital had known about his intentions, they would not have given him permission to leave for the weekend. Ingerid. Listen to me. None of us could have foreseen this.’
Ingerid Moreno nodded and wiped away her tears. Reilly remained in his seat without saying anything. Ingerid did not appear to see him. She was caught in the light which always surrounded Axel. If Axel could act so convincingly, with such apparent sincerity, how often had he himself been deceived? What was the basis of their friendship? Was it all just one big lie, a star performance?
‘You must come and visit me some time,’ Ingerid pleaded. ‘We need to talk. Please.’
‘We’ll come,’ Axel said. ‘There is so much we want to tell you. All the things we shared with Jon. Which you don’t know about.’
‘Tell me he was a good boy,’ Ingerid begged. ‘Tell me that he was a good person.’
‘Yes,’ Axel Frimann said. ‘Jon was a good person.’
‘It’s possible that Jon Moreno took his own life,’ Sejer said.
Axel and Reilly looked at him in amazement. His words were so unexpected that they gawped. Was he considering other options? Why would he do that? Was it an automatic response? Perhaps he instinctively thought they were dishonest because in the course of his work he was unaccustomed to meeting honest people? It struck them that this man never made assumptions, not even about an obvious suicide. And if he decided Jon’s death had been a suicide, he would still want to know why it had happened and if it could have been prevented. If Jon had tried to kill himself before, if there had been warning signs, if they had ever discussed the subject of death and what, if anything, Jon had expressed. Anxiety, relief, longing. If he was taking something in addition to his prescribed medication, if he had said anything during the evening which had made them wonder.
‘Think back,’ he said. ‘Go through everything that happened. What about the drive there in the car: did something happen on the way, did you stop anywhere?’
They had not expected such attention to detail. Calmly and methodically Sejer worked through the events of the past two days and Skarre noted down everything that was said.
‘In cases such as this,’ Sejer went on, ‘we follow a procedure. It consists of a series of questions. We will come back to you when we have more information such as the autopsy report, and after other friends and relatives have been interviewed.’
Skarre had pushed his chair towards the wall. He exuded a boyish enthusiasm as though these routines had not yet started to affect or bore him.
‘Let’s talk about last night,’ Sejer said. ‘His final hours. Was he in a particular mood or had anything about him changed?’
‘It was a quiet evening,’ Axel said. ‘We just discussed stuff as friends do.’
‘Such as?’
‘You want to know what we talked about?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s one of the questions we need to ask.’
Axel Frimann raised an eyebrow.
‘We talked about films,’ he said. ‘We go to the cinema a lot and we have strong views about what we see.’
‘Are you interested in acting?’
‘I’m fascinated by it,’ Axel admitted. ‘All the roles we need to play. If we’re good, we’ll go far.’
‘Are you good?’ Sejer wanted to know.
Axel smiled a patronising smile.
‘I do all right,’ he said.
Skarre’s pen raced across the pad. From time to time he looked up, alert.
‘What about Jon?’ Sejer asked. ‘Could he play a role? Was he capable of acting?’
Axel hesitated.
‘Jon was quite helpless,’ he said. ‘What can I say? He was at the mercy of reality. No shield. So I suppose the answer is no.’
‘Can you tell me anything about Jon’s reality?’ Sejer asked.
Axel glanced towards Reilly for support, but he had lowered his head so that his long hair concealed his face like a curtain.
‘You had better ask at the hospital,’ Axel suggested. ‘Ask his doctor. She must have found out something during the last few weeks.’
‘I will talk to his doctor,’ Sejer said, ‘but I also need to ask his best friends. You were close, weren’t you? What else did you talk about?’
‘Ladegården Hospital. Jon told stories from the ward. It was funny.’
‘How long was he there?’
‘Four weeks.’
‘You visited him there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he like it t
here?’
‘He didn’t have a choice,’ Axel said.
They talked about Jon for an hour. When it was all over, Axel held out his hand.
‘Please don’t hesitate to get in touch if there is anything else,’ he said.
CHAPTER 6
‘Well, who would have thought it?’ Jacob Skarre said. ‘Frimann, Reilly and Moreno are in our system. And they have been since last December.’
Sejer leaned forward and read the screen.
‘They were questioned as part of a missing person’s case,’ Skarre said, ‘but it was just a routine interview. An odd coincidence. Or perhaps there’s no such thing?’
‘I’ll have a look at the file,’ Sejer said. ‘But there’s no reason to suspect that a crime has been committed, so we’ll proceed on that basis. For now,’ he added. ‘And if there is a link, it’ll show up eventually, don’t you think?’
‘It’ll show up,’ Jacob Skarre agreed.
Three days later they visited Axel Frimann in his flat. Axel was convinced that he had made a good impression on the two men. There were several factors which contributed to his credibility; his attractive appearance and broad shoulders were only two of them. He was eloquent too. He spoke with concern and restraint and most of the time he felt on top of the situation. Concealing details about Jon’s suicide was a tiny act he had performed to spare Ingerid Moreno more painful knowledge. He directed Sejer and Skarre to the sofa while he pottered about because being active gave him a sense of control. Axel Frimann never relinquished power.
‘When it comes to Jon’s death,’ Sejer said, ‘there are a few details which baffle us. That’s why we are here.’
Axel looked at him, open and inquisitive, and thanks to his complete mastery of his features his face took on an expression of mild, indulgent patience. He moved closer to the window. As though he wanted to steal radiance from outside and appear in an innocent light.
‘We would like to talk to you about them,’ Sejer said.
Axel noticed that Skarre was already busy taking notes.
‘At some point during the night Jon got up and went outside,’ Sejer said. ‘He sneaked out of the cabin while you and Reilly were asleep. You heard nothing, so we don’t know what time that was.’