Anne Holt - The Blind Goddess

He could try the binoculars with his gloves on. There wasn’t much to see. Lavik had obviously drawn all the curtains, which was understandable, since he wouldn’t be so stupid as not to realise he was under observation. From that point of view it seemed rather foolish that they were making such efforts to remain invisible. He sighed. What a tedious job. Lavik was certain to hole up for several days, bearing in mind that he’d lugged in bag after bag of food, plus a laptop computer and a fax.

Suddenly he straightened up. He blinked rapidly to disperse the tears caused by the freezing wind. Then he tore off his gloves, flung them to the ground, and focused the binoculars more accurately.

What the devil was it casting those dancing shadows? Had he lit a fire? He lowered the binoculars for a moment and stared up at the chimney outlined in silhouette against the dark night sky. No, there was no smoke. What could it be, then? He put the binoculars to his eyes again, and now he could see it clearly. Something was burning. And burning fiercely. All at once the curtains were aflame.

He threw down the binoculars and raced towards the house.

“The house is on fire!” he roared into his radio. “The bloody house is on fire!”

The radio was superfluous: they could all hear him without it, and two of them came running over. The first one there smashed open the door, saw in an instant where the regulation fire extinguisher was, and hurtled into the living room. The smoke and heat stung his eyes, but he located the source of the fire immediately and fought his way across the room wielding the jet of powder like a frenzied sword before him. The blazing curtains scattered glowing fragments into the air and one landed on his shoulder, setting his jacket alight. He beat out the flame with his hand, scorching his palm, and went on undeterred. His colleagues had arrived, and one seized a woollen blanket from the sofa, the other unceremoniously ripped down a splendid Sami woven wall hanging. In a couple of minutes they had smothered the flames. Most of the room was saved. Even the electricity hadn’t gone off. Lavik, however, had.

The three detectives stood surveying the scene as they recovered from their exertions. They saw the two remaining cords and discovered the little mechanism that had not yet sent off the fax.

“Bloody hell,” the first swore quietly, shaking his painful hand, “the fucking lawyer’s tricked us. He’s conned us good and proper.”

“He can’t have gone before seven. The surveillance team swear they saw him look out of the window at five to seven. In other words he can’t have more than an hour’s start, hopefully less. For all we know, he might have scarpered only minutes before it was discovered.”

Hanne Wilhelmsen was trying to calm Håkon’s agitation, but without much success.

“Warn the other stations in the area. They’ve got to stop him at all costs.”

He sounded breathless and kept gulping noisily.

“Håkon, just listen. We’ve no idea where he is. He may have gone home to Grefsen and be watching some comedian on TV and having a drink with his wife. Or driving round the city. But the crucial point is that we’ve got nothing on him that would justify another arrest. The fact that our surveillance team let themselves be duped is clearly a problem, but it’s our problem, not his. We may well be tailing him, but he’s not doing anything illegal by giving us the slip.”

Even though Håkon was beside himself with anxiety, he had to admit that Hanne was right.

“Okay, okay,” Håkon interrupted as she was about to continue. “Okay. I know we can’t move heaven and earth. I understand what you’re saying. But you must believe me: he’s out to get her. It all fits in: the note about Karen that was taken when you were beaten up, her statement that vanished. He must be behind it all.”

Hanne sighed. This was a new tack.

“You can’t seriously think it was Jørgen Lavik who knocked me out? And that he was the one who sneaked up from a custody cell to your office and stole the statement and then got back down again closing all the doors behind him? You must be joking!”

“He needn’t have done it himself. He might have accomplices. Hanne, listen to me! I know he’s after her!”

Håkon was really frantic now.

“Will it set your mind at rest if we take the car and go over there?”

“I thought you’d never suggest it… Pick me up by the riding school in Skøyen in a quarter of an hour.”

Perhaps the whole thing was just an excuse to see Karen. He couldn’t swear that it wasn’t. On the other hand, his dread lay like a physical knot of pain beneath his ribs, and was definitely not just a figment of his imagination.

“Call it male intuition,” he said ironically, and sensed rather than saw her smile.

“Intuition’s neither here nor there,” she scoffed. “I’m doing this for your sake, not because I agree with you.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Since speaking to him twenty minutes ago on the phone she’d been getting an increasing feeling that his agitation might well be justified. It was difficult to put a finger on what had made her change her mind. His certainty, perhaps: she’d lived long enough not to ignore other people’s instincts and presentiments. Besides, Lavik had seemed so demoralised and desperate when she’d last seen him that he might be capable of anything. Nor did she like the fact that Karen Borg hadn’t answered the phone all evening-it might mean nothing, of course, but she didn’t like it.

“Keep trying her number,” she said, inserting a new cassette into the player.

Karen was still not responding. Hanne glanced across at Håkon, put her hand on his thigh, and patted him gently.

“Relax, it’s good if she’s not there. Anyway…”

She looked at the clock on the dashboard.

“Anyway, he couldn’t possibly have reached there yet, not even by the most pessimistic reckoning. He’d have to find himself a car first, and in the unlikely event of his having one ready to hand near the cottage, he still couldn’t have got away until after seven. Probably later. It’s twenty past eight now. Stop worrying.”

That was easier said than done. Håkon released the little lever on the right of his seat and let it recline as far as it would go.

“I’ll try,” he muttered disconsolately.

Twenty past eight. He was hungry. In fact he hadn’t eaten all day. His elaborate preparations had taken the edge off his appetite, and his stomach had become unaccustomed to food after ten days of semi-fasting. But now it was rumbling insistently. He indicated and pulled off into a lit-up parking area. There was plenty of time for something to eat. He had about a three-quarter-hour drive left. Plus another quarter of an hour to find his way to the right cottage. Maybe even half an hour, since the students’ meeting there had been so long ago.

He parked the Lada between two Mercedes, but it didn’t appear intimidated by such exalted company. Lavik smiled, gave it a friendly pat on the boot lid, and went into the café. It was an unusual building, rather like a UFO that had taken root in the ground. He ordered a large bowl of pea soup, and took a newspaper to the table with him. He was in no great hurry now.

They had already passed Holmestrand and the tape had played both sides. Håkon was bored with country music, and hunted in the tidy console for something else. They didn’t say much on the journey; it wasn’t necessary. Håkon had volunteered to drive, but Hanne had declined. He was content not to, but less happy about the fact that she’d been chain-smoking ever since they passed through Drammen. It was much too cold to open the window, and he was beginning to feel sick. His own chewing tobacco didn’t help. He used a tissue to get rid of it, but couldn’t avoid swallowing the last few bits.