Anne Holt - Fear Not

He sobbed and wiped his mouth.

‘My father is more of a thinker than my mother was. In religious terms he’s… stricter, in some ways. He’s absolutely fascinated by Catholicism. If it hadn’t been for my mother’s position I think he would have converted a long time ago. Last autumn my mother attended an ecumenical conference in Boston, and my father went with her. He visited every single Catholic church in the city.’

Lukas hesitated for a moment.

‘He’s also more strict with himself than my mother was. I don’t think he’s ever really got over the fact that his parents were disappointed in him. He’s their only child.’

He added this final comment with an expression that suggested it explained most things.

‘So are you, I notice.’ Adam looked at his papers again, turned over his pad and quickly scribbled down a couple of sentences.

‘Yes.’

‘You’re… twenty-nine years old?’

Adam was surprised when he saw Lukas’s date of birth in the file. The previous day he had assumed the bishop’s son was well into his thirties.

‘Yes.’

‘So your parents had been married for fourteen years when you were born.’

‘They studied for a long time. Well, my mother did, anyway.’

‘And they never had any more children?’

‘Not that I know of.’

The acidic alertness was back.

Adam smiled disarmingly and quickly asked: ‘When you say they loved each other more than anything in the world, what are you basing that on?’

Lukas looked stunned.

‘What am I…? What do you mean?’ Without waiting for an answer he went on. ‘They showed it a hundred times a day! The way they spoke to one another, the experiences they shared, everything… for God’s sake, what kind of a question is that?’

His expression was almost frightening, with the blood-red eye wide open. Suddenly he stiffened, holding his breath.

‘Is something wrong?’ Adam asked after a few seconds. ‘Mr Lysgaard! What’s the matter?’

Slowly the man expelled the air from his lungs.

‘Migraine,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve just started to get visual disturbance.’ He spoke in a monotone, and was blinking rapidly. ‘One half is shimmering…’ He held up one hand, forming a barrier between his right and left eye.

‘It means that in exactly twenty-five minutes I will get a headache so severe that it’s indescribable. I have to get home.’

He stood up so quickly that his chair fell over. For a moment he lost his balance and steadied himself against the wall. Adam looked at his watch. He had allocated the entire day to this interview, which had hardly begun. Although he had already learned enough to give him something to think about, it was difficult to hide his irritation at this interruption. But that was of no consequence. Lukas Lysgaard was already lost to this world.

‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said quietly. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘No. Home. Now.’

Adam fetched Lukas’s coat from a hook on the wall. The man showed no sign of wanting to put it on. He simply took it and dragged it along behind him as he headed for the door. Adam moved quickly and got there first.

‘I can see you’re not well,’ he said, his hand resting on the door handle. ‘We will, of course, postpone the rest of this interview until a more suitable time. Unfortunately, however, there is one question I do have to ask. You heard it yesterday, in fact.’

Lukas Lysgaard’s expression remained unchanged. It almost seemed as if he was no longer aware that Adam was in the room.

‘What was your mother doing out walking on Christmas Eve?’

Lukas raised his head. He looked Adam straight in the eye, licked his lips and swallowed audibly. It was clearly taking a huge amount of effort to steel himself against the pain he knew would come.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I have no idea why my mother was out so late.’

‘Did she usually go out in the evening? Just before bedtime? I mean, was it normal for her to…’

Lukas was still holding his gaze.

‘I have to get home,’ he said hoarsely. ‘No. I have no idea where my mother was going or what she was doing. Take me home. Please.’

You’re lying, Adam thought as he opened the door. I can see that you’re lying.

‘I’m telling the truth,’ said Lukas Lysgaard, wobbling into the corridor.

‘You couldn’t tell a lie if you were being paid for it,’ Lina Skytter said with a laugh as she tucked her legs up on the sofa.

‘Leave it out,’ said Johanne, surprised that she felt slightly insulted. ‘I’m actually a specialist in lies!’

‘Other people’s lies, yes. Not your own. If you’d bought spare ribs at Rimi and told your mother they were from Strøm-Larsen, your nose would have grown from here to Sognsvann. Just as well you went for cod instead.’

‘My mother didn’t think so,’ Johanne mumbled into her wine glass.

‘Give over,’ said Lina. ‘Your mum’s lovely. Good with the kids and really kind. She’s just a little… emotionally incontinent, that’s all. It’s as if whatever’s on her mind has to come out of her mouth right away, kind of. Forget it. Cheers!’

Johanne raised her glass and tucked her feet underneath her. Her best and oldest friend had turned up just an hour ago, with two bottles of wine and three DVDs. Johanne had felt slightly irritated for a few minutes; she had actually been looking forward to an evening on her own with the computer. But now they were sitting at either end of the big sofa, and Johanne couldn’t remember when she had last felt so relaxed.

‘God, I’m so tired.’ She smiled and gave an enormous yawn. ‘I don’t notice it until I relax.’

‘You have to stay awake. We’re going to watch…’ Lina shuffled through the pile of films on the coffee table. ‘… What Happens in Vegas first. Ashton Kutcher is just gorgeous. And no critical comments. We’re just going to have a nice time.’

She kicked out at Johanne, who shook her head, her expression resigned.

‘How much time do you actually waste on stuff like this?’ she asked.

‘Don’t be so bloody tight-arsed. You like it, too.’

‘Well, can I at least watch the news first? Just so that we have some kind of basis in reality before we dive into a vat of syrup?’

Lina laughed and raised her glass in agreement.

Johanne switched on the TV and just caught the last few seconds of the opening headlines. The top story was as she expected: Bishop Eva Karin Lysgaard murdered in the street – the police have no leads so far.

‘What?’ said Lina, her mouth falling open as she sat up straight on the sofa. ‘Murdered? But how the hell…?’

She put her feet on the floor, put down her glass and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

‘It’s been all over the net and on the radio all day,’ Johanne said, turning up the sound. ‘Where have you been?’

Christian Borch was wearing a dark suit and a serious expression.

‘The police have today confirmed that the bishop of Bjørgvin, Eva Karin Lysgaard, was murdered on the evening of the twenty-fourth of December. Yesterday it was announced that Bishop Lysgaard had died, but the circumstances surrounding her death were not made public until this morning.’

The picture changed from the studio to a rain-soaked Bergen, where a reporter gave a summary of the case, which was basically two minutes about nothing.

‘Is that why Adam’s away?’ Lina asked, turning to Johanne.

She nodded.

‘As far as we are aware, the police have no leads regarding the identity of the killer at this stage.’

‘Which means they have lots of leads,’ said Johanne. ‘But they have no idea what to do with them.’