Anne Holt - Fear Not

For a while she stood there, trying to work out what she actually felt.

Exhaustion, she thought. Irritation, perhaps.

Anxiety.

‘Of course,’ she said wearily. ‘I’ll go and get you some milk and honey.’

She closed the door quietly behind her and went down to the kitchen. By the time she got back with the drink, Lukas had fallen asleep.

‘There you go,’ said Silje Sørensen, handing Johanne a cup of hot chocolate. ‘I get a bit boss-eyed from all the coffee I drink, so I keep some of this in reserve.’

‘Thanks,’ said Johanne. ‘And thank you for seeing me at such short notice.’

‘I was curious!’

Silje Sørensen’s laugh was somehow out of proportion with her slender body.

‘I’ve heard of you and read about you,’ she continued, ‘but I’m also happy to see anyone Hanne Wilhelmsen sends in my direction. How is she, by the way?’

Johanne opened her mouth to reply, then changed her mind. Hanne wouldn’t like being talked about.

‘Oh, you know,’ she said with a shrug, hoping that the noncommittal response would make Silje Sørensen change the subject. Actually, she ought to be doing that.

‘The thing is,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘I don’t really know where to start.’

‘No?’

‘I’m a criminologist and I work-’

‘As I said,’ Silje interrupted her, ‘I know who you are. Is it OK if I call you Johanne?’

‘Of course. I’m working on a research project on hatred at the moment.’

‘Interesting.’

It almost looked as if she meant it. Her gaze was direct and she shook her head as if to clear her mind.

‘Hate crime,’ Johanne corrected herself. ‘The National Police Board has asked me to undertake a major investigation into hate crime.’

Silje Sørensen blinked. She put her cup down on the desk and slowly pushed it away. Her eyes narrowed and the tip of a pink tongue flicked across her lips.

‘I see.’

‘Attacks on individuals where the crime is motivated by-’

‘I’m well aware of what hate crime is.’

Silje Sørensen had a bad habit of interrupting, Johanne thought.

‘Of course,’ she nodded. ‘Of course you are.’

They sat like that for a surprisingly long time. In silence, each waiting for the other to say something. Johanne tried to guess how old Silje Sørensen might be. She must be younger than her, but not much. Thirty-five, perhaps. Maybe even younger. She was well-groomed and smartly dressed without seeming out of place in this environment.

Dainty, thought Johanne. She had never felt dainty in her entire life.

Silje’s hands were slender and her nails so perfectly manicured that Johanne hid her own by putting down her cup and sliding her hands under her bottom.

‘Are you looking at hate crimes directed against one particular group, or are you looking at the bigger picture?’

Silje was leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk.

‘The thing is,’ Johanne said, taking a deep breath. ‘I think I need to start from the beginning. Can you spare half an hour to listen to a very strange story?’

A large diamond on the ring finger of Silje Sørensen’s left hand sparkled in the bright light as she made a generous and inviting gesture.

‘Fire away,’ she said. ‘I’m all ears.’

Johanne knocked back the rest of her hot chocolate and started to tell her story, unaware that she now had a large, brown, seriously unflattering milk moustache.

Adam still hadn’t heard anything from Johanne, and it worried him. He was back in his hotel room picking up some notes he had forgotten when the temptation to lie down for a few minutes grew too much. Deep down he suspected he had left the papers behind on purpose. Lunch at the hotel was significantly better than anything the Bergen police had to offer, and since it was included in his full board he didn’t even feel guilty.

Except when it came to the chocolate pudding.

He had eaten two helpings, and a slight feeling of nausea persuaded him that he really did need just a tiny little rest. He kicked off his shoes and threw himself on the bed. It was a bit too soft, particularly lying on top of the covers, but if he could just find the right position he would fall asleep.

He didn’t want to sleep.

He wanted to get hold of Lukas.

Ever since the episode on the roof it was as if the guy was playing cat and mouse with him. Adam had decided not to disturb Astrid unnecessarily after their melancholy encounter out in Os. Therefore he had only called Lukas on his mobile, but it always went straight to voice-mail. Lukas never called him back. In the end Adam had rung the university, but they seemed to have virtually no idea where Lukas might be. He was clearly being given considerable leeway after his mother’s tragic death.

Adam’s eyes closed.

The fact that Johanne hadn’t called worried him. She had sounded so peculiar on the phone last night.

He sat up abruptly.

He didn’t have time for this.

His irritation over the Bishop’s uncooperative son made him feel wide awake.

‘You might not want to, but you’re going to have to,’ he mumbled crossly as he searched for the number of the house in Os. He keyed it in. The phone rang for so long that he was on the point of giving up when a subdued female voice eventually answered.

‘Lysgaard.’

‘Good afternoon, it’s Adam Stubo. I apologize for disturbing you on Tuesday. I hope you-’

‘It’s fine. No need to apologize. I assume you found Lukas eventually.’

‘I did, yes. But now I need to talk to him again, actually. There’s no answer on his mobile, and I wondered if you’d have any idea where he might be?’

‘He’s here.’

‘At home? At this time of day?’

‘Yes. He’s ill. It’s only a sore throat, but he’s got a temperature and… he’s really not very well at all.’

‘Oh.’

In a flash Adam saw the drenched, shivering figure of Lukas Lysgaard from two days ago in his mind’s eye.

‘Anything I can help you with?’ said Astrid.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

He could hear running water and the slamming of a cupboard door.

‘Then again, there might be,’ he said suddenly. ‘It’s just one small detail. Nothing important, really, but perhaps you could help me, then I won’t need to disturb a sick man. It’s about your mother-in-law’s… sanctuary.’

He laughed. There was silence at the other end of the line.

‘You know, the room on the ground floor where she used to go when she couldn’t sleep. The room where-’

‘I know the room you mean. I’ve hardly ever been in there. A few times, maybe. What’s this about?’

‘There are four photographs in there,’ Adam said, keeping his tone casual. ‘Two or three family photos and a portrait, as far as I remember. I just wondered who the portrait might be?’

‘The woman with…’

Her voice disappeared abruptly, as if it had been snipped off with a pair of scissors.

‘Hello?’ said Adam. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes. I don’t know who she is. I can ask Lukas when he wakes up.’

‘No, no, there’s no need. Don’t bother him with details. I’ll give him a call in a couple of days.’

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No. Say hello from me and tell him to get well soon.’

‘Thank you, I will. Bye.’

The connection was broken before he had time to say goodbye. He put down the phone and lay back on the bed, his hands linked behind his head.

At least now he knew the photograph was of a woman.

He felt slightly guilty at having deceived Astrid, but the feeling quickly disappeared when it struck him that she had probably lied to him in return. The way she had suddenly broken off in the mid-sentence suggested something had occurred to her.