Anne Holt - Fear Not

‘Are you ill, Dad? Is that why you slept so late?’

‘No, no. It’s just a bit of a cold. Thank you so much for breakfast. Maybe I can enjoy it and have a look at the papers, then I’ll come down in a little while?’

He didn’t even look at Rolf.

‘OK,’ said the boy, and headed off.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Rolf. ‘Anything else you need?’

‘Everything’s fine. This is really kind of you both. I’ll be down in half an hour, OK?’

Rolf hesitated. Looked at him. Marcus forced himself to adopt an unconcerned expression and licked his finger demonstratively as he prepared to turn the page.

‘Enjoy,’ said Rolf as he left the room.

It didn’t sound as if he meant it.

‘I was really intending to speak to you alone,’ said Adam Stubo, looking from Erik to Lukas and back again. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’d be much happier with that arrangement.’

‘To be perfectly honest,’ Erik replied, ‘what makes you happy isn’t the most important thing right now.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Adam mumbled.

Erik had certainly perked up. In their earlier encounters his indifference had bordered on apathy. This time the scrawny widower had something aggressive, almost hostile about him. Adam hesitated. He had prepared himself for a conversation with a man in a completely different frame of mind from the one Erik was clearly in at the moment.

‘I’m rather tired,’ said Erik. ‘Tired of you constantly turning up here with nothing to tell us. From what Lukas tells me, there has been a breakthrough in the investigation, in which case I would have thought you might have better things to do than coming out here yet again. If you’re going to start on about where my wife was going so late at night, then…’

It was as if he had suddenly used up all his reserves of energy. He literally collapsed; his shoulders slumped and his head drooped down towards his flat, bony chest.

‘I’m not going to say anything I haven’t said already. Just so we’re clear.’

‘There’s no need,’ Adam said calmly. ‘I know where Eva Karin was going.’

Erik slowly lifted his head. His eyes had lost their colour. The whites had taken on a bluish tinge, and it was as if all the tears had washed away the blue from the irises. Adam had never seen an emptier gaze. He had no idea what he was going to say.

‘Lukas,’ Erik said, his voice steady. ‘I would like you to leave now.’

At last time could begin to move again, thought Martine Brække as she struck a match.

The portrait of Eva Karin, which normally stood in the bedroom where no one ever saw it, had been moved into the living room. It had been the police officer’s suggestion. He had asked her if she had a photograph. She had fetched it without a word, and the big man had held it in his hands. For a long time. He almost seemed to be on the point of bursting into tears.

She held the match to the wick of the tall white candle. The flame was pale, almost invisible, and she went and switched off the main light. She stood for a moment before picking up a little red poinsettia and placing it next to the photograph in the window. The glitter on the leaves sparkled in the candlelight.

Eva Karin was smiling at her.

Martine moved a chair over to the window and sat down.

A great sense of relief came over her. It was as if she had finally, after all these years, received a kind of acknowledgement. Until now she had borne her grief over Eva Karin’s death all alone, in the same way as she had borne her life with Eva Karin for almost fifty years all alone. When Erik turned up the day after the murder, she had let him in. She had regretted it immediately. He had come for company. He wanted to grieve with the only other person who knew Eva Karin as she really was, but she had quickly realized they had nothing in common. They had shared Eva Karin, but she was indifferent to him now, and had sent him away without shedding a tear.

The big police officer had been another matter.

He treated her with respect – admiration almost – as he walked around the small living room talking to her quietly, occasionally stopping at some item he found fascinating. The only thing he really wanted to ask her about, and the reason for his visit, was whether she had ever told anyone else about her relationship with Eva Karin Lysgaard.

Of course she hadn’t. That was the promise she had once made, that sunny day in May 1962 when Eva Karin promised never to leave her again – with the proviso that their love be a secret, a secret only the two of them knew.

Martine would never break a promise.

The policeman believed her.

When he told her that the funeral was to be held on Wednesday and she replied that she didn’t want to go, he had offered to call in when the ceremony was over. To tell her about it. To be with her.

She had said no, but it was a kind thought.

Martine moved her chair closer to the window and ran her finger gently over Eva Karin’s mouth. The glass felt cold against her fingertips. Eva Karin’s skin had always been so soft, so unbelievably soft and sensitive.

They would do all they could to keep the story out of the public eye, Adam Stubo had said. As far as the investigation was concerned, there was probably nothing to be gained by publicizing details of this kind, he added, although of course he couldn’t guarantee anything.

As she sat here by her own window looking out over the city beyond the portrait of the only love of her life, she felt as if it wasn’t really important. Naturally, it would be best for Erik if their secret was never revealed. And for Lukas, too. It struck her that as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter at all. She was surprised. She straightened her back and took a deep breath.

She felt no shame.

She had loved Eva Karin in the purest way.

Her, and her alone.

Slowly she got up and blew out the candle.

She picked up the photograph.

Martine was almost sixty-two years old. Her life as it had been up to this point was over. And yet there could be more waiting for her – a whole new life as a wise old woman.

She smiled at the thought.

Wise, old and free.

Martine was free at last, and she put the photograph back on the bedside table. Adam Stubo had told her about his own grief when he found his wife and child dead after a terrible accident, an accident for which he felt he was to blame. His voice shook as he quietly explained how life had begun to go round in circles, a constantly rotating dance of pain from which he could see no escape.

She closed the bedroom door.

Time could begin to move again, and she said a quiet prayer for the kind police officer who had made her realize that it was never, ever too late to start afresh.

DC Knut Bork shook hands with Johanne before passing a document over to Silje Sørensen.

‘There you go,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had time to look at it yet.’

Silje opened a drawer and took out a pair of reading glasses.

‘According to the woman who brought it in, we’re talking about a considerable amount of money here,’ Bork went on. ‘Apparently, the testator died a long time ago, and Niclas Winter hasn’t seen any of the inheritance to which he’s entitled under the terms of this will.’

‘May I see?’ Johanne asked tentatively.

‘We need a lawyer,’ said Silje without looking up. ‘This is sensational, to put it mildly.’

‘I’m a lawyer.’

Both Knut Bork and his boss looked at her in amazement.

‘I’m a lawyer,’ Johanne repeated. ‘Although I did my doctorate in criminology, I have a law degree. I don’t remember much about inheritance law, but if you’ve got a statute book I’m sure we can work out the general gist.’