Karin Fossum - The Caller

‘No doubt he promised her money,’ she declared. ‘Or he promised her the house. That’s the kind of thing old people do when someone takes pity on them.’

‘We have no reason to believe that,’ Sejer said. ‘She is not a beneficiary in his will. But you are.’

Johnny Beskow was appointed a defence lawyer. Sejer was pleased it was a woman, and he knew she had a son Johnny’s age. Because he was a minor, he could not be held in custody. But he had to report to the police station three times a week, and he was always right on time. After he’d reported to the front desk, he would go straight to Sejer’s office. There they would talk over a glass of mineral water. Johnny Beskow put all his cards on the table, and admitted it had been fun to scare people senseless. But it was a game, he said. ‘I just wanted to stir things up a bit. I never meant to hurt anyone.’

‘But you did hurt people,’ Sejer said sternly. ‘You hurt them badly, perhaps for life. And even if you don’t understand it today, you may understand it later, when you’re older.’ He looked directly into the young man’s eyes. ‘What has your life been like? Your life with your mother at Askeland?’

Johnny grew morose, and his face assumed a bitter expression. ‘She’s never sober. And she takes it out on me. It’s really unfair.’

‘Yes,’ Sejer said, ‘it is unfair. What about you? Have you been fair? I mean, have you been fair to Gunilla? To Astrid and Helge Landmark? To Frances and Evelyn Mold? Have you been fair to Karsten and Lily Sundelin?’

Johnny leapt from his chair and paced the room. Threw angry glances at Sejer over his shoulder. ‘Why should I be fair when nobody else is fair?’

‘Do you know this for a fact?’

Johnny didn’t respond. He continued his irritable pacing.

‘I’ve always been fair,’ Sejer said. ‘Throughout my entire life. It was never difficult.’

‘Aren’t you a saint,’ Johnny said.

‘Let’s talk about Theo,’ Sejer said, ‘and what happened to him. You say you’ve never been up to Bjørn Schillinger’s house. But you know his house is on the top of a hill. How do you know that?’

Johnny stopped pacing. He leaned over the table, grasped Sejer’s burgundy-coloured tie and tugged at it. ‘He lives at Sagatoppen. It’s obvious he lives on top of a hill. You can blame me for everything except the dogs! I will tell you one thing: either way, my life isn’t worth much. If what happened with the dogs was my fault, I would’ve drowned myself.’

He stuck to his story.

As if the truth had given him a special power.

He stared into Sejer’s eyes without wavering; he held his hands out as if to demonstrate how clean they were.

His voice was strong and firm.

Don’t blame me for what happened to Theo .

They came to like each other in a quiet sort of way. Sejer had nothing against being a father figure to the delinquent boy, and Johnny had lost the only person who had ever meant anything to him. Because Johnny had to report so often, they met regularly. Occasionally Sejer bought simple food, which he heated in the microwave.

‘You’ll have to be satisfied with frozen dinners,’ Sejer said apologetically. ‘I’m a terrible cook.’

‘OK, Grandpa,’ Johnny said. ‘But you’re pretty good at warming up meals.’ He shovelled mouthfuls of food and looked at Sejer. ‘All this attention you give me, is it part of your plan? So that I’ll make more confessions? You’re mistaken if you think it will lead to something. I’m not walking into that trap.’ He put his index finger to his temple. ‘I’m not stupid.’

‘You’re too skinny,’ Sejer said. ‘That’s the only reason.’

One day, after they’d talked for a while, Johnny leaned eagerly across the table. ‘What’s going to happen to my mother?’

‘It’s too early to say,’ Sejer said. ‘But it’s not looking good for her.’

‘She’s never going to admit to anything. She’ll deny it until her dying day. But she can’t be trusted, not one damn bit. Will she get life?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Will they give her only bread and water? Will they keep the lights on all night? Cell inspection every hour?’

‘Would you like to see that happen?’

‘I would’ve liked to see her in the electric chair. Or in the gallows. Or in the garrotte.’

‘Such medieval methods are no longer used, thank God,’ Sejer said.

‘Everyone complains about the Middle Ages,’ Johnny said. ‘They say everything was so much worse then. But the garrotte was used right up until 1974.’

‘And where would that be?’

‘In Spain.’

‘How do you know these things?’

‘I know everything about that kind of thing,’ Johnny said. ‘It’s the way I think.’

Sejer sized him up. ‘I want to talk about what happened to your grandfather. We have to get to the bottom of it. Be prepared to have many long conversations. We’ll need to do it right.’

‘If my mother is convicted, she’ll be disinherited, right?’

‘I would imagine so,’ Sejer said. ‘Would that make you happy?’

‘Yes. It would’ve made Grandpa happy too.’

Sometimes Johnny Beskow seemed indifferent and detached, sometimes childish and playful — only in the next second to appear very mature. No one had taught him how to interact with others. He understood neither written nor unwritten laws. But other times he grew sentimental, like when he talked about old Henry. Time and again, Mai Sinok confirmed his concern for the old man. Regularly and faithfully he had visited the house on Rolandsgata, both eager and attentive. Sejer thought the justice system would let him off easy, because he was young and had no prior convictions, and because his upbringing had been of the unfortunate variety.

Justice for Theo was another matter.

Schillinger was interrogated on multiple occasions. But regardless of how hard they pressed him, he stuck to his story with the same intensity Johnny Beskow stuck to his.

No, I have never forgotten to close the gate, not once. I’m not trying to wriggle out of my responsibility, but there should be some justice here. I refuse to shoulder blame for another’s crime. Should some young brat be allowed to destroy my entire life?

The rumour spread quickly: a teenage boy from Askeland was behind the acts of terror which had beset the community for weeks.

October arrived, and Matteus auditioned for the part of Siegfried in Swan Lake , a unique opportunity to get noticed by important people in the world of ballet. Late that same afternoon, he stood at Sejer’s door with his Puma bag slung over his shoulder. Something in his smile and in his eyes seemed promising.

‘How’d it go?’ Sejer asked. ‘Come on. Did you get the part? I need to know this minute. Don’t make me wait.’

Matteus entered his flat. He dropped his bag on the floor with a little thump.

‘The part went to Robert Riegel,’ he said.

Sejer looked at him in exasperation. ‘Robert who? What did you say?’

‘Riegel,’ Matteus repeated.

He squatted down to stroke Frank’s head. He seemed oddly unmoved by it all. When he petted the dog his brown hands had a special sensitivity.

‘And who is that?’

‘Well, he’s a phenomenal dancer,’ Matteus said simply, without looking at his grandfather’s eyes.

‘Hm. Is he better than you? Are you telling me he’s better than you?’

‘Clearly,’ Matteus said, getting to his feet. ‘In any case, Robert Riegel is the one who gets to throw himself in the lake with Odette in the fourth act.’

‘So that’s how it ends?’ Sejer said, slightly perplexed.

‘Yep. They throw themselves in the lake.’