in touch?’
‘We meet on a regular basis, yes.’
‘So you know how she makes her living?’
Sharp, angry intake of breath. ‘Of course I know! And don’t you ask me if I’ve tried to talk her out of it. What good does it do? You can’t be the big sister all your life. People have to make their own decisions.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes? What about her?’
‘Does she know?’
‘I doubt it. Impossible to say.’
‘Your brother? Are you in touch with him as well?’
‘Our Karl? Not very often.’
‘No? But he used to stay with you when he had a pass out.’
‘Now and then, yes, he did. He …’
‘I know he’s in prison.’
‘So why are you asking me then?’
‘Because, as of now, he has gone AWOL.’
Her face twitched. ‘What? Him as well?’
‘Him as well? Do you mean that Margrethe has … gone AWOL?’
‘I just mean … gone missing. Him, too.’
‘At about the same time in fact. Last Friday.’
‘Friday,’ she repeated, as though finding it difficult to assimilate the word.
I nodded.
She leaned forward. I caught a faint whiff of her perfume, asdiscreet as the rest of her. ‘But … The police have organised a search, I suppose?’
‘Only departmental for the time being. Neither of them has contacted you, I assume?’
‘No. Neither Karl nor Margrethe. I had no idea about this until you told me.’ Her reaction was visible now. There were two red patches at the top of her cheeks, and I could see her pulse throbbing in her throat.
‘Could they have contacted your mother, do you think?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘She hasn’t got a phone, I’ve been led to believe. Should I go round and see her?’
‘Have fun, if you do!’
I produced the small photo album I had taken from Margrethe’s flat in Nordnes. She regarded it with suspicion. Next she made a show of glancing at her wristwatch. ‘I have to go back to work soon.’
‘Won’t take a moment.’ I opened to two pages. ‘This is Margrethe, isn’t it?’
She took a quick look and nodded.
I flipped through until I found the photograph of the three children and the five adults outside a cabin somewhere in Vestland. I held it out for her. ‘And this is all of you?’
She screwed her head half round, as if to view the photo from the right angle. Then she nodded.
I pointed to Margrethe, then to the second girl and at length to the boy. ‘Margrethe, you, your brother. Which ones are your parents?’
She moved her head from side to side. ‘They’re not there.’
‘Aren’t they? Who are
they
then?’
She shot to her feet. ‘Now I do have to go.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
She cast another swift glance at the photograph. ‘They were some neighbours. We had been invited to their cabin. What’s that got to do with all this?’
‘Nothing, I imagine.’ I gave her my business card. ‘Look, if either Margrethe or your brother contacts you, would you let me know?’
She accepted the card without looking at it, shrugged and left.
I ate the rest of the pastry, drained my coffee cup and went in the same direction as she had gone. Instead of descending to the car park I turned right by the exit, headed for the reception desk at the insurance company and asked if Nils Åkre was in. He was. He could even speak to me. I had a sticker bearing my name attached to my lapel and found my way to his office under my own steam, as usual.
Nils was sitting behind his desk, in the middle of a phone conversation. He motioned me to a free chair with a wave of his hand and carried on talking. When he had finished he cradled the receiver, looked at me quizzically and said: ‘What brings you here? Run out of assignments, have you?’
‘No, today in fact I’m here as a kind of customer.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘Is that right? If it’s life insurance you’re after I’m afraid the incident in Oslo sent your premium through the roof, however good a business contact you are in other ways.’
‘Now I have no
‘We meet on a regular basis, yes.’
‘So you know how she makes her living?’
Sharp, angry intake of breath. ‘Of course I know! And don’t you ask me if I’ve tried to talk her out of it. What good does it do? You can’t be the big sister all your life. People have to make their own decisions.’
‘Your mother?’
‘Yes? What about her?’
‘Does she know?’
‘I doubt it. Impossible to say.’
‘Your brother? Are you in touch with him as well?’
‘Our Karl? Not very often.’
‘No? But he used to stay with you when he had a pass out.’
‘Now and then, yes, he did. He …’
‘I know he’s in prison.’
‘So why are you asking me then?’
‘Because, as of now, he has gone AWOL.’
Her face twitched. ‘What? Him as well?’
‘Him as well? Do you mean that Margrethe has … gone AWOL?’
‘I just mean … gone missing. Him, too.’
‘At about the same time in fact. Last Friday.’
‘Friday,’ she repeated, as though finding it difficult to assimilate the word.
I nodded.
She leaned forward. I caught a faint whiff of her perfume, asdiscreet as the rest of her. ‘But … The police have organised a search, I suppose?’
‘Only departmental for the time being. Neither of them has contacted you, I assume?’
‘No. Neither Karl nor Margrethe. I had no idea about this until you told me.’ Her reaction was visible now. There were two red patches at the top of her cheeks, and I could see her pulse throbbing in her throat.
‘Could they have contacted your mother, do you think?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘She hasn’t got a phone, I’ve been led to believe. Should I go round and see her?’
‘Have fun, if you do!’
I produced the small photo album I had taken from Margrethe’s flat in Nordnes. She regarded it with suspicion. Next she made a show of glancing at her wristwatch. ‘I have to go back to work soon.’
‘Won’t take a moment.’ I opened to two pages. ‘This is Margrethe, isn’t it?’
She took a quick look and nodded.
I flipped through until I found the photograph of the three children and the five adults outside a cabin somewhere in Vestland. I held it out for her. ‘And this is all of you?’
She screwed her head half round, as if to view the photo from the right angle. Then she nodded.
I pointed to Margrethe, then to the second girl and at length to the boy. ‘Margrethe, you, your brother. Which ones are your parents?’
She moved her head from side to side. ‘They’re not there.’
‘Aren’t they? Who are
they
then?’
She shot to her feet. ‘Now I do have to go.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
She cast another swift glance at the photograph. ‘They were some neighbours. We had been invited to their cabin. What’s that got to do with all this?’
‘Nothing, I imagine.’ I gave her my business card. ‘Look, if either Margrethe or your brother contacts you, would you let me know?’
She accepted the card without looking at it, shrugged and left.
I ate the rest of the pastry, drained my coffee cup and went in the same direction as she had gone. Instead of descending to the car park I turned right by the exit, headed for the reception desk at the insurance company and asked if Nils Åkre was in. He was. He could even speak to me. I had a sticker bearing my name attached to my lapel and found my way to his office under my own steam, as usual.
Nils was sitting behind his desk, in the middle of a phone conversation. He motioned me to a free chair with a wave of his hand and carried on talking. When he had finished he cradled the receiver, looked at me quizzically and said: ‘What brings you here? Run out of assignments, have you?’
‘No, today in fact I’m here as a kind of customer.’
He arched his eyebrows. ‘Is that right? If it’s life insurance you’re after I’m afraid the incident in Oslo sent your premium through the roof, however good a business contact you are in other ways.’
‘Now I have no
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