for a new day to dawn.
From now on nothing was safe. He could not be certain of what the future held, if he even had a future, or if this was the end, the end of everything. He was incapable of eating anything and he had a splitting headache, it felt like knitting needles were piercing his temples. The telephone had rung, his father probably, but he had not answered it. He knew he ought to move to his bed, but he did not have the energy to get up, why should he get up? To make sure he got a good night's sleep? For the job he did not have? For people he did not know? At midnight he gave in, he lay down on the sofa on his side, still with the red shorts pressed against his face. At the end of the sofa lay an old woollen blanket. He got hold of it and covered his legs. He heard the ticking of the wall clock; it seemed louder than usual, as if every second warned of the impending disaster, the exposure and the condemnation, the verdict and the hatred, there were so many things. He felt dizzy. He visualised himself in court before a sea of hate-filled faces, they screamed at him, they spat and raged, they blamed him for everything, even his very existence, for who he was and what he had done. Meanwhile, he was shaking, trying to prepare an answer, but no sound came out, he had lost the power of speech. The images upset him. His pulse rose as if he had been running, though he had not moved for several hours.
When he finally slipped into a restless slumber, the memories racing past vividly brought it all back to him. The longing and the need he had lived with his entire life. The whole time, right up until this time, he had been able to control himself, he had turned away from every temptation. He had been strong and decent. But now fate had pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes and a few dry sobs escaped, but they offered him no comfort.
CHAPTER 13
Inspector Sejer was always correct, reserved and polite. His formality might at times be mistaken for arrogance, unless you knew him well. Hardly anyone knew him well. He was totally devoted to his job, ambitious, but not a climber. He was patient, he listened, he had gravity and he hardly ever laughed. He took everything very seriously, life as well as his work, but on rare occasions his deep laughter could be heard. He was temperate, strong and decisive. He was always appropriately dressed, his shoes newly polished and in good condition, and his shirts freshly ironed. No one had ever taught him the art of flirtation, seduction or manipulation, unless he was facing a killer who denied all responsibility. Then he could charm the birds off the trees.
'Do you remember Jørgen Pihl?' Skarre asked. 'It was a fairly big case. He was a paediatrician at Ullevål Hospital, he treated kids the whole day and he had as much access to them as he could wish for. He finally went too far, the kids started talking. He was struck off, of course, and he went downhill from there, he started drinking, lost his home and his family.'
'Yes,' Sejer said, 'I remember him, and I remember Kristian Kruse. He held confirmation courses for the Humanist Society. And I remember Philip Åkeson.'
'No one will ever forget Philip Åkeson,' Skarre said. 'The man from Linde Forest hasn't contacted us,' he added. 'When do we start getting suspicious?'
'I already am,' Sejer said, 'but we should probably give him a few more days. There are people who don't follow the news.'
'I don't buy that,' Skarre said. 'This case has reached millions of people, it's gone beyond Norway, as has our request for him to get in touch. I'll give him until the end of the day and then I'll start suspecting him. Do we know anyone who walks with a limp?'
Sejer pondered this. 'No, I don't think so. But it might be an injury he's acquired recently.'
He went over to the window and looked out. 'No matter who he is,' he said, 'whether he's got a record or not, he's gone underground. He's afraid to answer the telephone. He might wear different
From now on nothing was safe. He could not be certain of what the future held, if he even had a future, or if this was the end, the end of everything. He was incapable of eating anything and he had a splitting headache, it felt like knitting needles were piercing his temples. The telephone had rung, his father probably, but he had not answered it. He knew he ought to move to his bed, but he did not have the energy to get up, why should he get up? To make sure he got a good night's sleep? For the job he did not have? For people he did not know? At midnight he gave in, he lay down on the sofa on his side, still with the red shorts pressed against his face. At the end of the sofa lay an old woollen blanket. He got hold of it and covered his legs. He heard the ticking of the wall clock; it seemed louder than usual, as if every second warned of the impending disaster, the exposure and the condemnation, the verdict and the hatred, there were so many things. He felt dizzy. He visualised himself in court before a sea of hate-filled faces, they screamed at him, they spat and raged, they blamed him for everything, even his very existence, for who he was and what he had done. Meanwhile, he was shaking, trying to prepare an answer, but no sound came out, he had lost the power of speech. The images upset him. His pulse rose as if he had been running, though he had not moved for several hours.
When he finally slipped into a restless slumber, the memories racing past vividly brought it all back to him. The longing and the need he had lived with his entire life. The whole time, right up until this time, he had been able to control himself, he had turned away from every temptation. He had been strong and decent. But now fate had pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes and a few dry sobs escaped, but they offered him no comfort.
CHAPTER 13
Inspector Sejer was always correct, reserved and polite. His formality might at times be mistaken for arrogance, unless you knew him well. Hardly anyone knew him well. He was totally devoted to his job, ambitious, but not a climber. He was patient, he listened, he had gravity and he hardly ever laughed. He took everything very seriously, life as well as his work, but on rare occasions his deep laughter could be heard. He was temperate, strong and decisive. He was always appropriately dressed, his shoes newly polished and in good condition, and his shirts freshly ironed. No one had ever taught him the art of flirtation, seduction or manipulation, unless he was facing a killer who denied all responsibility. Then he could charm the birds off the trees.
'Do you remember Jørgen Pihl?' Skarre asked. 'It was a fairly big case. He was a paediatrician at Ullevål Hospital, he treated kids the whole day and he had as much access to them as he could wish for. He finally went too far, the kids started talking. He was struck off, of course, and he went downhill from there, he started drinking, lost his home and his family.'
'Yes,' Sejer said, 'I remember him, and I remember Kristian Kruse. He held confirmation courses for the Humanist Society. And I remember Philip Åkeson.'
'No one will ever forget Philip Åkeson,' Skarre said. 'The man from Linde Forest hasn't contacted us,' he added. 'When do we start getting suspicious?'
'I already am,' Sejer said, 'but we should probably give him a few more days. There are people who don't follow the news.'
'I don't buy that,' Skarre said. 'This case has reached millions of people, it's gone beyond Norway, as has our request for him to get in touch. I'll give him until the end of the day and then I'll start suspecting him. Do we know anyone who walks with a limp?'
Sejer pondered this. 'No, I don't think so. But it might be an injury he's acquired recently.'
He went over to the window and looked out. 'No matter who he is,' he said, 'whether he's got a record or not, he's gone underground. He's afraid to answer the telephone. He might wear different
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