reaction. A sudden convulsion went through him, as though I had hit him. His upper body swayed and he gripped Mottled Marte even harder, as if for help and comfort. ‘Me-Me-Mette?’
‘You remember it, I can see.’
‘Who the hell has started digging that up?’
‘The mother. I’m sure you remember her.’
He nodded weakly. ‘Håkon’s mother.’
‘And Mette’s.’
‘Yes…’ He sat staring in front of him, then added: ‘But that’s one helluva long time ago.’
‘Soon be twenty-five years.’
‘We were only kids.’
‘Yes.’
Apparently he didn’t wish to say any more, so I continued: ‘Do you remember anything from then?’
‘Hardly. I was six or seven years old.’
‘Eight, I was told.’
‘OK. Eight, then.’ His voice quivered and he spoke in such a low voice I had to lean forward to catch the gist. ‘But I don’t remember anything. Nothing except the fuss.’
‘The fuss?’
‘Yes, all the searching. The questions. Everyone was summoned to the police station, even my mum and dad. Yes, and a woman came to talk to us kids as well, but we knew nothing of course. What could we know?’
‘No? You never saw any suspicious persons lurking around?’
‘Suspicious … The only person was that pedo who used to visit Eivind and Else and them.’
‘Eivind and Else…’ I took out my notebook and flicked through. ‘The Stangelands, do you mean?’
‘But everyone knew about that. He was even put inside for a while.’
‘Are you talking about Jesper Janevik?’
‘Don’t remember what his name was, but probably.’
‘He was only held in custody for a night.’
‘Alright. So that wasn’t anything, then.’
‘But he used to visit the Stangeland family?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Mm, did he ever try anything?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He had convictions for indecent exposure, or something like that.’
‘He didn’t expose himself to me, anyway.’
‘And … Eivind and Else didn’t ever say anything about him?’
‘He was their uncle for Christ’s sake. Or some kind of relation.’
I flicked through my notebook. ‘Do you remember where you were on the day Mette disappeared?’
‘Eh! That’s more than twenty years ago. Do you remember where you were?’
‘Where I was, nothing that serious happened. Or I’d have remembered.’ When he didn’t react to that I went on: ‘The police must have asked you.’
‘Yes, it’s possible, but honestly I don’t remember. I was probably at home. It was a Saturday after all.’
‘Håkon was at football training.’
‘Yes, but he was smaller than me and I only played football in the street. I never liked it.’
‘Really?’
‘No.’
‘So what did you like, Joachim?’
He chewed his lip. ‘What I liked? Well, I … Music maybe. Sitting at home and finding radio stations where they played cool songs. Making the walls reverberate. Mum and Dad would go nuts at times, but I still didn’t stop. That was my music, you know. My songs. Later I found out the names of the groups I liked. ZZ Top, AC/DC, that sort of thing.’
‘So the day Mette disappeared you were in your room with the sound system on full blast and your head in hard-rock heaven?’
He grinned wanly. ‘Maybe.’
‘And what was it that brought you here?’ I spread my arms to take in the park around us.
He shrugged and looked down. ‘Nothing in particular. It just happened.’
‘It just happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve never tried to do something about it?’
For a second or two he met my eye. ‘No. Never.’ Then his gaze went inwards and was lost.
I stood looking at him. Not much hope there. The lights were on, but no one was at home. And the hand inside his jacket was shaking as though he suffered from serious convulsions. I knew what he was after. I knew he wanted me to go. So I fulfilled his wishes, cut down through the park to the road and walked to the gate. Each visit here left me as depressed as the last. But the craving to
‘You remember it, I can see.’
‘Who the hell has started digging that up?’
‘The mother. I’m sure you remember her.’
He nodded weakly. ‘Håkon’s mother.’
‘And Mette’s.’
‘Yes…’ He sat staring in front of him, then added: ‘But that’s one helluva long time ago.’
‘Soon be twenty-five years.’
‘We were only kids.’
‘Yes.’
Apparently he didn’t wish to say any more, so I continued: ‘Do you remember anything from then?’
‘Hardly. I was six or seven years old.’
‘Eight, I was told.’
‘OK. Eight, then.’ His voice quivered and he spoke in such a low voice I had to lean forward to catch the gist. ‘But I don’t remember anything. Nothing except the fuss.’
‘The fuss?’
‘Yes, all the searching. The questions. Everyone was summoned to the police station, even my mum and dad. Yes, and a woman came to talk to us kids as well, but we knew nothing of course. What could we know?’
‘No? You never saw any suspicious persons lurking around?’
‘Suspicious … The only person was that pedo who used to visit Eivind and Else and them.’
‘Eivind and Else…’ I took out my notebook and flicked through. ‘The Stangelands, do you mean?’
‘But everyone knew about that. He was even put inside for a while.’
‘Are you talking about Jesper Janevik?’
‘Don’t remember what his name was, but probably.’
‘He was only held in custody for a night.’
‘Alright. So that wasn’t anything, then.’
‘But he used to visit the Stangeland family?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Mm, did he ever try anything?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He had convictions for indecent exposure, or something like that.’
‘He didn’t expose himself to me, anyway.’
‘And … Eivind and Else didn’t ever say anything about him?’
‘He was their uncle for Christ’s sake. Or some kind of relation.’
I flicked through my notebook. ‘Do you remember where you were on the day Mette disappeared?’
‘Eh! That’s more than twenty years ago. Do you remember where you were?’
‘Where I was, nothing that serious happened. Or I’d have remembered.’ When he didn’t react to that I went on: ‘The police must have asked you.’
‘Yes, it’s possible, but honestly I don’t remember. I was probably at home. It was a Saturday after all.’
‘Håkon was at football training.’
‘Yes, but he was smaller than me and I only played football in the street. I never liked it.’
‘Really?’
‘No.’
‘So what did you like, Joachim?’
He chewed his lip. ‘What I liked? Well, I … Music maybe. Sitting at home and finding radio stations where they played cool songs. Making the walls reverberate. Mum and Dad would go nuts at times, but I still didn’t stop. That was my music, you know. My songs. Later I found out the names of the groups I liked. ZZ Top, AC/DC, that sort of thing.’
‘So the day Mette disappeared you were in your room with the sound system on full blast and your head in hard-rock heaven?’
He grinned wanly. ‘Maybe.’
‘And what was it that brought you here?’ I spread my arms to take in the park around us.
He shrugged and looked down. ‘Nothing in particular. It just happened.’
‘It just happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve never tried to do something about it?’
For a second or two he met my eye. ‘No. Never.’ Then his gaze went inwards and was lost.
I stood looking at him. Not much hope there. The lights were on, but no one was at home. And the hand inside his jacket was shaking as though he suffered from serious convulsions. I knew what he was after. I knew he wanted me to go. So I fulfilled his wishes, cut down through the park to the road and walked to the gate. Each visit here left me as depressed as the last. But the craving to
Similar Books
