Punishment aka What Is Mine

FORTY-FOUR

Well, you were wrong as far as the half sibling theory goes,” said Sigmund Berli.

“Good,” said Adam Stubo. “Did you manage to get the blood tests without too much trouble?”

“Don’t ask. I’ve told more lies in the last few days than I have in my whole life. Don’t ask. At the moment we only have the results of old-fashioned paternity tests. The DNA results will take longer. But everything indicates that all the other children involved are really their fathers’ children.”

“Good,” repeated Adam. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Sigmund Berli was taken aback.

“Jesus,” he said and put down the papers in front of his boss. “You don’t seem particularly surprised. Why were you so eager to get it checked if you didn’t really believe it was the case?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been surprised by anything. And you know just as well as I do that we have to investigate every possible avenue, whether we believe or not. Right now it seems that everyone has been caught in a collective short-circuit, where everything is focused on…”

“Adam! Stop!”

The hunt for Olaf “Laffen” Sørnes from Rykkin had become a national concern. It was everywhere, in the media, conversations around dinner tables, at work. Adam could understand that most lay people had decided that Laffen was the child killer. But the fact that Adam’s colleagues seemed to have gotten caught up in the same frenzy, or at least in part, alarmed him. Laffen was clearly a pathetic copycat. His criminal record told a sad story of perverted sexuality that only now had resulted in an actual attempt to abduct a child. There were countless sad stories about similar cases in real life and in the literature. When a crime receives enough attention, there will be others who taste blood.

“Surely you can see that,” said Adam, and shook his head. “Nothing makes sense. For example, take the courier delivery of Sarah. Would Laffen have managed to pull off anything like that? Would a man who has an IQ of eighty-one manage to think out something like that? Not to mention pull it off?”

He thumped his fist on Laffen Sørnes’s file from the social services and Bærum hospital, where he had undergone tests for possible epilepsy.

“I’ve met the guy, Sigmund. He’s a pathetic bastard who hasn’t had the sense to do anything other than masturbate since he reached puberty. Cars and sex. That is Laffen Sørnes’s life. Sad, but true.”

Sigmund Berli sucked air through his teeth.

“We haven’t closed all other options either. Just let it lie. All avenues are still being investigated. But you must agree that it’s important to stop this guy. After all, he tried to…”

Adam raised his hand and nodded vigorosly.

“By all means,” he interrupted. “Of course the man must be stopped.”

“And,” continued Sigmund. “How do you explain the fact that he knew about the notes? About the message saying Now you’ve got what you deserved? We’ve tested the paper and you’re right, it’s not the same type of paper as the others. But strictly speaking, that doesn’t mean anything. The other messages were on different types of paper, as you know. And yes…”

He raised his voice to stop Adam from interrupting.

“… Laffen’s messages were written on a computer and the others were written by hand. But how did he know? How on earth would he know about that sinister detail if he had nothing to do with the case?”

It was the afternoon of Thursday, June 1. The caretaker had obviously turned off the central heating for the summer. It was pouring rain outside. The room was chilly, almost cold. Adam took his time pulling a cigar out of its metal tube. Then he slowly took out a pair of cigar cutters from his breast pocket.

“I have no idea,” he said. “But as time passes, more and more people know about it. The police. Some doctors. The parents. Even though we’ve asked everyone not to mention it, it would be unnatural if they didn’t tell their closest friends and family about the messages. All in all, about a hundred people must know about the messages by now.”

Among them Johanne, he thought. He lit the cigar.

“I have no idea,” he repeated, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Could he…”

Sigmund sucked air through his teeth again. Adam offered him a box of toothpicks.

“Could there be two people involved?” asked Sigmund Berli. “Could Laffen be some kind of… henchman for someone else, someone who’s smarter than him? No thanks.”

He waved away the toothpicks.

“Of course, it’s not impossible,” Adam admitted. “But I don’t think so. I get the feeling that the real criminal, the real killer that we need to catch, is someone who operates alone. Alone against the world, if you like. But the combination would be nothing new. Smart man with stupid helper, I mean. Well-known concept.”

“It’s actually incredible that Laffen still hasn’t been caught. His car was found in the parking lot at Skar, at the end of Maridalen. And no cars have been reported stolen from the area, so unless he had a getaway car waiting, well…”

“He’s hiding in the woods.”

“But Nordmarka at this time of year… it’s crawling with people!”

“He might hide during the day and move around at night. He would certainly be able to hide better in the woods than in a residential area. And he’s suitably dressed. If he hasn’t changed since I last saw him…”

He tipped some ash carefully into his hand.

“… then he could carry out guerrilla warfare up there. How many sightings have we had now?”

Sigmund chuckled.

“Over three hundred. From Trondheim to Bergen, Sykkylven and Voss. Over fifty sightings in Oslo alone. This morning, four people with broken arms were being held at Grønland police station. Plus a man with his left leg in a cast. All of them had been taken in by conscientious citizens.”

Adam looked quickly at his watch.

“Thought so. I’ve got an appointment. Was there anything else?”

Sigmund pulled a computer printout from his back pocket. It curved like a buttock; he smiled apologetically before smoothing it out.

“This is just a copy with my notes on it. I’ve asked for a clean copy for you. We’ve found some links between the families at last. We’ve looked at everything, absolutely everything. This is the result.”

“About time too,” said Adam. “There had to be some connection between these people. But…”

He studied the printout again for several minutes.

“We don’t need to worry about Sonia Værøy,” he said eventually. “Don’t think the plumber is of much interest either. Why does it say ‘address unknown’ for Karsten Åsli? Isn’t he in the census rolls?”

“No, that must be the most common offence we Norwegians are guilty of-not notifying the authorities of our change of address. Legally, it should be done within eight days. But it’s not a major problem. We just haven’t gotten around to investigating it in more detail.”

Adam folded the piece of paper and put it in his jacket pocket.

“Please do. I’ll keep this printout until I get my own. Is that okay?”

Sigmund shrugged.

“I want Åsli’s address,” said Adam. “And I want to know more about the photographer. And the gynecologist. Oh, and I want…”

He sucked on the cigar and got up from the chair. As he had closed and locked the door behind them, he patted his colleague lightly on the shoulder.

“I want to know as much as possible about those three,” he said. “The youth worker, the photographer and the gynecologist. Age, family background, criminal records… everything. Oh and…”

Sigmund Berli stopped with his hand on the door to his office.

“Thanks,” said Adam. “Thank you. Good work.”