Punishment aka What Is Mine

FIFTY-TWO

Before she called, she decided what she was going to say and how she was going to formulate the questions. But she was taken aback when Astor Kongsbakken answered the phone. Suddenly there he was, on the other end of the line, and Johanne had no idea where to begin.

He talked loudly, which might mean that he was slightly deaf. It could also have been because he was furious. When she mentioned Aksel Seier’s name, a bit too soon, she was sure he was going to hang up. But he didn’t. Instead, the conversation took a turn that she hadn’t anticipated: he asked the questions and she answered.

Astor Kongsbakken’s message was, however, crystal-clear. He remembered very little about the case and had absolutely no intention of picking through his memory for Johanne Vik’s sake. He reminded her three times of his great age and ended by threatening to call a lawyer. Precisely what the lawyer was going to do was unclear.

Johanne flicked through Asbjørn Revheim: An Account of a Suicide Forewarned. There could be many reasons why Astor Kongsbakken got angry. He was ninety-two, and for all she knew might be notoriously bad-tempered. In the fifties, there had already been plenty of stories about the man’s temperament. The two pictures of him in the biography showed a stocky man with broad shoulders and jutting jaw, quite different from his son’s tall, more slender figure. In one of the photographs, the renowned public prosecutor was wearing a black cloak and holding a law book in his raised right hand, as though he was deciding whether or not to throw it at the bench. His eyes were dark under his bushy brows and it looked as if he was shouting. Astor Kongsbakken had certainly been a passionate man. And not everyone calms down as they get older.

There was a brother, Astor and Unni’s oldest son. Johanne licked her finger and leafed through the book to the right page. Geir Kongsbakken was a lawyer and had a small practice in Øvre Slottsgate. He was given no more than five lines. Johanne decided to call him. If nothing else, he might be able to help her speak to his father again. It was worth a try, at least.

She called his secretary and made an appointment for ten o’clock on June 6. When the woman asked what it was about, Johanne hesitated for a moment before answering:

“It’s something to do with a criminal case. I doubt it’ll take long.”

“Tomorrow then,” confirmed the friendly female voice. “I’ll put you down for half an hour. Have a nice day.”