Punishment aka What Is Mine

FIFTY-NINE

And this is all we’ve got,” said Adam Stubo despondently.

“Yep.”

Sigmund Berli sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Not a lot, I’m afraid. Clean record. If he was ever reported for anything, it was a long time ago. He hasn’t taken any exams from Oslo University or anywhere else in Norway, so he must have gotten that education he was boasting about abroad.”

“No completed studies. She was right.”

“Who?”

“Forget it.”

Sigmund sniffed again and dug around in the tight pocket of his jeans for a tissue.

“Got a cold,” he mumbled. “Really stuffed up. Karsten Åsli has moved around a lot, I’ll tell you that. Not surprising that he can’t be bothered to notify the authorities of a change of address anymore. A bit of a vagabond, that man. Oh, he’s got a taxi licence for Oslo, if you can call that a qualification.”

“Hardly. What’s this?”

Adam pointed at a Post-it.

“What?”

Sigmund leaned over the table.

“Oh, that. He learned to drive an ambulance a few years ago. You said include everything.”

“And what about the son?”

Adam was struggling to get the cellophane off a new cigar.

“Working on it. But why should we doubt that the guy’s telling the truth about that? Is there any reason why he might lie about having a son?”

Adam let the cigar slip gently into the silver cylinder and put it back in his breast pocket.

“I don’t think he’s lying,” he said. “I just want to know how much contact he actually has with the boy. His home certainly didn’t look like he had a child there regularly. What about Tromsø? Was he there?”

Sigmund Berli looked at the light balsa box.

“Help yourself,” Adam nodded.

“The best thing would be to ask Karsten Åsli about that! I’ve checked all the lists and he wasn’t on any of the flights in the relevant time frame. Not under his own name, at least. I’ve gotten ahold of a copy of his passport photo and sent it to Tromsø. So we’ll have to wait and see what the professor says. Probably nothing. He’s adamant that he didn’t see the face well enough. This investigation…”

He made irritated quote marks in the air before helping himself.

“… is not made any easier by the fact that Karsten Åsli is not supposed to notice anything. Couldn’t we just pull him in for normal questioning? Jesus, we do that with every Tom, Dick, and Harry without…”

“Karsten Åsli is neither Tom, nor Dick, nor Harry, for that matter,” Adam broke in. “If I’m not wrong, he’s holding a child hostage somewhere. I don’t want the man to get even the slightest inkling that we’re onto him.”

Sigmund Berli held the cigar under his nose.

“But Adam,” he said, without looking the detective inspector in the eye.

“Yes?”

“Was there anything else there, anything other than… this… Was there anything more concrete, like, more than…”

“No. Just a hunch. Just a very strong hunch.”

There was silence in the room. Quick steps could be heard in the corridor and a telephone was ringing somewhere. Someone answered it. A woman laughed outside the door. Adam stared at Sigmund’s cigar, which was still suspended between his nose and upper lip.

“Intuition is nothing more than the subconscious reworking of known facts,” he said, before he remembered where he’d heard it.

He leaned over the table.

“The man was terrified,” Adam said bitterly. “He was shocked when I turned up. I was so…”

He held his index finger and thumb a half inch apart.

“… so close to getting him to break down. Then something happened, I’m not quite sure what, but he…”

He slowly sat back in the chair.

“He somehow got a hold of himself again. I don’t know how or why. I just know that he behaved in a way that… Shit, Sigmund! You… of all people in this building should trust my instincts! The child is up there! Karsten Åsli is holding Emilie hostage and we’re pissing around with helicopters and God knows how many people and cars looking for a retard in the woods!”

Sigmund smiled, nearly shyly.

“But you can’t be sure,” he said. “You have to admit it. You can’t be completely certain. It’s not possible.”

“No,” said Adam finally. “Of course I can’t be completely certain. But find out more about this son. Please.”

Sigmund gave a quick nod and left. He left his cigar behind. Adam picked it up and studied it. Then he threw it in the wastepaper basket and remembered that he had to call the plumber in Lillestrøm. No need for Cato Sylling to make an unnecessary trip to Oslo.

Turid Sande Oksøy still had not gotten back to him. He had called three times and left a message on the answering machine.