Punishment aka What Is Mine

SIXTY-THREE

Karsten Åsli had not slept well since Monday. During the day it was easy to convince himself that there was nothing to worry about. After all, Adam Stubo hadn’t come back. Everything seemed to be normal in the village. No one had made inquiries down there.

It was worse at night. Even though he now ran long and hard every evening to wear himself out, he lay awake tossing and turning until the morning. This morning he had called in sick. He regretted it now. It was worse just being stuck around the house. He had nothing to do. His plan of action for June 19 was ready. There was nothing left to do except do it.

He could paint the west wall.

But he couldn’t go down to the village for paint, as someone from Saga might see him. It would be better to drive over to Elverum. If he bumped into anyone there, he could say that he’d been to see the doctor.

That was actually a good idea. He felt calmer when he got in the car.

Laffen Sørnes finally found a car he could steal. A Mazda 323, 1987 model. Someone had just left it half stuck in a ditch, by the side of a forest track. The doors had even been left open. Laffen smiled. There was gas in the tank. The engine spluttered a bit, but started after a while. Thankfully it was easy to get back onto the road. A hundred yards farther into the woods there was a small turnoff; he just had to turn.

It would be best to get to Sweden immediately.

There were helicopters everywhere. Laffen had been moving slowly on foot, protected by the trees. He’d really only wanted to move around in the few hours when it was dark in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t gotten far enough and had to use the days as well. Twice people had seen him, when he was stupid enough to follow the road for a while. He was tired and it was easier to walk on the even asphalt. He ran back into the woods again and the helicopters came back. He had to avoid open spaces. Sometimes he lost his sense of direction and had to rest for a long time.

It would be safer in a car, but it was still important to get as far away as possible.

Sweden lay to the east. As the sun was shining, it was easy to tell which direction he had to go.

There was a Sputnik cassette in the stereo. Laffen sang along. Soon he turned out onto a bigger road. He was calmer now. It was good to be sitting behind the wheel. The last time they’d broken his arm. This time they would surely kill him, if he didn’t manage to get to Sweden first. And he would. It couldn’t be that far now. A couple of hours, perhaps, max. The last time he was in Sweden he ate Janssons fristelse in a roadside café. It was some of the best food he had ever tasted.

Cigarettes were cheap there too. Cheaper than in Norway, at least.

He accelerated.

Karsten Åsli concentrated on not driving too fast. It was important not to attract attention. Three to four miles per hour over the speed limit was probably best. Most normal.

He regretted the whole idea of making the trip.

Bobben had undoubtedly seen him passing the garage. He waved eagerly even though Karsten pretended not to see him. It was highly unlikely that Bobben would mention it to anyone from Saga, but Karsten was still not happy about it. After a written warning for theft, it wouldn’t take much to get him fired. To call in sick and then go to Elverum shopping was not very smart. He could of course use the excuse of the doctor, but the boss was the sort who would investigate. The boss was a real bastard and would do anything to get rid of him.

The speedometer crept up to sixty-eight miles per hour and Karsten Åsli swore under his breath as he took his foot off the pedal and braked.

Maybe he should just turn around.

“The suspect is driving a dark blue Mazda 323,” said the helicopter pilot in a loud, clear voice, with undertones of high drama. “License plate number still unknown. Should we follow? Repeat: should we follow?”

“At a distance,” was the scratchy reply in his headphones. “Follow at a distance. Three cars are on the way.”

“Received,” said the pilot, and the helicopter curved over the treetops before rising up to seven hundred yards.

His eyes did not leave the car.