The Caller

Chapter 2

Karsten and Lily Sundelin were led to another room where they could wait undisturbed. Lily wanted to go home. She had no desire to talk to anyone. She wanted to go back to her house and her bedroom; she wanted to retreat into a corner. She wanted to lie in her queen-sized bed with her husband and child, and remain there. Never again would she let the child sleep in the pram under the maple tree, never again let her sleep without supervision. Never again shut her out of her mind.

But they had to wait.

‘What are we going to say?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I get so nervous.’

Karsten Sundelin looked uncomprehendingly at his wife. Unlike Lily, who was filled with fear, he felt, first and foremost, a boiling rage. Any charity and understanding he’d felt for others had evaporated, and left him out of breath and hot-tempered. Though he’d never had anything to do with the police, he’d never been particularly fond of them. To him, they were coarse and simple-minded people who trampled about in black boots and silly hats. They reminded him of stocky handymen with a cluster of tools clattering on their belts; they were young and uneducated and knew nothing about the nuances of life — the details, Karsten Sundelin thought: what makes this crime against Margrete and against us particularly heinous. They won’t appreciate it; they’ll think it’s an act of vandalism. If they find it’s a teenage punk pulling a stunt, he’ll get off with a warning — because the poor kid probably hasn’t had an easy life. But I’ll give them a piece of my mind, he thought, and sipped the bitter coffee the nurse had brought.

Lily clutched the child with an urgency that made her tremble. She studied the pictures on the wall: one of some pastel water lilies floating in a pond, another of the Norwegian mountains and endless blue skies. On a table she saw health magazines with information about what you should avoid, what you should eat and drink — or not eat and drink — and how you should live.

If you wanted to live a long life.

Karsten paced the room, extremely impatient, like an angry bull. The police station was a couple of minutes away, but because of the bureaucracy it took a while.

‘Maybe they have to write a report first,’ he said, with tired sarcasm in his voice. He stood in front of Lily with his feet apart, his hands on his hips.

‘I’m sure they write it afterwards,’ Lily said, stroking the child’s cheeks. After all the commotion, Margrete slept soundly.

At last two men strolled down the corridor. Neither wore a uniform. One man was tall and grey-haired, perhaps sixty years old; the other man was young and curly-haired. They introduced themselves as Sejer and Skarre. Sejer looked down at the sleeping child. Then he smiled at Lily. ‘How are you doing?’

‘We won’t let her sleep in the garden any more,’ Lily said.

Sejer nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘You know what’s best.’

Skarre pulled a notebook from his pocket and found a chair. He seemed bright and eager, Lily thought, like a runner at the starting block.

‘We have to ask you a few questions,’ he said.

‘I should hope so,’ Karsten Sundelin said. ‘Whoever’s behind this should pay for it, even if I have to take matters into my own hands.’

At this, Skarre looked up, while the older inspector raised an eyebrow. Tall and muscular, with powerful fists, Karsten’s temperament was evident in his eyes, and in his outraged voice. The young mother sat scrunched up in the chair, closed off to the world. In an instant, Skarre had mapped out the couple’s power balance: raw power versus feminine vulnerability.

‘Have you been married before?’ he asked Lily affably.

She looked at him, surprised. Then she shook her head.

‘Boyfriends? Live-in partners?’

Now she grew slightly embarrassed.

‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she admitted, ‘but I also have good sense.’

Of course you do, Skarre thought, but sometimes life shocks you.

‘And you,’ he said, turning to her husband. ‘Anything from a previous relationship? I’m thinking of jealousy. Or revenge.’

‘I’ve been married,’ Karsten said in a measured tone.

‘I see.’

Skarre made a note, then turned his blue-eyed gaze once more on Karsten. ‘Was it an amicable divorce?’

‘She died. Cancer.’

Without losing his composure, Skarre absorbed the information. He ran his fingers through his hair, tousled it. ‘Have either of you had disagreements with anyone? Recently or in the past?’

Karsten leaned against the wall. As if he maintained the upper hand. Like Inspector Sejer, he was impressively tall and broad-shouldered. He glanced down at the two people for whom he was responsible, Lily and Margrete, and something rose in him, something he’d never felt before. He liked the taste of it, the rush. It’s no doubt some kid, he thought. I can’t wait to get my hands on him.

‘We never cross anyone,’ he said, raising his voice.

Someone has a short fuse, Skarre thought.

Sejer grabbed a chair and sat beside Lily. He seemed friendly, and Lily liked him. He was strong and confident — not in a cocky way, but in a reassuring way that said I’ll take care of it.

‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

‘In Bjerketun,’ she said. ‘At the housing estate there.’

‘How well do you know your neighbours?’

‘Pretty well,’ she said. ‘We talk to them every day. We know their children too. They play in the street. The big kids push Margrete in her pram. Back and forth along the pavement in front of the house. So I can see them from the window.’

Sejer nodded. He leaned over Margrete and stroked her cheek with a finger.

‘I used to have one of these,’ he said, looking at Lily. ‘Many years ago. They grow up, after all. But don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten what it was like.’

Tears formed in Lily’s eyes. She liked his deep voice, his seriousness and understanding. She was reminded that policemen were like everyone else; they lived with grief and despair. When they faced tragedy, they were forced to get involved when others could just turn away in horror.

‘When you get home,’ Sejer said, ‘I want you to write down everything you remember. When the little one is asleep and you’ve got some peace, sit down and record everything you can think of about today. From the time you got up: what did you think about? What did you do? Did anyone drive past? Did anyone call? Did someone hang up when you answered? Did you get anything in the post? Did anyone walk slowly past the house? Did you, in one way or another, feel watched? Do you remember anything from a long time ago, a quarrel or row? Write it all down. We’ll be stopping by to investigate your garden. The perpetrator may have left something behind, and if so, we’ll have to find it at once.’

He stood, and so did Skarre. ‘What’s your child’s name?’ he asked.

‘Margrete,’ Lily said. ‘Margrete Sundelin.’

Sejer looked at them. Lily beneath the water lilies, Karsten beneath the blue skies. The little bundle in the nappy.

‘We’re taking this very seriously,’ he said. ‘This incident was very cruel. But let me remind you of one thing: Margrete doesn’t know anything about it.’