The Writing on the Wall

Forty-three

DR EVENSEN’S WAITING ROOM was half-full of people, but there were no young girls among them. His secretary looked at me sceptically through the window into her office. When I went over to it she slid the hatch aside and waited expectantly. She was a woman in her forties, with dark-brown hair and the glassy look of someone wearing contacts.

‘Is Dr Evensen in?’

‘Yes, but we’re not accepting any new patients.’

‘I just wanted a word with him.’

She glanced towards the other waiting patients. ‘As you see, there are a lot of people waiting to see him.’

‘Give Dr Evensen a call and tell him it’s about Torild Skagestøl.’

‘Torild Skage…’

‘Sound familiar?’

She hit a few keys and looked at the screen. ‘She’s not a patient here.’

‘Astrid Nikolaisen, then?’

‘No. She isn’t either. What’s this about?’

I leaned closer to the hatch and lowered my voice. ‘You can tell Dr Evensen that a man called Varg Veum is here, and that he’d like to talk to him about Torild Skagestøl, Astrid Nikolaisen and all the others. And if he feels he’d rather not talk to me, tell him in that case I’ll come back with the police.’

She looked at me in alarm before slamming the hatch shut just an inch or so from the tip of my nose, lifting the phone, keying in a number and after a moment’s wait, starting to speak.

When she had finished she looked as though he had berated her and only opened the hatch wide enough to tell me that Dr Evensen would see me as soon as he had finished with his current patient.

The other people in the waiting room, who had followed the episode with more or less unconcealed curiosity, looked at me, disgruntled. An older lady stood up and went over to tap on the windowpane. When it was opened she barked: ‘What’s the idea? I’ve already been waiting over an hour!’

‘Yes, I’m really sorry,’ said the receptionist with obvious signs of strain, ‘but there’s… Unfortunately, we’re running a bit behind, and some – cases just have to be seen first! I hope you understand…’

‘Bah! Some cases!’ On the way back to her chair the lady looked me up and down. ‘You’re a politician, I expect? They always come first in the queue, don’t they?’ she said to the others with a look that suggested she was expecting a round of applause. But all she got was the nervous rustle of a magazine and one or two nods of approval.

Not long afterwards an elderly gentleman with a surprisingly red nose and shirt open at the neck emerged from the surgery. The receptionist opened the hatch and nodded to me. ‘Your turn.’

Considering the looks that followed me in, I might well need a doctor myself soon. But in that case, I would go to a different one. The only thing Dr Evensen looked as though he might consider writing out for me was a one-way ticket to the nearest mortuary.

He sat behind his desk, his face about as expressive as a cod’s head down at the fish quay. He was about my age, two or three years older perhaps, but with a good deal more grey in his thin swept-back hair. He was wearing a white doctor’s coat with a stethoscope protruding from one of the pockets. His glasses were old-fashioned, with dark brown, almost black frames; he had thin lips and a cold look. The only sign of nervousness was the way he silently drummed his fingers on the desk.

‘I didn’t catch the name,’ he said, repeating slightly as though seasick.

‘Veum,’ I said, still standing just inside the door.

‘And what was it you wanted?’

‘I wanted to discuss something called “the safe list” and a few young women, one called -’

‘And on whose authority have you come here?’

‘On the greatest authority in the world,’ I said. ‘On the authority of all who have children!’

He looked at me lugubriously. Then he nodded towards the chair as though I were a patient to whom he had to give a sentence of certain death.

I sat down. ‘I think you know what we’re talking about. There’s no point beating about the bush. Torild Skagestøl is dead, one of the other girls has spilled the beans. The only thing that might help you now, once the police get going, is whatever Birger Bjelland had over you.’ He didn’t react to the name at all. His look remained just as dead and glassy as before. Then he lifted the receiver and keyed in an eight-figure number.

Faintly I heard a woman’s voice answer.

‘Dr Evensen here. Is he there? Yes, it is. Thank you.’

He looked at the window. It was still snowing. The roar of the traffic from Strandgaten sounded strangely muffled. I wondered whether it was on account of the snow or whether he had particularly well-insulated windows.

‘Yes, it’s er… – I have a chap here called Veum. He -’

It was a man’s voice this time, and it didn’t sound any too pleasant. I noticed that a few beads of sweat had appeared on Dr Evensen’s brow.

‘What? Yes, he’s sit -… He claims he knows everything. He even says… Yes. No. I see. I’ll count on that, then. Goodb -’ The connection was broken with a sharp sound at the other end.

Then he turned to face me again. ‘I’ve nothing to say. If the police come, I’ll insist on my lawyer being present.’

‘Maybe your lawyer should also have been present when you were examining those girls in the evenings?’

‘I’ve told you I’m not saying anything.’

‘You’ve already said more than enough. That telephone conversation… the safe list!’ I leaned forward so abruptly that a sharp pain stabbed through my head like an icicle. ‘Oh God!’

He looked at me with no trace of sympathy.

‘I’ve squashed people like you before,’ I said, ‘so don’t feel too safe! Doctor? Don’t make me laugh! If Hippocrates had turned up here he’d have stopped in his tracks and turned tail. Did you never stop to think for a second that you were dealing with young girls – children? That they had parents who were concerned for their welfare?’

His look of embarrassment signalled that I was the one making a fool of myself. ‘I think you should go now, Veum. My waiting room’s full of patients, and -’

‘And I’ve a good mind to go out and tell them what kind of a doctor you really are, Dr Evensen!’

‘If you do that, you’ll hear from my lawyer, let me tell you! Is that clear?’

‘I have a lawyer myself, Evensen. Just wait till you see the newspaper headlines the day we go to court. I shan’t be the one losing my clients, you can be sure of that!’

His eyes followed me right to the door like cold clammy fingers on my neck.

His secretary did not look too charming either, and crossing the waiting room was like skiing across Greenland in a howling midwinter gale. As I passed the indignant lady from earlier, I glanced sideways and muttered: ‘I can count on your vote then, can I? Is that a promise?’