When The Devil Holds The Candle Part 20

"So you haven't seen Andreas?" asked Skarre.

"Many times," she said. "He doesn't interest me." She's not all there, Skarre decided.

295.

"Do you think he's got mixed up in something?" he asked.

"I think that's highly likely. I know that Runi wouldn't agree; she begged me to put in a good word for him. But I'm sure you want to hear the truth."

"Of course." He looked around the blue kitchen, at the two doors, leading to a bathroom and bedroom perhaps. The voice on the phone. The same voice. He was positive. Why did she come to the station? What was she trying to tell him?

"I would like to know the truth," Skarre said.

"I'm sure he's capable of a little of everything. Him and that friend of his, the one he's always with."

"Do you know him?"

"He calls himself Zipp."

"We've talked to him, but he says he knows nothing."

Irma Funder smiled at him. "That's what they always say. Time's up."

Reluctantly, Skarre stood up. There was something about this house. Something not right. During those few minutes he had taken note of most of the details. A notepad and pen lying on the kitchen table. Three bottles of bleach on the counter. Two black bin bags against the wall. As if she had been cleaning up. As if she were getting ready to leave.

296.

"What did you want when you came to my office?" he said sharply. "What did you want when you called?"

At that instant he felt his stomach lurch.

Something about this woman made him nervous. She rolled her eyes. "Called? It would never occur to me." Suddenly she lost her composure. She looked at him, her heavy body trembled. "I don't have long to live," she said.

There he saw the flame again, in her eyes. The words struck him like a blow. Her face didn't expect an answer; it was a statement. Bewildered, he stood there looking into her eyes. How should he handle this? What could he do? Nothing. Just leave and report to Sejer. The blue walls of the kitchen closed around him, together with this person, and now they seemed to be getting closer, and the room getting smaller, and everything outside became distant and indistinct. The view through the kitchen window, the pretty gazebo and the big birch tree, it was all just a picture. Outside these blue walls there was nothing.

"So the evening started at a bar," Sejer said. "Did you go there to calm your nerves?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Zipp said.

They had called him in for the second time. Did 297 that mean they had found something out? Was it about the theft of the handbag? This is wearing me out, he thought, standing so long on the edge of a precipice. I'd rather fall off.

"Be good enough to tell me again when you met."

"As I said, at 7.30."

Sejer tapped his pen on the desk. The tapping sound made Zipp stare at him alertly.

"There's something I don't understand," Sejer said. "I don't understand why you're lying about this."

"I'm not lying."

"You met much earlier than that. Something happened."

"We met at 7.30!"

"No. Andreas left his house at 5.30. You drove around town."

Zipp thought so hard it hurt. Who had seen them, other than that woman at Furulund? Was the moment coming when he would be confronted with the dead baby? For short periods he'd managed to forget about it. Those periods held promise for the future: one day the memory would be erased, as something unreal.

"In that case, somebody's pulling your wick," he said sullenly.

Sejer put down his pen. "You stopped someone and asked for directions."

298.

"Huh?"

"A little boy. Perhaps you thought you'd have some fun with him." Sejer was looking down at his own hands. "Perhaps you just wanted to frighten him."

Zipp was so relieved that he almost felt like laughing.

"Oh, that's right. Of course. A little black kid. We weren't trying to give him a hard time. And we met him on the way to the bar. A bit before 8.00, I should think."

"That little black kid," Sejer said, "is my grandson, so don't give me any c.r.a.p about not giving him a hard time. He was wearing a watch, and you were driving a green car. Andreas commented on his jacket. It was 6.15."

Sejer's voice had taken on a threatening undertone.

"Your grandson?" Zipp d.a.m.n near hiccupped with astonishment. At that moment it actually seemed possible, he thought, that the chief inspector might reach out and punch him. And what did he know about police methods? s.h.i.+t, this was getting serious!

"Is Andreas in love with you?" Sejer said. Zipp felt dizzy. Who had they been talking to? No-one knew that, certainly not that black kid. Was the word out around town?

299.

"Sorry," he croaked, still trying to follow this man's whims. "But I think you misunderstand."

"Sometimes that happens. In which case, I apologise. Is Andreas h.o.m.os.e.xual?"

Zipp thought he might be able to use this. It might send him off on the wrong track. Keep his thoughts away from other things.

"Yes," he said meekly. "At least, I think so." You You won't tell. Yes, I will, G.o.d d.a.m.n it! won't tell. Yes, I will, G.o.d d.a.m.n it!

"Why do you think so? Has he ever made a pa.s.s at you?"

"No! He's not stupid."

"We all have our weak moments. Do you think it was difficult?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe you couldn't stand the thought that he was keen on you? Were you furious?"

"Just surprised," he muttered eventually.

"Did you hit him? A little too hard?" At last Zipp began to see where he was heading.

"No," he murmured. "I wanted to, but I didn't."

"So you're taking your revenge in a different way. You're withholding information. Are you trying to save your own skin?"

No answer.

"My dear Zipp." Sejer lowered his voice to a whisper. "How are you going to get yourself out of this?"

300.

"Out of what?"

"Whatever it is you've got yourself mixed up in. Would it be to your benefit if Andreas never turned up again?"

"No, G.o.d d.a.m.n it!"

"I'm looking for a reason," Sejer said. "A reason why you won't tell the truth. As I said the last time, it had better be awfully good. Is it?"

Zipp wrung his hands. "Yes," he gasped. "It is. And I'm not going to say anything else! I want to go home! You've no right to keep me here."

"Like most departments, we have a little loophole." Zipp stared at him doubtfully.

"The time between 6 p.m. and when you went to the bar. How did you spend that time?"

"In the car. Cruising around. Looking at girls."

"You looked at girls," Sejer corrected him. looked at girls," Sejer corrected him.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did you hide the fact?"

"I don't remember."

And that's how things went on. Zipp was amazed at his own stubbornness. That he had so much willpower. That he could almost drive a man crazy, he would never have believed it. But the inspector had willpower too. They tugged and tugged, each at their own end of an invisible rope. Zipp alternated 301 between sighing with exhaustion and inexplicably having the upper hand again. For the first time in his life he was fighting with someone. A sheer battle of wills. And it was strange, all the emotions that came and went. At times he even enjoyed it. Liked the man on the other side of the desk.

Now it was simply a matter of time. Soon the police would be at the door. I saw it in the young officer's face, he could smell something was going on in the house. His eyes, which raced around, taking everything in, were full of purpose. It was nice and warm in the cellar. I stood still and looked at Andreas. He really didn't lack for anything. I had taken good care of him. A thought occurred to me like a box on the ear: He would never have done the same for me.

"I'm leaving now," I whispered.

He tried to focus his eyes on something. It required a certain amount of effort. His gaze settled on the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

"They'll soon be coming to get you, they were just here. The police. I'll leave the door unlocked. Are you listening to me?"

He closed his eyes. Didn't say anything. Wasn't even happy.

"After all that you've done!" I said, resigned. I squatted down on the steps. "Can't you explain 302 who you are? Why you came here? So that I'll understand?"

"You wouldn't understand," he said. "No-one will."

"You're not giving me a chance. There's always an explanation. It makes it easier to bear." He sniffled a bit. "I'm no worse than anyone else."

I frowned. "I know plenty of people who would never force their way into the house of a woman who lives alone. With a knife and things like that. So don't trivialise matters, Andreas."

"I had to," he said. "I had revealed everything about myself. Had left it all behind at the cemetery. I had to find something . . . something to disguise myself with. Because he saw me as I really am. Zipp. He saw me. And suddenly there you were. I needed you."

"No. You chose me. I want to know why."

"I had to go on, don't you understand! Had to go into your house and come back out again as something else."

"As a simple criminal?"

"No! I left that behind at the cemetery. I needed something new."

"I don't understand you. You talk such nonsense."

"You didn't call for help," he said in a low voice.

"You chose not to. Why?"

303.

"It wasn't my choice! I've tried to understand it."

"No, someone like you can't choose. You just have to sit and wait. And then no-one comes. It makes you crazy, doesn't it, Irma?"

How could he be so shameless when I was finally going to get help for him? G.o.d knows, he would get plenty of help. Nursing and tending to him. Fair treatment. He was so young, after all. An insignificant sentence. His personal psychologist. I had to give him one last stab.

"The fact that you do have a choice has destroyed you, Andreas."

"I've never been able to choose."

"I have my own thoughts about that."

"There's a lot that you don't know."

"I'm going to leave you now. Maybe you've learned something. Leave people in peace."

"I've never bothered anybody," he murmured. I cleared my throat, trying to sound threatening.