Fear Not Part 38

His irritation over the Bishop's uncooperative son made him feel wide awake.

'You might not want to, but you're going to have to,' he mumbled crossly as he searched for the number of the house in Os. He keyed it in. The phone rang for so long that he was on the point of giving up when a subdued female voice eventually answered.

'Lysgaard.'

'Good afternoon, it's Adam Stubo. I apologize for disturbing you on Tuesday. I hope you-'

'It's fine. No need to apologize. I a.s.sume you found Lukas eventually.'

'I did, yes. But now I need to talk to him again, actually. There's no answer on his mobile, and I wondered if you'd have any idea where he might be?'

'He's here.'

'At home? At this time of day?'

'Yes. He's ill. It's only a sore throat, but he's got a temperature and ... he's really not very well at all.'

'Oh.'

In a flash Adam saw the drenched, s.h.i.+vering figure of Lukas Lysgaard from two days ago in his mind's eye.

'Anything I can help you with?' said Astrid.

'No, I don't think so.'

He could hear running water and the slamming of a cupboard door.

'Then again, there might be,' he said suddenly. 'It's just one small detail. Nothing important, really, but perhaps you could help me, then I won't need to disturb a sick man. It's about your mother-in-law's ... sanctuary.'

He laughed. There was silence at the other end of the line.

'You know, the room on the ground floor where she used to go when she couldn't sleep. The room where-'

'I know the room you mean. I've hardly ever been in there. A few times, maybe. What's this about?'

'There are four photographs in there,' Adam said, keeping his tone casual. 'Two or three family photos and a portrait, as far as I remember. I just wondered who the portrait might be?'

'The woman with ...'

Her voice disappeared abruptly, as if it had been snipped off with a pair of scissors.

'h.e.l.lo?' said Adam. 'Are you still there?'

'Yes. I don't know who she is. I can ask Lukas when he wakes up.'

'No, no, there's no need. Don't bother him with details. I'll give him a call in a couple of days.'

'Was there anything else?'

'No. Say h.e.l.lo from me and tell him to get well soon.'

'Thank you, I will. Bye.'

The connection was broken before he had time to say goodbye. He put down the phone and lay back on the bed, his hands linked behind his head.

At least now he knew the photograph was of a woman.

He felt slightly guilty at having deceived Astrid, but the feeling quickly disappeared when it struck him that she had probably lied to him in return. The way she had suddenly broken off in the mid-sentence suggested something had occurred to her.

Something she didn't want to share with him.

If nothing else, it suggested he was on the right track.

The Reluctant Detective.

His underpants were lying on the floor. The skid marks showed up with revolting clarity, even against the dark green cotton fabric. She grabbed the waistband between her thumb and forefinger and went into the bathroom to drop them in the laundry basket. Since he had obviously had a bad stomach, his trousers could go in there, too. They were lying just outside the closed bedroom door. She had picked up his socks on the way. With the clothes bundled underneath her arm, she quietly opened the door and went in.

The room smelled of a sick person.

Bad breath, sleep and flatulence combined to produce a stench that made her fling the balcony door wide open. She filled her lungs with fresh air a couple of times before turning to look back at him.

He was so deeply asleep he didn't even notice the racket as she struggled with the awkward door, nor the blast of freezing cold air. The covers were moving slowly and evenly up and down, and she could see just the top of his head. He was starting to lose his hair. The lines on his face had grown deeper in the last few years, but this was the first time she had noticed he was getting a bald patch. It touched her; he looked so vulnerable lying there.

'Lukas,' she said quietly, moving over to the bed.

He didn't wake up.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair gently.

'Lukas,' she said again, louder this time. 'You have to wake up.'

He grunted and tried to pull the covers over his head.

'I want to sleep,' he mumbled, smacking his lips. 'Go away.'

'No, Lukas. I'm going to pick the children up soon, and there's something I have to talk to you about while we're on our own. Something important.'

'It can wait. My throat is ...'

He swallowed loudly and whimpered.

'... really, really sore!'

'Adam Stubo rang.'

The covers were no longer moving up and down. She noticed that his body was suddenly tense, and she stroked his head once more.

'He had a very strange question,' she said. 'And there's something I want to ask you.'

'My throat. It hurts.'

'Yesterday,' she began, and cleared her throat. 'Yesterday morning I had a headache. We'd run out of Alvedon, so I thought I'd take one of your migraine tablets.'

He sat up quickly.

'Are you mad?' he snapped. 'Those tablets are on prescription, and they're meant for me and me alone. I don't even know if they're any good for headaches that aren't migraine!'

'Calm down,' she said quietly. 'I didn't take one. But I have to confess that I opened the drawer of your desk and-'

'You did what?'

His voice shot up to a falsetto.

'I was just going to-'

'We do everything we can in this house to teach the children to respect other people's property,' he said, his voice beginning to fail him. 'We tell them not to open other people's letters. Not to look in other people's drawers. And then you ... you go and ...'

His fists thudded dully against the bedclothes.

'Lukas,' Astrid said calmly. 'Lukas, look at me.'

When he finally looked up, she was shocked.

'We have to talk to each other,' she whispered. 'You've started keeping secrets from me, Lukas.'

'I have no choice.'

'That's not true. We always have a choice. Who's the woman in the photograph from your mother's room? And why have you taken the picture out of the frame and locked it in your drawer?'

She placed her hand on his. It felt cold and damp, even on the back. He didn't pull away, but neither did he open his hand to take hers.

'I think I've got a sister,' he whispered.

Astrid couldn't grasp what he was saying.

'I think I might have a sister,' he repeated, his voice hoa.r.s.e. 'An older sister who was my mother's child, at least. Perhaps my father's, too. From when they were really young.'

'I think you've gone completely mad,' Astrid said gently.

'No, I mean it. That photo has been there for so long, and I've never known who the woman was. I once asked my mother ...'

A coughing attack made him bend forward. Astrid let go of his hand, but didn't get up.

'I asked her who it was. She didn't tell me. She just said it was a friend I didn't know.'

'Then I expect that was true.'

'Why would my mother have a photograph by her bed of someone I've never met, unless she's my sister? The other photos are of me and my father.'

'I knew your mother for twelve years, Lukas. Eva Karin was the most honest, most beautiful and utterly decent person I've ever met. She would never, ever have kept a child secret. Never.'

'She could have had her adopted! There's nothing wrong with that! On the contrary, it would explain her intractable att.i.tude on the issue of abortion, and ...'

His voice gave way completely, and he rubbed his throat.

'What did Stubo want?' he whispered.

'He wanted to know who was in the photo.'

'And what did you tell him?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'I said I didn't know. It's true. I don't know who she is. But if this might have any significance for the investigation, you have to talk to Stubo.'

'It can't possibly have anything to do with my mother's death! I don't want any publicity about this. That's the last thing she would have wanted.'

'But Lukas,' she said, pressing his hand once more, 'why do you think Stubo is so interested in that photograph? He obviously thinks it's important. And we do want this cleared up, don't we Lukas? Don't we?'

He didn't reply. His stubborn expression and lowered eyes reminded her so strongly of their eldest son that she couldn't help smiling.

'Dad put it away,' he mumbled.

'When?'

'The day after the murder. It was there when Stubo came round the first time. He wheedled his way into Mum's room a few days later, and evidently noticed it had gone.'

He grabbed a handful of tissues out of a box she had placed on the bedside table, and blew his nose thoroughly and for a long time.

'So how did you get hold of it?' she asked. 'If Erik had put it away?'

'It's a long story,' he said, waving dirty tissues around. 'And now I have to go back to sleep, Astrid. I mean it. I really do feel terrible.'

She stayed where she was. There was such a strong draught from the open balcony door that the newspaper on the bedside table was flapping. It had started raining again, and the patter of heavy raindrops on the balcony floor made her raise her voice as she patted the covers twice and said: 'OK. But we're not done with this.'

He shuffled back under the covers and turned his back on her.

'Any chance you could close the door?'

'Yes,' she replied.