When The Devil Holds The Candle Part 16

As he walked to the front entrance, he repeated to himself: I don't remember, I don't remember. If they realised that he was lying, or hiding something, they would have to prove it. He entered the reception area and gave his name at the desk. Had to stand there, alone, and wait. A man came towards him, wearing a uniform. Not the young guy with the curls this time. This was going to be worse. He straightened up, wanting to meet the situation with confidence, only to discover that the man was a head taller than he was. He was struck by the feeling that his case was hopeless, it would be impossible to fool this monolith of a man. The aura of friendliness surrounding him was just a veneer. It didn't for one second hide what he was truly made of. Zipp was reminded first of iron and steel, then oiled wood and finally lead crystal as he met the man's grey eyes. He felt a prod on his shoulder. It directed him to the lift, into a corner.

"Konrad Sejer."

254.

The voice was deep, threatening. This was undoubtedly one of the bosses. Why? The office surprised him. It looked like any other office, with a child's drawings, photographs, thank-you cards, things like that. A good chair. View of the river. He could see the sight-seeing boat gliding past, must be one of the last tours of the season.

"Zipp," Sejer said. "I'm going to order some coffee. Do you drink coffee?"

"Jesus, yes."

It hadn't got off to a good start. His voice wavered. I don't remember, I don't remember. Sejer left the room. Zipp wondered what the consequences would be if he lied. This was just a conversation, wasn't it?

He thought of what his mother had said: "I know you". There was something about this man that gave him the same feeling. He must try to maintain a friendly tone. As long as the tone remained friendly, he was safe. Sejer came back with a coffee pot and two Styrofoam cups.

"Good of you to come," he said. As if Zipp had had a choice. The grey man knew this, he was just playing a game. Suddenly he seemed terribly dangerous. Dejection swamped him. A dull fear that he wasn't going to get out of this in one piece.

"Sure. But I don't understand what I'm doing here," he stammered. "I told you everything about that night."

255.

The man shot him a glance that felt like a blast in his eyes.

"It's more serious now," Sejer said curtly.

"Before, it was one day, now it's three; that's a whole different story."

Zipp nodded mutely.

"For your sake, I hope we find Andreas," Sejer went on. He watched the stream of burning hot coffee trickling into the white cup.

For your sake? What the h.e.l.l did he mean by that? Zipp was about to ask that very question. What the h.e.l.l do you mean by that? Wasn't there some sort of insinuation in the question? That if they didn't find him . . .

"He's your best friend, right?"

"Yes he is." Zipp said. Now he felt as if it were being used against him, the fact that they were friends, that Andreas was his best pal. Stay calm, he told himself, just answer the questions.

"I'm going to be honest with you," Sejer said.

"I'm an old-fas.h.i.+oned kind of man." He gave a winning smile, which made Zipp think that either he really was nice or he was one h.e.l.l of an actor. He decided the latter was more likely. "One of my officers, Jacob Skarre, has already talked to you. I'll get directly to the point. In his report, he made it clear that during the course of your conversation he had the strong impression that you weren't 256 telling the truth. That's why you're here. Do you understand?"

Zipp shrugged. Calm, stay calm. Breathe from your stomach.

"The thing is, I've had experience before with Officer Skarre's intuition. And I have no choice but to take it seriously."

Zipp stretched out his legs and laid one foot over the other.

"What I've been thinking, just as a possibility," Sejer said, "was that the two of you did something together that evening that may have had an unexpected outcome. Something you've decided not to tell us, because you're afraid of the consequences." Zipp was rolling some spit around in his mouth. Finally the deep flow of words stopped. He was apparently waiting for an answer.

"No objections?" he said at last.

"We were in a bar," Zipp said.

"So tell me in your own words all that happened that night," said Sejer. He was now sitting in his chair.

"My own words?" Zipp stammered.

"What you did, what you talked about. Maybe that will give me some idea of what's going on." Did he know more than he was saying? Had the woman with the pram described them down to the last detail?

257.

"Sorry." Zipp hesitated as he searched for what the inspector called "his own words".

"You don't have to feel embarra.s.sed. This conversation stays in this room. You're not being taped or recorded. You can speak freely." Such phrases the man used! Now he was trying to give the impression that he was an ally, but he wasn't, was he?

Zipp straightened his shoulders. "Well, there's not much to tell. We were in a bar having a beer. After that we went to my house. Watched a video. Wandered round town for a while. Andreas went home to bed. That's all."

Sejer nodded encouragement. Zipp started to believe that this man wasn't here to ask him about the baby after all. He was indeed concerned about Andreas, and nothing else. Zipp tried not to take a defensive position.

"But he didn't go home to bed," Sejer said, smiling. A new kind of smile: broad and open. Zipp had to smile at his own stupidity. But it was entirely innocent, it had just slipped out, apparently to his advantage, judging by the man's response.

"No, of course not. But that's what he said."

"Exactly. He had to get up early?"

"At 8.00."

Sejer drank some coffee. "What film did you watch?"

258.

Did that make any difference? Did he think they watched a film that might have steered them into trouble?

"Blade Runner" he mumbled, a bit reluctantly because he didn't want to show any kind of he mumbled, a bit reluctantly because he didn't want to show any kind of enthusiasm. Sejer noticed his slight irritation.

"I saw that one a long time ago," he said. "I didn't much like it. But then, as I said, I'm oldfas.h.i.+oned." Zipp relaxed. "Andreas insisted on watching it. Even though he's seen it hundreds of times. Or something like that."

"Is that right? Hundreds of times? Were you bored?"

"I'm often bored."

"Why's that?"

"I don't have a job."

"So you wait all day for Andreas, until you can have some company?"

"He usually calls after dinner."

"Did you make any arrangements to meet again when you said goodbye?"

"No, we didn't have . . ."

He checked himself. The words had come pouring out of him. I don't remember, I don't remember. He was floating away like a sc.r.a.p of paper on the rus.h.i.+ng stream that was this man.

"You didn't have what?"

259.

"He met someone." The words just popped out.

"Ah! He met someone?"

Zipp didn't look up, but if he had, he would have seen Sejer's wry smile.

"Who, Zipp?"

"I didn't know them."

He stifled a silent curse. Who the h.e.l.l had put that reply into his mouth? Now he would be asked why he hadn't told this to the other officer when he came to his house. Okay, so he'd forgotten about it. That wasn't so bad. This man would have to prove he was lying. It wasn't enough that the air was thick with lies. Though it was.

"Excellent that you remembered that," said Sejer with satisfaction. "That's what I always say. Things come back to you more clearly over time. And you're in a difficult situation, after all. Your best friend is missing, and you're worried about him." In his mind Zipp pictured Andreas trapped somewhere. Alone in the dark. That white house. He didn't understand it. A lump was forming in his throat and tears came to his eyes. But maybe that was to his advantage. Showing how worried he was.

"Two guys," he said, with his eyes lowered.

"They came over to us in the square."

"Two men?"

"Yes."

"Young men?"

260.

"Older than us. Thirty, maybe."

"Have you ever seen them before?"

"No."

"But Andreas knew them?"

"It looked like it."

A long pause. Way too long. Either he was thinking over this information, this utter lie, or he was amused by these wild fantasies. What if Andreas showed up and told his own version? Am I a.s.suming that he's never going to show up? Have I written him off? No, I'm a good friend!

"All right. Tell me more."

"Tell you what?"

He was on thin ice now, suspended precariously over the cold deep. Images flew past his eyes: Andreas' burning cheeks, the baby with the toothless gums.

"We sat on a bench. They were standing near the fountain. Andreas said he had to take off. And then they left. I don't know where they went. I was actually a bit p.i.s.sed off."

Then Zipp shut up. His coffee cup was still untouched. He would have taken a sip, but he didn't trust his hands. Sejer had no such problem. He took sip after sip, without making a sound. Zipp's last words hung in the room: "I was actually a bit p.i.s.sed off." He had made it up, but there was truth in the lie. If that had really happened, if they had been 261 sitting on the bench and Andreas had suddenly taken off, he really would have been irritated. He reached this conclusion with a certain pride.

"But Andreas didn't he spend all his time with you?

Zipp squirmed. "I thought so."

"Thornegata," said Sejer suddenly. Zipp glanced up.

"You mentioned to Andreas' mother when she called that you said goodbye to each other on Thornegata."

"I don't remember," he said swiftly.

"I mention it because there must be some reason why you would have thought of that particular street. You remembered wrong, of course, we've already ascertained that, but for some reason your brain still made that choice. Maybe you were in the vicinity of Thornegata sometime that evening?" Zipp felt bewildered.

"It just slipped out. A short circuit," he said.

"It happens," Sejer conceded.

He got up and opened the window. The September air swept in.

"What do you think has happened?" Sejer said. He was sitting down now.

"s.h.i.+t. I have no idea."

"But you must have some thoughts about it."

"Yes."

262.

"Could you tell me?"

He thought hard. It occurred to him that what had started as "just a conversation" now felt very much like an interrogation.

"I've thought of everything!" he said with a sudden, fierce sincerity. "That he went off and hanged himself. Anything at all."

"Is that something he might do?"

"No. Or rather, I don't know." He thought about the cemetery. "I don't know," he repeated.

"Was there something bothering him?"

"He never said so."