When The Devil Holds The Candle Part 19

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

She grabbed the newspaper and read the text again. Missing since September 1.

"I have to call your grandfather," she said.

"But I don't know where he is now," Matteus said, sounding worried.

"That doesn't matter. I still have to call him. Go to bed now."

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"I want to talk to Grandpa."

"You can have two minutes." She dialled her father's number and waited.

Skarre was chewing on his pen. It was leaving a metallic taste in his mouth. How could someone just disappear off the face of the earth like that? At the same time, he was thinking of what Sejer had said. There's always someone who knows something.

And Zipp knew. His thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing.

"Criminal Division. Jacob Skarre." There was a strange rus.h.i.+ng sound on the line. He listened for a moment, waiting.

"h.e.l.lo? . . . h.e.l.lo?"

The silence continued. Just the faint rus.h.i.+ng sound. He could have hung up they had plenty of calls when people never said a word but he decided to wait.

"You'd better come soon. He probably won't live much longer!"

There was a click. The conversation was over. Skarre sat there bewildered, holding the phone. A woman. She sounded hysterical, almost tearful. And at that instant something occurred to him. He stood up so fast that his chair fell and went clattering into the filing cabinet behind him. Those words. That despair! Where had he heard them 287 before? He leaned against the cabinet, thinking. That hoa.r.s.e voice, it reminded him of something, if only he could remember. Something recent. He sat at his desk again. Thought hard. But he couldn't pin it down. How could he make himself remember?

He tried thinking of something else. Finally it came back to him what she had actually said. He probably won't live much longer. Did it have to do with Andreas Winther? Why did he think of Andreas? He fished in his s.h.i.+rt pocket for a cigarette. A folded piece of paper came out with it. He unfolded it. "A woman of about 60 arrives at the office at 4 p.m. She seems confused." And then he remembered. The confused woman in the brown coat who had come to see him the previous day. It It has to do with a missing person. He probably won't has to do with a missing person. He probably won't live much longer. live much longer. She was that strange woman with the baby bottle too. That's why she had seemed familiar. What on earth was she up to? He lit his cigarette and went to the window. Opened it and blew the smoke out. She was that strange woman with the baby bottle too. That's why she had seemed familiar. What on earth was she up to? He lit his cigarette and went to the window. Opened it and blew the smoke out.

The phone rang again.

"This is Runi Winther. I just want to apologise for being such a pest."

Skarre cleared his throat. "That's quite all right, Mrs Winther. We know this is difficult for you."

"Have you talked to my friend?"

"Not yet."

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"But you promised!"

"I will see her. Tomorrow, Mrs Winther."

"She'll vouch for him. She has to!"

"As far as Andreas' conduct is concerned, we have no reason to believe that it's anything but what it should be."

"But I want you to hear it from someone who knows him."

"All right, Mrs Winther. No, call us by all means, that's why we're here. Fine."

Sejer put his head round the door. "I wonder what those two have been up to. Zipp is lying about the time. They were seen together at 6.15."

"And I wonder," Skarre said grimly, "whether we could be running out of time."

289.

CHAPTER 19.

September 6.

Skarre drove along the river, turned left off a roundabout and changed down into second gear at the bottom of a steep hill. He didn't often come to this part of town, but he liked the neighbourhood, the overgrown hedges and the craggy apple trees. Prins Oscars gate.

Prins Oscars gate? He listened in amazement to his own thoughts. A thick hedge on the left-hand side. Number 17. d.a.m.n, he had pa.s.sed it. Had to drive to the top and turn. He parked next to a wrought-iron gate. Took in a white house. He frowned. This white house with the green paintwork? Was this where he was to go? He got out and locked the car. Read the name on the postbox and saw that it was the right one. Irma Funder. He walked down the gravel path. Rang the doorbell and waited. Something was bothering him, some vague unease. He could hear nothing from inside, but he had no means of knowing whether someone might be looking at him through the spyhole in the 290 He listened in amazement to his own thoughts. A thick hedge on the left-hand side. Number 17. d.a.m.n, he had pa.s.sed it. Had to drive to the top and turn. He parked next to a wrought-iron gate. Took in a white house. He frowned. This white house with the green paintwork? Was this where he was to go? He got out and locked the car. Read the name on the postbox and saw that it was the right one. Irma Funder. He walked down the gravel path. Rang the doorbell and waited. Something was bothering him, some vague unease. He could hear nothing from inside, but he had no means of knowing whether someone might be looking at him through the spyhole in the 290 door. He did his best to a.s.sume a trustworthy expression. A chain rattled. The lock clicked. A pale face came into view as the door opened a crack.

"Irma Funder?"

She didn't nod, only stared at him. He could see no more than her nose and eyes.

"What is it?" she said. Her voice was hoa.r.s.e. He must have come at an inconvenient time.

"I was given your name by Runi Winther. Andreas' mother. You know that he's missing?" More rattling. Feet shuffling on the mat inside.

"She told me about it."

The door opened a little wider. Skarre looked at the woman in disbelief. He studied the curly grey hair, the thin lips and the strong jaw. A bell started jangling in his head. It was her! The woman who turned up in his office. The woman who he tried to compose himself she was the one who left behind the baby bottle in the shop. It was a bizarre coincidence. For a moment he was thrown off balance. An eerie feeling started creeping down his spine and his brain whirled, trying to remember exactly what it was that she had said, when she stood in front of his desk. The very same thing the woman had said on the phone: "He probably won't live much longer." The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, as they had when she had been in his office.

291.

"Could I come in?"

He was so agitated that his voice shook, and two bright red patches appeared on his face. She noticed, of course. She grew frightened and wanted to withdraw. The door closed again until only a narrow opening remained.

"I don't know anything!"

"Mrs Winther would like me to talk to you. She's very worried."

"I know that. I'm sure he'll turn up."

"Do you think so?"

Skarre stuck a s.h.i.+ny regulation shoe in the door and he smiled as warmly as he could.

"It's a routine matter. Your name is on my list," he told her. "And it's my job to come up with a few sentences to add to my report. That way we can cross you off the list and be done with it. And move on, to more important things."

I'm talking too fast, he thought. Dear Jesus, help me so I don't scare this person off before I find out more!

"I know I'm not important," she snapped. He looked at her. Beneath his curls, his mind was racing.

"This isn't a very good time."

She was about to shut the door on him altogether.

"It will only take a minute."

"But I don't know anything!"

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"Now listen . . ." Skarre got a grip on himself. He had to get into this house and find out who the woman was, even though he couldn't see any connection between her and Andreas' disappearance. Except that she knew his mother. She was a woman who lived alone, cut off from the rest of society. Why would she know anything? But one sentence kept echoing through his memory: "I know where he is".

"If you won't speak to me, my boss will come here himself," Skarre said. "You know the type, a chief inspector of the old school."

It was a threat. He could see that she was weighing it. Finally, she opened the door and he stepped into the hall. It was a tidy house. The kitchen was blue, with a striped rug lying at an angle on the floor.

"May I sit down?" He indicated a chair.

"I suppose so, if you can't stand for as long as a minute," she said curtly. Skarre shook his head. What kind of person was this? Was she a bit crazed?

Mrs Winther hadn't suggested anything like that. Mrs Winther was perfectly normal herself. Why would this woman be her friend? May the Lord forgive my arrogance, he thought. And he sat down. Didn't take out a notebook or pen, just sat there, looking at her. She was busy with something on her kitchen counter. He looked about him, saw the baby bottle. It was standing next to the coffee maker. What was she using it for?

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"Your name: Irma Funder. That's what it says on the postbox," he began.

"That's my name," she said, dismissively.

"It's not usual. Generally the man's name is on the postbox. Or the names of both husband and wife. Or simply a surname."

"My husband is gone," she said.

Skarre thought for a moment. "He's gone? You said he was sick."

She spun around. "When?" she snapped.

"The last time we talked."

"I don't know you!" Her face was contorted with anxiety.

"No," he said. "But we've met before. Quite recently. Have you forgotten already?"

He gave her a searching look. "Tell me what you know about Andreas."

She turned her back and shrugged. "That's quickly done. I don't know anything. He was never at home whenever I used to visit Runi."

"Used to? Don't you visit Mrs Winther still?"

"I'm not feeling very well," she said.

"I understand," he said, but he didn't understand a thing. Only that something was amiss.

"Tell me about your husband," he went on. And then she did turn to face him. Her thin lips were colourless.

"He left me," she said.

294.

"How long ago was that?"

"Eleven years ago."

"And now you think he's dead?"

"I never hear from him any more."

"But you manage on your own?"

"As long as I'm left in peace," she said. "But all this coming and going makes me nervous."

"All what coming and going? What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing. But there are so many strange people out at night. I don't usually open the door. I keep it locked. But since you're in uniform, I took a chance. It's not easy to see what people are made of."

"What is Andreas made of?" he asked.

"Oh, Andreas," she said. "He's a funny one. Almost synthetic."

"What?" Skarre was startled by her reply. "Do you have any children of your own?"

"I had a son. Ingemar."

"Had? Is he dead?"

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him in a long time. For all I know, he could be dead." She turned away again. "Time's up. You said one minute."