she say anything?"
"Maybe she didn't dare. Or maybe she didn't fully understand what she had seen. Maybe she confided in Halvor. I've always had the feeling that he knows more than he's telling us."
"Konrad," Skarre said, "don't you think he would have told us?"
"I'm not so sure he would. He's an odd character. Let's go and have a talk with him."
At that moment his beeper went off, so he went over to the car to ring the number. Holthemann answered.
"Axel Bj酶rk has shot himself in the head with an old Enfield revolver."
Sejer had to lean on the car for support. The news tasted like bitter medicine, leaving an uncomfortable dryness in his throat.
"Did you find a suicide note?"
"Not on the body. They're searching his apartment. But the man obviously had a guilty conscience about something, don't you think?"
"I don't know. He had lots of problems."
"He was an irresponsible alcoholic. And he had a grudge against Ada Holland that was as sharp as a shark's tooth," Holthemann said.
"He was mostly just unhappy."
"Hatred and despair often look alike. People show whatever suits them best."
"I think you're wrong. He had finally given up. And that must be why he put an end to it all."
"Maybe he wanted to take Ada with him?"
Sejer shook his head and glanced down the street, towards the Holland house.
"He wouldn't have done that to S酶lvi and Eddie."
"Do you want to find the killer or not?"
"I just want the right one."
He hung up and looked at Skarre. "Axel Bj酶rk is dead. I wonder what Ada Holland will think now. Maybe the same as Halvor did when his father died. That it was a relief."
CHAPTER 15
Halvor sprang to his feet. His chair fell over and he turned abruptly towards the window, staring out at the deserted courtyard. He stood like that for a long time. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the toppled chair and Annie's photograph on the bedside table. So that's what happened. That's what Annie saw. He sat down again in front of the monitor and read it through from beginning to end. Within Annie's text was his own story, what he had confided to her, in deepest secrecy. The raging father, the shot in the shed, December 13th. It had nothing to do with Annie's death. He took a deep breath, highlighted the section, and erased it from the document for all eternity. Then he inserted a floppy disk and copied the text. When he'd finished, he slipped quietly out of his room and went through the kitchen.
"What is it, Halvor?" his grandmother called as he came through the living room, pulling on his denim jacket. "Are you going out?"
He didn't answer. He heard her voice, but the words made no impression on him.
"Where are you going? Are you going to the movies?"
He started buttoning his jacket, thinking about his motorcycle and whether it would start. If it didn't he'd have to take the bus, and that would take him an hour to reach his destination. He didn't have an hour; he had to get there fast.
"When are you coming back? Will you be home for supper?"
He stopped and looked at her, as if he had just noticed that she was standing there, right in front of him, and nagging at him.
"Supper?"
"Where are you going, Halvor? It's almost suppertime!"
"I'm going out to see someone."
"Who is it? You look so pale, I wonder if you're getting anaemic. When was the last time you went to see the doctor? You probably don't even remember. What did you say his name was?"
"I didn't say. His name's Johnas."
Halvor's voice sounded unusually determined. The door slammed, and when she peeked out the window she could see him bending over his motorcycle, angrily trying to make it start.
*
The camera on the first floor was not very well placed. There was too much glare on the lens, reducing the customers to vague outlines, almost like ghosts. He liked to see who his customers were before he went out to greet them. Upstairs, where the light was better, he could distinguish faces and clothing, and if they were regular customers, he could prepare himself before leaving the office, assuming an attitude appropriate for each one. He took another look at the screen. A lone figure was standing in the room. As far as he could see, it was a man, or maybe a teenager, wearing a short jacket. It didn't look important, but he had to put in an appearance,