The Consorts of Death Read Free Page A

it struck me: But it couldn’t be … that would be too grotesque .
    The scepticism in his eyes remained. His lips were clenched together and his gaze was big and blue, as if frozen in a cry, in a terror that still had not released its grip.
    ‘Is there anything you would like?’ I asked.
    He shook his head.
    I glanced at Tore Persen. ‘Has he been like this the whole time?’
    She nodded, half-turned away from him and whispered: ‘We haven’t had a word out of him. It must be – the shock.’
    ‘He was with his mother when you arrived?’
    ‘Yes. A grisly situation of course.’
    The boy did not move. He sat staring at the electric train as though waiting for it to start of its own accord. There was nothing to suggest that he had heard a word of what we had been discussing . There was not the slightest hint of a reaction.
    I felt myself wince inside. It had been exactly the same with the other boy, whose name was also Johnny boy.
    But it couldn’t be …
    I looked at Cecilie. ‘What do you think? Should we bring in Marianne for this one?’
    ‘Yes. Could you ring her?’
    ‘OK.’
    I went back to the hallway. A constable was standing by the entrance to the cellar.
    ‘Was this where it happened?’
    The constable nodded. ‘They found him down there.’
    ‘Is he still there?’
    ‘No, no. He’s been moved.’
    ‘When did it happen?’
    ‘About midday.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘We received the report at two thirty.’
    I looked around. ‘Is there a telephone we could use?’
    He sent me a sceptical look. ‘I think you’ll have to go outside and use one of the car phones. We haven’t examined the telephone here yet. For fingerprints.’
    ‘I see.’
    The front door was still open. I walked over to the parked cars and asked the plainclothes officer in one of the cars whether I could use his phone.
    He put on a surly expression. ‘And who’s asking?’
    ‘Varg Veum. Social services.’
    ‘Veum?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Right. I’ll get you a clear line.’
    He tapped some numbers into the dialling pad and passed the phone to me through the door. ‘You can dial the number there,’ he explained.
    In the meantime, I had found the number for Dr Marianne Storetvedt, the psychologist, in my address book. I called.
    After a few rings, she picked up. ‘Dr Storetvedt.’
    ‘Marianne? Varg here.’
    ‘Hi, Varg. How can I help you?’
    ‘We have an acute situation here.’ I gave her a brief summary.
    ‘And the mother?’
    ‘Has been taken to Haukeland. Nervous breakdown.’
    She sighed. ‘Well … what are you planning to do with him?’
    ‘We were going to take him to Haukedalen. To one of the emergency rooms there.’
    ‘Sounds wise. But do pop by here first. How soon could you be here?’
    ‘Barring anything unforeseen cropping up … in a half an hour’s time?’
    ‘That’s great. I’ll be waiting. I don’t have any more patients today, so that’s fine.’
    We finished the conversation and I passed back the phone to the officer in the car, who switched it off for me. Then I returned to the house. In the hallway I stopped by a slender bureau. On top was a framed photograph. It was a family picture of three people. I recognised Jan in the middle. The other two must have been his parents. Svein Skarnes looked older than I had assumed. He was almost bald with a narrow, slightly distant face. His wife had dark hair and a nice, regular smile, an everyday beauty, the type you see six to a dozen. Jan looked a little helpless sitting between them, with an expression of pent-up defiance on his face.
    In the living room the situation had not changed. Cecilie had taken a seat on the sofa with Jan. Now she had the transformer and the train ran in fits and starts; she wasn’t used to this kind of activity. The policewoman stood to the side with a pained air.
    ‘All done,’ I said. ‘We can go to Marianne’s right away.’
    ‘And she is?’ asked Tora Persen.
    ‘A psychologist we consult