The Consorts of Death Read Online Free PDF

although I was unable to identify the programme.
    Before leaving, I went upstairs to say goodnight to Jan. He had been given a pair of pyjamas from one of the wardrobes. Cecilie had found a book on the shelf over her bed and was reading aloud from it. The boy lay in bed with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling and giving no obvious sign that he was listening.
    ‘Goodnight, Johnny boy,’ I said.
    He didn’t answer.
    To Cecilie I opened my palms, gave her a pat of encouragement on the shoulder and was off.
    Hans accompanied me out. He laughed when he saw my vehicle. ‘Is there really any room in that sardine can, Varg?’
    ‘More than you would imagine,’ I answered. ‘But it would have been a size too small for you.’
    He stood watching as I got in. I peered up at him. He wore an air of concern.
    ‘Anything bothering you?’
    He shrugged. ‘It’s just an occupational disease, Varg. You’ll get it, too, after a few years in this line of work.’
    ‘And it has what effect?’
    ‘A slow accumulation of disillusionment regarding what some adults do to the children they brought into the world.’
    ‘Well …’
    We nodded to each other, then I put the car into gear and set off. I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror as I turned out of the car park. Standing where he was, he looked strangely forlorn: a big, good-natured teddy bear forgotten by a child who had long grown up, slightly at odds with the times.
    Beate had kept the flat in Møhlenpris. I had found myself two rooms and a kitchen in Telthussmauet, in Fjellsiden. But I didn’t go there. I did what I had told Cecilie I would do, and drove back to Wergelandsåsen.

6
     
     
    February was dark and this year there wasn’t much snow. It wasn’t cold, either. It had been an unseasonably warm winter, and in January the föhn winds had swept through the town for such long periods that man and beast had smelt spring in the air long before it was due. No one would have been surprised if the first migratory birds had arrived a month or two early.
    Wergelandsåsen was an almost noise-free zone this evening. All you could hear was the distant hum of cars down in Storetveitvegen , a cat meowing furiously in a garden and an aeroplane passing overhead towards Flesland airport.
    Behind the hedges, the houses were lit and peaceful. I pulled in, got out of the car and carefully put the car door to, without closing it. I stood taking stock of the area.
    The street was narrow and surrounded by withered brown hedges, most of them neat and tidy. A few cars were parked down one side. I bent forward to see if anyone was sitting in them, but there was no one.
    I closed the car door quietly and moved forward. There wasn’t a hedge around the brown house but large dark green rhododendron bushes, the biggest of them at least twenty years old. I paused by the gate. The police had cordoned off the house with red and white plastic tape, a measure which did not prevent anyone from entering if they wished. I looked towards the house. It had a dark, closed air. An outside lamp was on. That was all.
    A car door further down the street was slammed. I stared after it. Two men were coming towards me. Neither of them wearing a uniform, but they didn’t need to. I recognised them by their gait, and when they were close up I recognised Ellingsen and Bøe. Ellingsen because he had married an ex-girlfriend of mine; Boe I had seen at the police station.
    ‘Something we can help you with?’ asked Boe, the older of the two, weasel-faced, lean and wiry.
    ‘I know him,’ said Ellingsen, a bit chubbier, dark-haired with visible bristles.
    ‘Hello, Elling,’ I said. ‘Everything alright at home?’
    ‘Yes, thanks.’
    ‘You know him, did you say?’ Boe asked.
    ‘Just by repute.’
    ‘His wife,’ I began.
    ‘They were in the same class at school,’ he added with alacrity.
    I gave a thin smile as though I knew something he would have preferred not to know.
    ‘And what the hell are you