Death By Water (41 page)

He shook his head firmly. – You’re wrong, Liss. Death doesn’t surprise me any longer, but I am not devoid of feelings. She deserved to live for somewhat longer.

She listened out for any kind of ambiguity in what he was saying.

– Death walks alongside us all the time, and you can choose to look another way. That will be the essence of my next show. Naturally it will be the last
Taboo
in the series. Beyond death, there isn’t much more to talk about.

– Are you a junkie? she asked suddenly.

He half slumped in the sofa. Was wearing a sort of silky kimono. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he was naked beneath it.

– You can’t be in paradise all the time, Liss, that’s what the junkies don’t understand. You have to control it. You need a will of iron to balance on that particular razor’s edge.

– And paradise, that’s when you get a fix?

He showed his tiny white teeth. Lying slumped there like that, grinning, unshaven, his hair sticking up, he looked like a pirate chief out of some children’s book.

– Try it, Liss. That is all I can say. You must try it. Or not. It’s impossible to talk about it. It is how God reveals himself to us, giving us a ticket to a grandstand from where we can sneak a glance into the most complete perfection. Like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself, not around your body, but around your thoughts. Your soul, if you prefer. Within all is perfect peace. You desire nothing more than to be exactly where you are. No artist, no mystic has ever managed to describe the sensation. It is beyond words.

She tried to recall what it was she had thought of saying to him. He distracted her the whole time, and she couldn’t seem to stop him.

– Can you live in such a way that death will be something to relish? he asked her. – Prepare yourself to turn it into your life’s climax? Imagine you’re having sex and achieve orgasm at the precise moment of your dying, disappearing in a movement that never ends. That is what my last programme will be about. But not in the way people might expect. You must never do what they expect, always be a nose in front.

He took a last drag from his pipe and put it back in the ashtray.

– How do you imagine you will die, Liss?

She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

– Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. I can see by looking at you that you’re preoccupied with death.

Should she share her innermost thoughts with this semi-naked and wholly uninhibited priest? Tell him about the marsh by Morr Water. It would be like taking him out there, like having him there beside her when she lay down and looked up between the trees as the blanket of snow spread itself across her. She pulled herself together, but again he was there before her.

– There’s something about you, Liss. You’re from another place. You make me think of an angel of death. Do you know the effect you have on other people?

She sat up straighter. His eyes were growing distant now, as though he was looking deep inside himself.

– What did you talk to Mailin about?

Berger put his head back. The dressing gown slid to one side, and it occurred to Liss that he was about to expose himself to her.

– We spoke always of passion. She was interested in it. Passionately so.

– The passion of the adult, Liss corrected him. – In his encounter with the child.

– That too. Your sister was of the opinion that the recipe for a good life lies in in controlling the passions.

– While you believe they should be liberated.

He gave a hollow laugh. – Not liberated. Liberate yourself on them. Let them withdraw all the power from you. Would you really exchange fifty years of boredom for the intense pleasures of a year, or a minute?

– You sound like an evangelist.

– You’re right, I’m more of a priest now than I ever was when I stood at the altar and delivered sermons from the Bible. I proselytise because I enjoy the staring and the contempt, but also the curiosity, the desire to allow oneself to be tempted. Where does that desire come from, Liss? Why have you come back here again?

– You asked me to come. I need to know what happened that evening Mailin went missing.

He picked up a remote control, turned off the music. – Did I tell you last time that I knew your father?

She sat there open mouthed.

– It was in the seventies, long before you were even thought of. We hung out with the same crowd. I was a lapsed priest; he was an artist with more ambition than talent.

He seemed to be thinking about something before he added: – I suspect that was Mailin’s real reason for coming here. And why she said yes to the chance to appear on
Taboo
. She wanted to know what I could tell her about this father of yours who left you.

– I don’t believe you.

Berger shrugged. – You can believe whatever you like.

– When … was the last time you saw him?

– Mailin asked me the same question, Berger sighed. – I met him in Amsterdam about ten or twelve years ago. It was when he had an exhibition there.

The pipe had gone out; he picked it up anyway and puffed away on it. It emitted a gurgling sound.

– I’m sure he thought he would make his name in the international art market. But he wasn’t intended for great things. Deep down inside he knew that himself.

She sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, unable to take her eyes off him.

– But then he rang me not too long ago. He’d heard that Mailin was going to appear on
Taboo
. I think he’s kept track of you two all along, from somewhere out there.

– You’re making stories up to get me interested, she yelled at him. – That’s what you did to Mailin, too. Enticed her here.

He sat up, leaned across the table towards her.

– You still believe that I am the one responsible for her death?

She couldn’t say anything.

– You think I met her at the office, drugged her, carried her out to the car, locked her in the boot and drove her out to a disused factory. Undressed her and played with her until I got bored, killed her and then left.

– Stop it!

A spasm jerked across his face. – Why should I stop when this is what you came here to hear?

She stood up, suddenly unsteady. – I don’t know why I came here.

He stood up too, rounded the table. Towering in front of her. She was forced to inhale the smell of his naked body, the male sweat, the unwashed hair, all kinds of bodily fluids, and the whiff of his guts from his mouth as he bent down towards her. Then something happened to his eyes, the gaze widened, and he began to shake. Suddenly he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her close to him, held her tightly.

– I know what happened, Liss, he muttered, his voice thick. – I liked her, I told you. She didn’t deserve to die like that.

He squeezed harder. Liss feels the soft swell of the pot belly and the large sex hanging down below it. She knows what’s going to happen next. The light is sucked away and burns itself into everything around her, opens up a room in which she can hide away. And just then the doorbell rang. The grip was relaxed, she pulled herself free, grabbed her jacket, ran out into the corridor, struggled with the lock.

There was no one outside. She slammed the door shut behind her, raced down the stairs and out into the street. Not until she reached Kirke Way did she stop running. She turned, but knew he would not follow her.

Her phone rang. She saw the name on the display. Still she took the call.

– What’s the matter? asked Jomar Vindheim.

She muttered a few disjointed words, something about Berger.

– I’ll pick you up, he insisted. – I’m in the neighbourhood.

She protested but was relieved when he ignored her.

– Y
OU NEED A
cup of coffee, he said as she sat beside him in the car a few minutes later.

Coffee was the last thing she needed. She wanted to ask him to drive her to the flat in Lang Street so she could get into her room and be alone. – I can’t face the thought of a coffee bar, she said.

– Then I’ve got a better suggestion, he claimed. – After all, you’ve been to my place before. You know you’ll get out of there with your life and your honour intact. Even your senses.

– Senses? she exclaimed, not sure where he was going with this.

– What were you doing at Berger’s? he said to change the subject as he accelerated through the junction at Majorstua. – Your sister?

She didn’t answer. He passed through another junction, this time on amber, before saying: – You think Berger has something to do with it?

– I don’t know, Jomar.

A weird name, she thought, it sounded strange when she said it. She decided to trust him, described what had happened at Berger’s flat, but avoided mentioning anything about Berger’s claiming to know her father.

– Did he threaten you? Christ, Liss, you should make a formal complaint.

She could still feel those fists squeezing her into that enormous, soft body … It never did any good reporting something like that. But what he said as he was holding her, that was something the police ought to know about.
I know what happened.
Ring Jennifer, she thought.

– I don’t think he meant to make a threat. There was something or other he wanted to tell me. Weak of me to chicken out.

– Is it chickening out to get out of the way of a guy as unstable as that? Jomar smacked his lips. – Not such a brilliant idea to go there in the first place. Next time I’ll come with you.

She tried to summon a smile. – Probably smart. Rumour has it that he’s very partial to young lads, especially really good-looking ones …

She broke off, noticed that he was looking at her.

His flat seemed brighter than the last time she was there. And tidy, considering it belonged to a young man with a lot of time and money on his hands. Or maybe he had a housekeeper. A door in the hallway was ajar, and through it she caught a glimpse of a tall bedhead with wrought-iron ornamentation, and a punch ball hanging from the ceiling. The furniture in the living room certainly wasn’t from IKEA. The sofa and the chairs looked like Jasper Morrison, but she avoided asking Jomar Vindheim if he was interested in interior design. Along one wall were shelves containing CDs and DVDs. She waited until he disappeared out into the kitchen to make coffee before looking at his collection. Rap mostly, and that was closer to the sort of impression she had of him. Action films and PlayStation games.
The Da Vinci Code
and a few other books. She took one of these down,
Atonement
, which she had read herself. Was standing with it in her hands when he came back in.

– You read this kind of thing? she blurted out, aware as she said it that it sounded decidedly patronising.

– Shocked? He handed her a cup of coffee.

– Didn’t think most footballers could read, she said, trying to smooth things over with a more obvious irony.

He opened the curtains. The flat was on the ninth floor, and the Oslo sky hung outside the window like a crude grey canvas.

– A girl I met gave it to me, he confessed as he slipped down on to the sofa. – She insisted that I read it.

– I see, Liss responded, picturing a little football groupie who tried to attract his attention with the aid of someone else’s talent. – And did you?

– Yep. Good stuff. Especially that you never really know if they survived the war or not. In the film, it was much too obvious.

She raised her eyebrows, exaggerating her own surprise. – So you like that kind of open ending?

– Worked well there anyway, he replied, ignoring her sarcastic tone. – The girl I got it from is actually a friend of yours.

It dawned on Liss that this friend had to be Therese, who had called her a bitch.

– Can I smoke, or do you want me to walk down the nine floors?

She could have managed to wait, asked mostly as a provocation, because suddenly she felt irritated. Not with him, if the truth be known, but he was there, he’d invited her back to his place, he kept popping up all over the place, sent her messages and didn’t give up even though she had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

– Sure, he said, got up and fetched a bowl. – Use this as an ashtray.

It was white with a drawing of a little Asian girl on it; her eyes were suggested by two lines, and she was holding up a poppy.

– Anyway, I have a balcony.

He opened the door and accompanied her out into the chilly afternoon, even went back and fetched a jacket for her. She recognised it and had to smile.

– What I liked best about that book, he said after he’d lit her cigarette for her, – is that it reminded me of my grandfather.

– Oh yeah. Was he falsely accused of rape and ended up a war hero? Suddenly she remembered something. – You met Mailin.

For a few seconds his face grew a shade darker. – That’s right in a way. Briefly.

– Why didn’t you mention it?

He shrugged. – Haven’t really had the chance to have a proper talk with you. Not yet.

She ignored the invitation. – Where did you meet her?

– At the sports school. She ran a course there, about abuse in the world of athletics. It was a couple of years ago. I talked to her afterwards. I liked her.

His response did nothing to quell her irritation. She finished her cigarette and squashed it out against the head of the Chinese girl.

– Your sister was well liked by everybody. It’s just too fucking awful. If there’s anything I can do, Liss …

Stop talking about it, she thought, but didn’t say it. Stop following me around, she thought, but she didn’t say that either.

Back in the living room, she sank down into the sofa. It was so comfortable to sit in. She didn’t want to leave yet, but she couldn’t stay.

Jomar said: – I hope Jimbo’s stopped bothering you.

She blew out her breath with a low whistling sound. – I’m not scared of him. If he was going to do anything to me, he would have done it in the park that night.

He didn’t move his gaze when she looked over at him.

– I think you ought to learn how to look after yourself a bit better, Liss.