his nose.
Definitely not a guest room.
The sweet smell of sleep mingled with a faint, almost imperceptible perfume.
It wasn’t possible to open the door fully, it bumped against a cupboard on the other side.
He ought to close the door and find the toilet.
There was no desk in the little room, just a fairly large bedside table with a pile of books and a lamp beneath a shelf containing four framed family portraits. He recognized Erik and Lukas straight away, plus an old black-and-white photograph which presumably showed the little family many years ago, when Lukas was small, on a boat in the summer.
On the wall between the cupboard and the bed there was a painting in strong shades of red, and a number of clothes hung on the back of a wooden chair at the foot of the bed. The curtains were thick, dark, and closed.
That was it.
‘Excuse me! Not in there!’
Adam stepped back into the hallway. Lukas Lysgaard came quickly towards him, hands spread wide. ‘What are you doing? Snooping around the house? Who gave you permission to … ?’
‘Along the hallway, second on the right, you said! I just wanted to—’
‘Second on the
left
. Here!’
Lukas pointed crossly at the door opposite.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Could you get a move on, please? I’d like to be alone with my father.’
Lukas Lysgaard must be around thirty-five. A man with an ordinary appearance and unusually broad shoulders. His hair was dark with deep waves, and his eyes were presumably blue. It was difficult to tell; they were narrow and hidden behind glasses reflecting the glow of the ceiling light.
‘My mother had problems sleeping sometimes,’ he said as Adam opened the correct door. ‘When that happened she liked to read. She didn’t want to disturb my father, so …’ He nodded towards the small bedroom.
‘I understand,’ said Adam, smiling before he went into the toilet. He took his time.
He would give a great deal to have another look in that bedroom. It annoyed him that he hadn’t been more alert. Noticed more. For example, he couldn’t remember what kind of clothes had been hanging over the chair: dressy clothes for Christmas Eve, or ordinary everyday clothes. Nor had he noticed the titles of the books on the bedside table. There was no reason to assume that anyone in this family had anything whatsoever to do with the murder of a wife and mother who was obviously loved. But Adam Stubo knew better than most that the solution to a murder was usually to be found with the victim. It could be something the family knew nothing about. Or it could be a detail, something neither the victim nor anyone else had picked up.
But it could be important all the same.
At any rate, one thing was certain, he thought as he zipped up his trousers and flushed the toilet. Eva Karin Lysgaard must have had serious problems when it came to sleeping if she sought refuge in that little bedroom every time she had a bad night. A better explanation was that husband and wife slept in separate rooms.
He washed his hands, dried them thoroughly and went back into the hallway.
Lukas Lysgaard was waiting for him. Without a word he opened the front door.
‘No doubt you’ll be in touch,’ he said, without offering his hand.
‘Of course.’
Adam pulled on his coat and stepped into the small porch. He was about to say Merry Christmas, but stopped himself just in time.
The Stranger
‘A ll the best!’
Detective Inspector Silje Sørensen ran up the steps, waving goodbye to a colleague who had stopped for a chat after leaving the police headquarters, which was now virtually empty. All the public departments were closed apart from the main desk, where a yawning officer had nodded to her through the glass wall as she dashed in through the entrance to Grønlandsleiret 44.
‘I’ve got the kids in the car!’ she shouted by way of explanation. ‘Just going to fetch my skis, I left them in the office and …’
Silje Sørensen ran up to
Definitely not a guest room.
The sweet smell of sleep mingled with a faint, almost imperceptible perfume.
It wasn’t possible to open the door fully, it bumped against a cupboard on the other side.
He ought to close the door and find the toilet.
There was no desk in the little room, just a fairly large bedside table with a pile of books and a lamp beneath a shelf containing four framed family portraits. He recognized Erik and Lukas straight away, plus an old black-and-white photograph which presumably showed the little family many years ago, when Lukas was small, on a boat in the summer.
On the wall between the cupboard and the bed there was a painting in strong shades of red, and a number of clothes hung on the back of a wooden chair at the foot of the bed. The curtains were thick, dark, and closed.
That was it.
‘Excuse me! Not in there!’
Adam stepped back into the hallway. Lukas Lysgaard came quickly towards him, hands spread wide. ‘What are you doing? Snooping around the house? Who gave you permission to … ?’
‘Along the hallway, second on the right, you said! I just wanted to—’
‘Second on the
left
. Here!’
Lukas pointed crossly at the door opposite.
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Could you get a move on, please? I’d like to be alone with my father.’
Lukas Lysgaard must be around thirty-five. A man with an ordinary appearance and unusually broad shoulders. His hair was dark with deep waves, and his eyes were presumably blue. It was difficult to tell; they were narrow and hidden behind glasses reflecting the glow of the ceiling light.
‘My mother had problems sleeping sometimes,’ he said as Adam opened the correct door. ‘When that happened she liked to read. She didn’t want to disturb my father, so …’ He nodded towards the small bedroom.
‘I understand,’ said Adam, smiling before he went into the toilet. He took his time.
He would give a great deal to have another look in that bedroom. It annoyed him that he hadn’t been more alert. Noticed more. For example, he couldn’t remember what kind of clothes had been hanging over the chair: dressy clothes for Christmas Eve, or ordinary everyday clothes. Nor had he noticed the titles of the books on the bedside table. There was no reason to assume that anyone in this family had anything whatsoever to do with the murder of a wife and mother who was obviously loved. But Adam Stubo knew better than most that the solution to a murder was usually to be found with the victim. It could be something the family knew nothing about. Or it could be a detail, something neither the victim nor anyone else had picked up.
But it could be important all the same.
At any rate, one thing was certain, he thought as he zipped up his trousers and flushed the toilet. Eva Karin Lysgaard must have had serious problems when it came to sleeping if she sought refuge in that little bedroom every time she had a bad night. A better explanation was that husband and wife slept in separate rooms.
He washed his hands, dried them thoroughly and went back into the hallway.
Lukas Lysgaard was waiting for him. Without a word he opened the front door.
‘No doubt you’ll be in touch,’ he said, without offering his hand.
‘Of course.’
Adam pulled on his coat and stepped into the small porch. He was about to say Merry Christmas, but stopped himself just in time.
The Stranger
‘A ll the best!’
Detective Inspector Silje Sørensen ran up the steps, waving goodbye to a colleague who had stopped for a chat after leaving the police headquarters, which was now virtually empty. All the public departments were closed apart from the main desk, where a yawning officer had nodded to her through the glass wall as she dashed in through the entrance to Grønlandsleiret 44.
‘I’ve got the kids in the car!’ she shouted by way of explanation. ‘Just going to fetch my skis, I left them in the office and …’
Silje Sørensen ran up to
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