asked.
‘Nothing. There’s all sorts of things here, notebooks, letters, manuscripts.’
‘All that stuff was in his desk.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yuck.’ She tossed a black notebook onto the bed. I flipped it open with one finger. ‘That’s not Halland’s handwriting.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Why did you say “yuck”?’
‘Read it yourself,’ she replied.
‘Do you mind if I have a nap? You don’t have to do all that.’ Lying down on my side, I pushed the pillow onto the floor and pulled the cover over me. I fell asleep at once.
When I opened my eyes, Pernille’s face was hovering above mine. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘What?’ I spluttered. I had no idea where I was.
‘You were dreaming! I’ll make you that coffee.’ She left the room. The bedcover was wet beside my mouth. Turning over, I looked across at Halland’s desk. There were neat piles on it now. I sat up. The computer would have to come back with me; the detective would want it. I felt no urge to pry. My natural curiosity had vanished the moment I found the keys to the room.
I looked through the black notebook that Pernille had flung on my bed.
It’s the most wonderful thing. The dream of happiness come true. This is amazing, indescribable, it’s …
‘Yuck,’ I said, and put it aside.
Pernille returned with a cup of black coffee. The smell woke me up.
‘Isn’t it gross?’ she asked, and edged past me. She sat down on the bed.
‘What do you do exactly? I said. ‘I didn’t know that you were interested in literature.’
‘Oh, but I’m not,’ she said, and then she started laughing. ‘Actually I am. I work in a bookshop just along there.’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Her laugh showed her off well and I laughed alongside. Laughter has never suited me; I always cover my mouth if I remember to. ‘But that’s not literature,’ she said. I agreed.
‘I was having a nightmare, and now I’ve forgotten the subject. I have a sort of Bluebeard feeling that I’ve dropped the key and stained it with indelible blood. I hate prying into other people’s stuff. Thank you for doing all of this.’
She shrugged and sipped her coffee. ‘What’s Bluebeard ?’ she asked.
‘You don’t know what nibbles are either,’ I said. ‘Not doing very well, are we?’
Her nostrils flared. ‘You’re not prying. It’s just words on paper. Halland has been murdered. There might be something important here.’
For a moment we sat silently together on Halland’s bed. ‘I’ll take the computer back with me. And Martin Guerre.’
‘What?’
‘Him!’ I pointed up at the wall.
‘You’ll have a job taking that down!’
‘Down it’s coming, all the same.’
‘There’s something else you should take with you. I had it in my bag when I came to see you, but you sent me packing.’
Just for a moment, I had forgotten what happened before and thought how kind she was. Now I began to grumble again. The death notice in the newspaper. Who did she think she was?
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘His post.’
His post.
‘I don’t know why, but he had his post forwarded here.’
‘Since when?’ Now I was angry again.
Struggling to her feet, she left the room, then returned with a stack of envelopes. Mostly bills, by the look of them. Placing them in my lap, I stared at the redirection notice. A permanent change of address, commencing two weeks before he died.
I looked at Pernille standing there, her legs apart, trying to catch her breath.
‘Why would he do that?’ I demanded.
‘No idea. I was going to ask him the next time he came.’
‘Did he want to move in with you?’
Her eyes glazed over. ‘What do you want me to say? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.’
‘Try me.’
‘He never actually said that he wanted to and I don’t believe he would have done. But I can’t be sure.’
I got up and went over to the desk. There was an old photo on top of one of the piles. As
‘Nothing. There’s all sorts of things here, notebooks, letters, manuscripts.’
‘All that stuff was in his desk.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Yuck.’ She tossed a black notebook onto the bed. I flipped it open with one finger. ‘That’s not Halland’s handwriting.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Why did you say “yuck”?’
‘Read it yourself,’ she replied.
‘Do you mind if I have a nap? You don’t have to do all that.’ Lying down on my side, I pushed the pillow onto the floor and pulled the cover over me. I fell asleep at once.
When I opened my eyes, Pernille’s face was hovering above mine. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘What?’ I spluttered. I had no idea where I was.
‘You were dreaming! I’ll make you that coffee.’ She left the room. The bedcover was wet beside my mouth. Turning over, I looked across at Halland’s desk. There were neat piles on it now. I sat up. The computer would have to come back with me; the detective would want it. I felt no urge to pry. My natural curiosity had vanished the moment I found the keys to the room.
I looked through the black notebook that Pernille had flung on my bed.
It’s the most wonderful thing. The dream of happiness come true. This is amazing, indescribable, it’s …
‘Yuck,’ I said, and put it aside.
Pernille returned with a cup of black coffee. The smell woke me up.
‘Isn’t it gross?’ she asked, and edged past me. She sat down on the bed.
‘What do you do exactly? I said. ‘I didn’t know that you were interested in literature.’
‘Oh, but I’m not,’ she said, and then she started laughing. ‘Actually I am. I work in a bookshop just along there.’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Her laugh showed her off well and I laughed alongside. Laughter has never suited me; I always cover my mouth if I remember to. ‘But that’s not literature,’ she said. I agreed.
‘I was having a nightmare, and now I’ve forgotten the subject. I have a sort of Bluebeard feeling that I’ve dropped the key and stained it with indelible blood. I hate prying into other people’s stuff. Thank you for doing all of this.’
She shrugged and sipped her coffee. ‘What’s Bluebeard ?’ she asked.
‘You don’t know what nibbles are either,’ I said. ‘Not doing very well, are we?’
Her nostrils flared. ‘You’re not prying. It’s just words on paper. Halland has been murdered. There might be something important here.’
For a moment we sat silently together on Halland’s bed. ‘I’ll take the computer back with me. And Martin Guerre.’
‘What?’
‘Him!’ I pointed up at the wall.
‘You’ll have a job taking that down!’
‘Down it’s coming, all the same.’
‘There’s something else you should take with you. I had it in my bag when I came to see you, but you sent me packing.’
Just for a moment, I had forgotten what happened before and thought how kind she was. Now I began to grumble again. The death notice in the newspaper. Who did she think she was?
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘His post.’
His post.
‘I don’t know why, but he had his post forwarded here.’
‘Since when?’ Now I was angry again.
Struggling to her feet, she left the room, then returned with a stack of envelopes. Mostly bills, by the look of them. Placing them in my lap, I stared at the redirection notice. A permanent change of address, commencing two weeks before he died.
I looked at Pernille standing there, her legs apart, trying to catch her breath.
‘Why would he do that?’ I demanded.
‘No idea. I was going to ask him the next time he came.’
‘Did he want to move in with you?’
Her eyes glazed over. ‘What do you want me to say? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.’
‘Try me.’
‘He never actually said that he wanted to and I don’t believe he would have done. But I can’t be sure.’
I got up and went over to the desk. There was an old photo on top of one of the piles. As
Similar Books
