The Caller Read Online Free Page A

come: skull and bones.
    He bent down and patted Frank’s head, shoving the dark thoughts away. His grandson, Matteus, came to mind. Dreamlike images from Swan Lake , which he’d seen a few times on television, flickered across his inner eye. The small ballerinas with feathers on their heads leaping lightly across the stage, the plaintive music. A black Siegfried. Well, he thought, if he’s a good enough dancer, he’ll get the part. That’s how it works. There’s justice in the world. In our part of the world anyway; we can afford it. But justice comes at a price. Some get what they deserve. A few years in prison if they’ve transgressed severely, or, if they’re unusually good dancers, the role of the prince in Swan Lake on the Opera’s main stage. And Matteus was just that. In Sejer’s view, at any rate, he was a remarkably good dancer. Black, strong and exotic, full of daring, exceptional. Sejer let his head loll, his hands on the armrests. His thoughts circled back to Margrete Sundelin, the baby. Someone had planned that assault carefully, and in mere seconds created a horrifying situation for her parents. A quake they must have felt deep within, and which they will remember for ever. But why Margrete? Why the Sundelins?
    Near midnight, he rose and turned off all the lights. For a moment he stood in the middle of the living room, observing the outline of the heavy oak furniture. He had inherited the pieces from his parents, and they reminded him of old, patient friends who had always sat there. Sometimes, when he stood alone in the dark just like this, in his own rooms, he would fantasise something he never shared with anyone. His wife Elise sitting in the tall chair by the window and whispering: Just go to bed, I’ll be there shortly . But it had been a long time since she’d sat in the tall chair. Elise had died of cancer; he had become a widower at a young age, and his life had turned out differently from how he’d thought. It had taken him a long time to find another path through life. But that’s no different from anyone else, he thought. Frank followed him from room to room. Like Sejer, Frank was slow and deliberate, with his own elegant inaccessibility. When the entire flat was dark, he shuffled into the bedroom on his stumpy legs and plopped on his mat, where he would stay throughout the night guarding his master with an alertness that only Chinese fighting dogs possess. Sejer stood in the darkness listening, thinking he’d heard a far-off noise. It could be the lift, he thought, though it was pretty late and there wasn’t much activity in the building at this hour. Then he remembered that Elna across the corridor often worked evenings. She was a cleaner down at Aker Brygge, and had long, hard days. He went into his bedroom and undid the top buttons of his shirt. Just then the doorbell rang. In a flash, Frank rushed into the hallway, sat by the front door and whined, a guard dog. His daughter Ingrid came to mind, and Matteus. Had something happened, something they needed him for? They would have called. He hesitated a few seconds, but it never occurred to him not to open the door, because someone wanted something from him, and he was always ready to serve. That was his nature. But there was no one at his door, just an empty corridor with grey brick walls, an emergency fire box with an axe, and a handrail made of cast iron. He heard the lift descend, and followed the orange light with his eyes. Then he saw something lying on his doormat – a small grey envelope. He snatched it up and went inside, hurried to the window where he stood and waited. A minute or so later he saw a figure cross the car park. Young, he thought, and very fast. Definitely a man. Slender. Under forty, probably under thirty. The figure disappeared into the darkness. That was the man, Sejer was certain, who’d left the message on his doormat. In the kitchen he snapped on the light and examined the envelope. It was made of