“Who would do that?”
“I don’t know. But if the pedophile e-mails are telling the truth, they can’t simply be dismissed as slander. Someone may have been in on this from the start. You can’t guess your way to these things. I’m sure you’ve already put some thought into this.”
He had, and then rejected the idea. Speculation was a waste of time when what he needed was something firm. Until this evening he had had a great deal of time, but yesterday’s murder and the chief ’s alarming picture of a hostile public had changed things. Which really struck him only at this moment.
Simonsen stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes.
CHAPTER 31
The church looked striking in the low autumn sun. The whitewashed stone dazzled and the quartz in the foundation glittered like thousands of drops of water.
Erik M?rk put one hand up to shield himself from the sun while he gazed at the building. The transept and nave were distinctly Romanesque, with rounded windows, ornamental stonework, and finely detailed cornices. The tower, porch, and vestry were constructed of granite and brick, late Gothic outbuildings added some couple of hundred years later. The church wall could be dated back to the Middle Ages, and the tower clock was a construction from the eighteenth century, made of black-painted wrought iron.
M?rk was hardly an architecture maven. But he had arrived early enough to have plenty of time to gather his impressions of the neighborhood and possible police activity. It was easily done, and then he had spent some time at the reading room of the local library, which turned out to be located next to the church. There he read what he could about the parish, the congregation, and the history of the church, which seemed a fitting way for him to pass the time.
Now he was sitting in the shelter at a bus stop, a comfortable distance from the authorities and with a fine vantage point. It was as close as he dared to get. The Climber sat beside him, sulking because he was not taking part inside the church. M?rk had pulled him into a shed when he happened to discover him, which he found somewhat frightening. But strictly speaking, neither one was in a position to chide the other. They had both disobeyed Per Clausen’s orders about not attending his funeral.
The Climber was still having trouble making peace with their location.
“It’s a strange way to say goodbye, just looking at the outside of the church. Are you sure there are police photographers?”
“Yes, and a lot of other photographers from the papers, and that’s almost as bad. We shouldn’t even be here. Neither one of us, and definitely not both of us. This is as good as it gets. We’re not getting any closer. That would be insane.”
The Climber unwillingly accepted this. “I don’t have to like it.” He added, chuckling, “Per would go nuts if he saw us. We would never have dared to do this if he were still alive.” He sounded like a naughty schoolboy, savoring his own audacity.
M?rk felt a sting of irritation. He secretly wanted the Climber as far away as possible, out of the country, even. He had done what was needed—magnificent—but now he was superfluous and a walking security risk.
“You’re right. His influence around here has gone way down since he died.”
The sarcasm was wasted.
“Why do you say that? That’s obvious.”
M?rk regretted his words and halfheartedly offered an explanation. He felt uncomfortable with the Climber and would much rather have been alone. The situation had brought them together but they were hardly on the same wave length—anything but. It was imperative not to start a disagreement.
Nonetheless, there was something that M?rk wanted to know, now that he had this unexpected opportunity. After some harmless small talk, he gathered himself.
“I read in the paper that you didn’t just cut their hands and faces, you made short work of their privates. Is that true?”
“Yes,” the Climber said.
“That wasn’t part of the deal. Why did you do that?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
M?rk had trouble holding back a sneer. “Perhaps you can clarify.”
“It was only a few slices.”
“A few slices? With a chainsaw!”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“The truth is probably that the chainsaw took over. Once I started it was hard to stop and then I wanted to show Frank what was going to happen with him after he died. If you understand.”
It was not completely true. He had performed the last mutilation long after he had disassembled the scaffolding and carried it out to the van, before he had cleaned the floor.