The Ravens by Vidar Sundstøl

Author:Vidar Sundstøl [Sundstøl, Vidar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press
Published: 2015-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

28

THE ROWS OF PLASTIC CHAIRS that were placed back-to-back in the glaring light made the place look like an airport waiting room. Along one wall was a series of small cubicles for visitors. Inside each was a single chair facing a window, and on the other side of the window was a little room with a closed door. Lance was sitting in a cubicle and staring at the door, which he knew would open soon. On the divider to his left hung a telephone receiver that was connected to another receiver on the other side of the soundproof glass. He tried desperately to think of something to say to Lenny Diver, but his mind was blank. Once again he wondered why Diver was willing to talk to him. It couldn’t be just because he wanted to be accommodating.

Then the door opened. Lenny Diver came in, holding a bottle of Chippewa mineral water in his hand. Lance noticed at once that he was a small man and that his hair, which he’d worn long and loose in the newspaper photo, had now been cut short. Since he hadn’t yet been convicted, he had on his own clothes: black jeans and a faded denim shirt. He moved with a supple ease as he came over to the window and sat down.

They stared at each other from either side of the glass pane. Lance nodded and received a slight nod in return. “Thanks for agreeing to see me,” he began.

Lenny Diver put down his bottle of mineral water, then took the receiver from its hook on the wall, and pressed it to his ear. Lance gestured apologetically and then he too grabbed the phone.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” he repeated.

“Haven’t got much else to do,” said Diver. His voice had a metallic sound in the receiver.

Lance was dismayed to feel beads of sweat appear on his face, something that happened only when he was very nervous around other people. He had an urge to wipe the sweat on the sleeve of his jacket, but that would draw too much attention. Yet the more conscious he was of it, the more he sweated. He could feel that a drop of sweat was about to roll down his forehead.

“Nice weather,” said Diver.

Lance seized the straw the man had offered him.

“I thought I’d never get here.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of remote.”

“So how are things going?”

Diver raised his eyebrows as he cocked his head to one side.

Lance saw that he found the question irrelevant. “I was the one who found the body,” he said.

“I know.”

“Georg Lofthus.”

“Hmm?”

“That was his name.”

“Oh.”

“A Norwegian.”

“Right,” said Diver without interest.

A drop of sweat ran down into the corner of Lance’s eye. He set the receiver on his lap and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket. This was a mistake. He’d come here in the hope that he’d feel better afterward. As if talking to the innocent man who had been wrongly jailed might somehow absolve him of his sin. But he was the one who ought to do something for Diver, not the other way around.

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