The Caller Read Online Free

balanced. I will introduce him as a person with emotions, so he feels understood. We shouldn’t step on his toes.’
    The inspector turned his back to the window and sat for a moment at his desk. A shy man, he didn’t like the prospect of going out into the square, to the sunshine and the heat and the ravenous, sensation-hungry journalists and their curiosity. But, as inspector, it was his job to be the department’s public face. To inform and report, in his calm way.
    ‘What are you thinking about?’ Skarre asked, in a low, intimate voice.
    ‘About my grandson, actually,’ Sejer admitted. ‘You know Matteus. He’s at the Opera ballet school. They’ve just learned that one of the pupils will get the chance to make a guest appearance on the main stage. In April.’
    ‘So he’s going to audition?’
    ‘Yes,’ Sejer said. ‘On the tenth of October. For the role of Siegfried in Swan Lake .’
    ‘The prince.’
    ‘Yes,’ Sejer said. ‘A lot’s at stake. He really wants to get that role. But there are so many good dancers.’
    He looked at the desk pad, a map of the world. His daughter’s eighteen-year-old son had been adopted from Somalia, and now he put his finger on this country, shown in yellow. Matteus was four when he came to Norway. Now he was a promising dancer at the ballet school, with an impressive physique and rock-hard, coffee-coloured muscles.
    ‘But do you think they’ll pick a black prince?’ Sejer said suddenly, a little concerned. ‘Certain roles never seem to come in black.’
    ‘Give me an example,’ Skarre said.
    ‘Robin Hood, Peter Pan.’
    ‘You’re worried about people’s prejudice, but you’re the one who’s prejudiced.’
    Sejer glanced apologetically at his younger colleague. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for years, I can’t shake it. It’s never been easy for Matteus. At school he was a loner, and had a hard time. Now this: the prince in Swan Lake and plenty of stiff competition. Well, we’ll see how it turns out, I guess. I won’t harp on about it now.’
    He got ready to meet the press. Straightened his back and adjusted the knot in his tie, until it was smooth and tight.
    ‘You’re thinking about the white swan girls,’ Skarre teased. ‘In feathers and tulle. And you’re afraid Matteus will stand out. But even swans come in black.’
    ‘Really?’ the inspector said.
    ‘There’s a pond with black swans at the cathedral in Palma,’ Skarre said. ‘They’re obviously much more attractive than the white swans, and they’re rarer.’
    Sejer headed out to the journalists. Skarre’s words made him feel a little more optimistic.
    That evening Sejer sat in front of his television, in a comfortable chair by the window, with a pillow supporting his back.
    Sejer’s dog, a Chinese Shar Pei called Frank, lay at his feet, and was, like most Chinese, dignified, unapproachable and patient. Frank had tiny, closed ears – and thus bad hearing – and a mass of grey, wrinkled skin that made him look like a chamois cloth. His eyes, black and intelligent but with limited vision, were set deep within the wrinkles.
    The case with the baby from Bjerketun got extensive coverage. Because it was a sensation, he thought, an oddity. It terrifies people – which is no doubt what the perpetrator wants.
    He remained seated in front of the television. First he saw himself in a report from TV Norway, then on The Day in Review at seven, and finally on the evening news at eleven. He repeated the same words from channel to channel.
    We’re taking this very seriously .
    His name and title – Inspector – flashed at the bottom of the screen. With mixed emotions he observed his own performance, noticing how the years had altered him, how he’d grown greyer, more chiselled and thinner. His cheekbones and chin stood out clearly, the slate-grey eyes deep-set. Inevitably, his thoughts gravitated towards death, how it grew from within and slowly overtook his features one by one.
    Here I