The Jealousy Man and Other Stories
- Автор: Несбё Ю
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Alfred A. Knopf
- ISBN: 978-0-593-32100-3
- Переводчик: Robert Ferguson
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Jealousy Man and Other Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
A detective with a nose for jealousy is on the trail of a man suspected of murdering his twin; a bereaved father must decide whether vengeance has a place in the new world order after a pandemic brings about the collapse of society; a garbage man fresh off a bender tries to piece together what happened the night before; a hired assassin matches wits against his greatest adversary in a dangerous game for survival; and an instantly electric connection between passengers on a flight to London may spell romance, or something more sinister.
With Nesbø’s characteristic gift for outstanding atmosphere and gut-wrenching revelations, The Jealousy Man confirms that he is at the peak of his abilities.
‘Oh yeah? That’s what Peter said.’
‘What did Peter say?’
‘That you’d definitely end up at a party with some chicas. So I guess he was right...’
Her tone of voice, half amused and half rebuking, made me smile.
‘Are you a bit jealous?’ I said.
‘Don’t be stupid, Martin.’
‘Say you’re a bit jealous. Just to make me feel good about myself.’
‘You are drunk.’
‘Say it. Please.’
In the ensuing silence I listened. The song of the cicadas had ceased with the setting of the sun. Either that or they were singing the way they do where I come from: at such a high frequency the human ear can’t pick it up. I thought about it, about vibrations, about all the things going on around us that we neither see, nor hear, or even know about.
‘I’m a tiny bit jealous. Just for you.’ I closed my eyes. A warmth — maybe it was happiness — washed through me.
‘I’ll come back to San Sebastián again early tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Breakfast?’
‘A good breakfast?’
‘I’ll call you when I’m on the bus or the train.’
‘OK.’
‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
‘And you?’
No answer. She’d hung up. But I said it anyway.
‘I do. Really, really.’
I had just put the phone back in my pocket when it rang again.
‘Yes?’ I answered, still smiling, but instead of Miriam it was a different female voice:
‘Mister Daas? This is Imma Aluariz with the San Sebastián police. Where are you right now?’
My tongue felt dry, and I only just managed to resist the impulse to end the call at once.
‘I’m in Pamplona,’ I said. Vague enough, and not exactly a lie.
‘Me too,’ said Aluariz. ‘We need to talk to you.’
‘About what?’
‘You know about what.’
‘Am I... a suspect or something?’
‘Where exactly can we find you, Mister Daas?’
Two policemen — one in plain clothes, the other in uniform — led me from the car, past two other police cars in the direction of the house where Peter and I had rented rooms. The one in uniform lifted up the crime-scene tape, and we walked through the gate and then into the house. Instead of my own room they took me to Peter’s. They stopped me in the doorway. There were a number of people inside, two wearing white from head to foot. The bed was hidden by a short, stocky figure standing at the end of it.
The plain-clothes policeman — who had introduced himself as a detective when they picked me up earlier — coughed and the stocky figure turned.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly,’ said Imma Aluariz.
I felt like saying it was they who had come quickly but just nodded.
‘First I would like you to identify the body, Mister Daas.’ She stepped to one side.
I don’t know whether it’s the brain protecting itself or the brain in flight when it starts to follow quite irrelevant trains of thought in situations like that. Because what I thought at the sight of the white duvet cover and sheet against the pillowcase that was soaked in something red that had to be blood was that it was a very apt combination for San Fermín. The same way the steak knife sticking out on one side of Peter’s neck was an apt image of the bull with the handle of the matador’s sword sticking out between his shoulder blades.
‘It is my friend,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘It is Peter Coates.’
I could feel Aluariz’s eyes on me, but knew I had no need to act shocked because I was shocked. And yet I wasn’t.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
Aluariz’s gaze moved from me to the policeman in plain clothes. He nodded and said something in Basque.
‘What did he say?’ I asked.
‘That both girls say you have been with them since this morning,’ said Aluariz. She seemed to be weighing something up before she continued. ‘It looks as though your friend has committed suicide. According to the pathologist it must have been some time between ten and twelve o’clock. The landlady found him.’
‘I see,’ was all I said. ‘How do you know it was suicide?’
‘We fingerprinted the handle of the knife and the only print we found was identical with his own.’
Identical, I thought. And yet not his own. The knife was from Jake’s.
‘What’s interesting is that he looks very like the corpse in San Sebastián. Could almost be his twin, don’t you think? And if that’s the case, why didn’t you say anything?’
I shook my head. ‘I never heard anything about Peter having a twin brother, and actually I don’t think they are very similar. I mean, the body in San Sebastián was younger, you can see that for yourself. And the hair was longer and fairer. And it didn’t have that tattoo.’ I pointed to the faded M on the chest.
‘They could still be twins even if they don’t have the same tattoo.’
I shrugged. ‘I can understand why you think the two of them look alike. It’s not easy for me to tell one Basque person from another.’
She gave me a sharp look.
I shrugged.
She took out a notebook. ‘Can you think of any reason why your friend would want to take his own life?’
I shook my head.
‘Could it be a guilty conscience because he killed someone in San Sebastián?’ she asked.
‘Is that what you suspect?’
‘The rug the body was found in is from the rooms you shared. We found your DNA there.’
‘In that case I should be a suspect too.’
‘Killers — unless they’re mad — don’t get in touch with the police and provide them with conclusive evidence but no confession. And you are not mad, Mister Daas.’
Oh yes, I thought. I’m mad all right. And if I told you my version of what’s happened you would think so too. And in parallel universes maybe that was exactly what I was doing now, and in many of them — in an infinity of them — I would be locked up in a mental hospital.
‘I need to hear exactly what you know of Peter Coates’s movements from the time you arrived in San Sebastián,’ she said.
‘If you want a statement from me I must tell you, I’m very tired,’ I said. ‘And not completely sober either. Can we do this tomorrow?’
Aluariz exchanged looks with her plain-clothes colleague. His head bobbed about a bit, as though he were weighing it up. Then he nodded.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ve no reason to detain you, you’re not a suspect in either of these cases. And since our prime suspect is now dead, there’s no rush. Ten o’clock at the police station here in San Sebastián, does that sound all right?’
‘Fine.’
The sun was shining and the reflection from the water blinded me as I took off the sunglasses and wiped away my tears.
From where I was sitting on the hill on the deserted point of land I could see the whole of the Zurriola beach. I thought of my best friend. And of the one who was swimming in the sea below me. The woman we both had to have at any cost. Maybe he would have left her. In some universes at least he would have done. Same goes for me. But that didn’t matter, not now and not in this universe, not in this story. So once I had dried my tears I went back to this story, to my story. I picked up the binoculars and located the pink bathing cap out there in the water. I couldn’t hear her screams but training the binoculars on the beach three hundred metres further in I could see the mother — as before — running around and alerting the sunbathers to her daughter’s cries for help. I turned the binoculars to the lifeguard’s raised seat. Just as before, Miriam and her mother had waited to give their performance until the lifeguard on duty had taken a trip to the booths at the back of the beach to use the toilet.