The Last Pilgrim (61 page)

“Agnes told you that she killed Cecilia and the maid?”

Nystrøm nodded.

“Yes. She wanted me to know. She said she was pregnant with me at the time. She also said that she had been used, that the assassination of Rolborg had never been cleared by London. It was something that Kaj Holt and the Pilgrim had decided on their own. They took credit for the whole thing, while she ended up paying the price. She should never have made the trip from Berlin earlier this month. She was actually too weak for such a long trip, but she was dying and said she wanted to see her sixty-year-old son. She brought along the knife that had once belonged to Peter’s brother. She knew how obsessed I was with the war. She called me the last pilgrim, you know . . . She wanted me to have the knife, and apparently Peter did too.” A faint smile appeared on his face. “I even went back to Oslo with her. Agnes wanted the three of us to reconcile before she died.”

Nystrøm rubbed his face.

“Look at me,” he said. “Look how much I resemble him . . .”

“Then what?” said Bergmann. “What happened?”

“I . . . I regretted it as soon as we arrived. We would never . . . It would have been better if she’d never found me again, Tommy. Do you understand? Nothing good ever comes of such things.”

“Was it something he said? Krogh, I mean?”

Nystrøm took the last few steps toward Bergmann. He laughed quietly, but Bergmann saw that his eyes filled with tears, as if the child inside him were trying to get out.

“He didn’t even invite us in, that traitorous old fucker. And the things he said to Agnes . . . to my mother . . . and to me . . . I don’t know. He was afraid someone would see us. ‘Bastard child,’ he called me. He was practically shaking with rage because we’d come to his house. I had the knife in my pocket, and I actually thought of killing him on the spot. But I told my mother we should just leave. So we went back to the car, but when she got in she started crying. She was inconsolable. That was when I realized he had to die. He had locked the front door, so I went around back. First I cut the throat of that damned dog of his. I couldn’t stand the thought that he owned a setter. The terrace door stood open . . . and, well . . .” Nystrøm fell silent.

“And?” said Bergmann.

“I should have cut him right down the middle. That was the only thing I could think of. Cut that fucking man apart so nothing was left of him. Do you understand? I’ve always hated him for what he did, and hated myself because he was my father, and because I took his blood money.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. The swing door behind Bergmann opened slightly, but he signaled that everything was fine.

“Do you think I’m going to kill you too?” said Nystrøm. He raised his hand, as if to place it on Bergmann’s shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” said Bergmann. “You’ll get us both killed.”

Nystrøm nodded and took two steps back, holding his hands up in front of him to show the sheriff on the other side of the door that he had no intention of doing anything other than talking.

“And Agnes went back inside?”

Nystrøm nodded.

“I came out, covered with Carl Oscar’s blood, and after I got in the car, she went around to the back of the house. As we drove back to town, she told me that she—of all people—had forgiven him!”

Nystrøm laughed, but it quickly turned to sobs.

The sheriff came in. Bergmann motioned for him to stop.

“I need to tell you this,” said Bergmann. “I’m sorry it turned out to be you.”

“Really?” said Nystrøm. He looked down at his big hands, as if he couldn’t understand how they could have hacked his own father into pieces.

Bergmann nodded.

“You’re going to have to come along with me, Finn,” said the sheriff quietly.

But Nystrøm wasn’t listening. He simply walked out the swing door and through the dining room, where the three people were still sitting, seemingly frozen in place. The sheriff went next, keeping his hand on the hilt of his gun in the black holster. Bergmann came last, moving slowly, almost reluctantly. Through the open terrace door he could see Nystrøm heading for the lake. The sheriff went after him, with one of the young police officers a few feet ahead. Nystrøm started to run toward the water but was soon caught by the policeman. He fell to his knees at the edge of the lake, bowed his head, and buried his face in his hands.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2014 Charlotte Hveem

Gard Sveen is an award-winning crime novelist who divides his time between writing and working as a senior adviser to the Norwegian Ministry of Defense.
The Last Pilgrim
, his debut novel, was originally published as
Den siste pilgrimen
in Norway and is the first in the series featuring troubled police detective Tommy Bergmann.

The novel was an instant hit with critics and readers, and it went on to win the Riverton Prize in 2013, the prestigious Glass Key in 2014, and the Maurits Hansen Award, also in 2014. Sveen is the only author to date who has received all three honors for a first novel. The only other author who has managed to win both a Riverton and a Glass Key for their debut novel is Jo Nesbø.

Sveen is currently working on his third book in the Tommy Bergmann Series.

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Photo © 2010 T. Nunnally

Steven T. Murray is an American translator from German, Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish. He translated the bestselling Millennium series by Stieg Larsson, three crime novels and two African novels by Henning Mankell, three psychological suspense novels by Karin Alvtegen, four police procedurals by Nele Neuhaus, and works by many other authors. In 2001 he won the Gold Dagger Award in the UK for his translation of
Sidetracked
by Henning Mankell. He was born in Berkeley and now lives in Albuquerque with his wife, Tiina Nunnally, and their two cats.