The Bergs lived in about the nicest house Konstantin had seen in this crappy little town. A two-story whitewashed mansion – at least, it was a mansion compared to most other homes in the area – that sat on a plot of a couple of acres, on a short, leafy road with only five other houses. Each of the houses was big, and looking at their styles, they’d obviously been built at the same time, by the same developer, though the Bergs’ was the biggest.
Not that Konstantin cared in the slightest about any of that, but the basic layout of the land, the road, the distance between the houses, was of interest because it decided his options of how and where to spy. The wide plots and the abundance of plant life were also key reasons why it was at all possible for Mrs Berg to have two different people watching her, without her knowing.
When they’d arrived, Nyland parked his car behind a bush on a verge across the street from the house. Konstantin drove on past. He turned his car around further down the street then moved back toward the Bergs’ home, pulling up on the road right outside, just the low hedge at the edge of the property blocking his otherwise unobstructed view of the building beyond.
Intentionally indiscreet.
Then he waited.
Waited.
Mostly not watching the house, but the glimpse he could see of Nyland’s car.
Finally, there he was.
Out of the car. Not happy. He glanced at the house then, hunched over, scuttled across the street to Konstantin, right up to the driver’s side window.
Konstantin did nothing. Just remained in his seat, looking out the windscreen.
A knock on the glass.
Konstantin turned, pushed the button to open the window.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘What kind of amateur are you?’ Nyland spat in his native Norwegian. Konstantin could speak the language just fine. How would he ever move around the world like he did if he didn’t blend?
‘Excuse me?’
‘You. You’ve been following me around all day. Following her. You’re ruining my work. You want us both found out?’
An interesting take on the subject. Though Konstantin was a little surprised – impressed? – at the suggestion that Nyland had long ago spotted him. Perhaps he was better at this game than Konstantin originally gave him credit for.
Not that it mattered much, in the end.
‘Perhaps I’m a policeman,’ Konstantin said. ‘Ever think about that?’
A forced laugh from Nyland. ‘I know every policeman around here. And I can tell from your accent you’re not local.’
Konstantin shrugged.
‘Who’s paying you? Sigurd? That slimy asshole.’
‘You should calm down,’ Konstantin said. ‘She’ll see you—’
‘See me? It’s you who parked right outside the front of the house! You who was right there outside the café earlier!’
‘It’s you who is in the street outside her home, shouting. Get in the car, I’ll explain everything.’
Nyland seemed to think about the proposition for a few seconds. Then, without a word, he quickly moved around the car and sank down into the passenger seat.
Silence in the cabin.
‘So?’
Konstantin’s scars ached once more. Did he have a choice here? Had Jesper given him a choice?
Make him go away.
To an everyday person, such words could mean all manner of things. Jesper’s instruction however was very clear.
Why else would Konstantin be here at all?
Konstantin reached inside his jacket and whipped out the knife. He twisted his wrist and slammed the blade into Nyland’s throat. A spatter of blood hit the windscreen. Then a pulse of blood squirted out onto Konstantin’s face. He flinched, but only because he hadn’t expected it. Nyland gargled and choked. His body shuddered. His wide, petrified eyes bore down on Konstantin.
Not sure what else to say or do, Konstantin simply shrugged. Seconds later Nyland’s head slumped and his body went limp.
Konstantin pulled the knife out and a fresh wave of blood oozed and pulsed from the gaping wound. The car’s interior was ruined. He wiped the blade clean on Nyland’s jacket, then put the knife back in his pocket. He reached into Nyland’s coat and took his car keys.
Two choices. Dump his own car and drive around in a dead man’s car, or dump Nyland’s car and clean the blood out of this one.
Konstantin sighed. Both choices presented inconveniences.
First things first, he had to get rid of the corpse.
He looked over to the Bergs’ house. No sign of anything exciting in there. He’d catch up with Mrs Berg soon enough.
What was Jesper’s endgame in that regard? Mrs Berg was an okay-enough-looking woman to spy on, but if he had to choose, Konstantin would much rather have that waitress.
He turned the engine on and caught sight of his blood-spattered face in the mirror. That same ache across his chest once more. More than an ache now. A stabbing pain. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds as the pain grew and grew, and spread further and further through his body.
Tensing every muscle and sinew as tightly as he could, groaning with effort, the debilitating feeling eventually dulled back to a manageable ache. He was still staring at his own reflection in the mirror, his cheeks red now, his forehead bristled with beads of sweat.
‘Later,’ he said to himself, slightly out of breath. ‘I’ll do it later. I won’t forget.’
Then he pulled out and headed down the road.