Free Death of the Demon: A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel by Anne Holt Page A

obviously a bad habit of hers.
    “No, I’m not sure about that. But all the adults usually sit in one of the armchairs.”
    She looked at Billy T., blinking.
    “He probably sat in this chair. It’s the one nearest the TV. It’s not usually on very loud.”
    Struggling to his feet, Billy T. stepped over to the door and swung it open.
    “Do you keep the door open when you’re sitting here?”
    “There isn’t any rule about it. But I usually do, at least. In case any of the children should call out. Or come down. Kenneth has walked in his sleep now and again.”
    “But you can’t see out into the living room from that position!”
    Maren Kalsvik turned around to face the policeman.
    “That’s not really necessary. The most important thing is to hear the children. They know that we usually sit here in the evenings. Some of us also sleep here, in fact, although there’s a bed on the upper floor. The outside door always has to be kept locked.”
    “Does it sometimes happen that it’s not?”
    “Of course it might well happ—”
    The little mechanic’s assistant came in, crying, and hesitated for a moment before rushing past Billy T. in the doorway and catapulting himself onto Maren’s lap.
    “Glenn says that I killed Agnes,” he sobbed.
    “Kenneth, it’s okay,” she said into his ear. “What nonsense. There’s nobody who thinks you killed Agnes. You were so fond of her. And you are so kind.”
    “But he says I did it. And he says the police have come to get me.”
    He was in floods of tears and gasped for breath as he clung to the woman. She tentatively held the little arms around her neck and loosened their grip in order to make eye contact.
    “Dear little Kenneth. He’s only teasing you. You know that Glenn loves to tease. You mustn’t take it seriously. Ask that man there if they’ve come to get you. He’s the policeman.”
    The boy seemed to shrink smaller and smaller. He had retained a premature appearance, with large, slightly protruding eyes and a narrow, almost pinched face ending in a sharp chin. Now he was looking at Billy T., frightened out of his wits, while convulsively clutching Maren Kalsvik’s hand.
    The officer hunkered down in front of the boy, smiling. “Kenneth. Is that your name?”
    The boy nodded imperceptibly.
    “My name’s Billy T. Sometimes people call me Billy Coffee.”
    There was a glimmer in the tear-stained eyes.
    “See, you’ve got a sense of humor too.” He grinned and rumpled the boy’s hair gently. “I’ll tell you one thing, Kenneth. We don’t think any of the children can have done this. And the thing we are one hundred percent, totally and completely, sure of, is that you haven’t done anything wrong at all. Here . . .”
    He extended his fist and took hold of the tiny child’s hand that now had released Maren’s.
    “I’ll shake your hand on one thing: you’re not going to be taken away by any policemen. Because we know you haven’t done anything wrong. I can see it in you. A handsome, honest guy. And I’ve had loads of training in seeing these things.”
    Now Kenneth was smiling, if not entirely convincingly.
    “Quite sure?”
    “Quite sure.” Billy T. crossed his heart.
    “Can you tell that to Glenn?” the boy whispered.
    “Of course.”
    He stood up and discovered that Raymond, the bicycle repairer, was standing at the door, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed. They stared into each other’s eyes for a fleeting moment, and then the boy started to speak, in a muted, almost monotonous voice. “Of course it’s not Kenneth. It’s no’ me either. But I wouldn’t be so sure that it can’t be one of us. That Olav was a foulmouthed character. He’s nearly as strong as a grown-up. And he’s the most violent kid I’ve ever come across. What’s more, he told me he was going to kill Agnes.”
    Silence descended, even the children in the other room were standing behind the boy in the doorway to hear the exchange. Hanne