He checked her blood pressure and wrote out a prescription for her.
– These damn pills make me so fat, she complained. – I wish I could do without.
He could understand. Over the last year she’d put on something like ten kilos.
– Do you feel as though you’re in control again, Solveig?
– I’m afraid of going to sleep, because that’s when those thoughts come back.
– That you have to warn people about something?
– I can’t get rid of the thought that something awful is about to happen. There are so many signs.
He ran his hand across his hair.
– But the meaning of signs is dependent on how they’re interpreted, he said.
She sat there staring ahead into space.
– Last night I took the tram from Jernebanetorget. The man sitting beside me was reading VG. All that stuff about the woman eaten by a bear.
– She wasn’t exactly eaten, he reassured her.
– As I was about to get off the tram, this old lady comes over to me. I think she’s blind. Her eyes are as dull as pearls and still she’s staring directly at me, and then she says, You’ve heard it too, I can see it in your eyes, and she hands me a little piece of paper. And I get so scared, despairing too, but mostly scared. You have the power, she whispers before I manage to get off.
Axel could see the pulse beating in her throat.
– What did it say on the piece of paper?
Solveig glanced around the office before answering:
– Rev. 11:7.
He thought for a moment.
– Does it have anything to do with the Bible?
She dug her hand into her bag, drew out a small book and began to flip through it.
– The Book of Revelation.
She found the place and read:
– When they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up out of the abyss will make war with them, and overcome them and kill them.
– I wish old ladies like that would leave you alone, said Axel. Solveig ignored him.
– I’ve been thinking about it all night. This is a warning, Axel. A number of terrible events are about to take place, and if I, and perhaps a few others, have understood this, then I must deliver a warning. That is what the old woman wanted me to know.
She said it with conviction, and Axel realised he would have to call Ullevål hospital and voice his concern about yet another patient who had been discharged too soon. He knew he ought not to enquire any further. And yet he said:
– Last time you were here … You said you’d seen someone up by Majorstuehuset. Someone who looked like me.
She stared down at the floor. It looked as though she hadn’t understood the question, and he was glad, at once regretting that he had asked it. Then she raised her eyes and looked at him.
– He hasn’t appeared since then, Axel. But he’s coming. Once all the evil has happened, he will return. I shall warn you. You will be the first to know, before all others.
As he was about to lock up the office, the phone rang. Not many people had his direct number. Miriam was one of them. An Oslo number showed up on the display. He picked up the receiver and spoke. A male voice at the other end introduced himself as Hendrik Davidsen, clearly accentuating the d in his first name.
– My wife is a patient of yours, he explained. – She had an appointment earlier today.
– That’s right, Axel said. – Cecilie Davidsen. She never came.
– That’s the reason I’m calling. No one has seen her. Not since yesterday afternoon.
Axel sat down in the chair.
– Really? Wasn’t she supposed to be at the hospital yesterday for an examination?
– Yes. She left the hospital at quarter past four. There’s been no sign of life from her since then. She’s never done anything like this before.
Hendrik Davidsen’s voice was calm and controlled, but Axel heard the break in it as he said ‘sign of life’.
– You’ve informed the police, presumably?
– They’ve sent out a missing persons report on her. Not much else they can do. Not at the moment …
Axel chose not to ask what ‘at the moment’ might mean in a situation like this. He informed Davidsen of his wife’s condition, but he was already familiar with it. Fortunately he made no mention of Axel’s coming to the house with the results of her lab test. But he did ask how his wife had reacted to the news, and Axel was careful not to say anything that might increase his fears. There was still reason to hope that nothing untoward had happened to her. More reason to hope than believe.
24
Monday 15 October
THE COUPLE TRUDGING across the road by the entrance to Frogner swimming baths were deep into a juicy quarrel. The woman, who was small and round, with Rasta braids, stopped in the middle of the road. She wavered uncertainly on her high-heeled boots, as if she were trying to keep her balance on a pair of stilts.
– Then you can just go on your own, Jørgen, she snuffled. – I say fuck it if you’re going to be like that.
A vehicle of some kind swung out from the car park. The man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the pavement on the other side. The car swerved around them.
– Bloody hell, Jørgen. I’m not coming with you unless you get yourself thorted out.
– You want me to get thorted out? he said, mocking her lisp. He was tall, thin, with a bent neck. – You were the one got us kicked out.
– You’re so childish, she said.
He exhaled loudly.
– And where d’you think you’re going if you don’t come with me?
– What’s it got to do with you?
– Fuck, Millie, you’re nothing but a shagged-out whore. You’ve no idea how sick I am of you.
– Same to you. You don’t understand nothing. Just look at yourself.
– Look at me? What’s to look at me for?
She didn’t answer. A moment later she said:
– Okay then, but get me a taxi.
– I ain’t got no readies.
– Think I’m going to walk to Skøyen? In the middle of the night?
He belched. – Then you can sleep in the park.
She stopped in her tracks.
– I mean it, Jørgen, it’s past two o’clock.
– It ain’t that far. I’ve got a fix. After that you can sleep for the rest of the week.
She groaned, but let him guide her into the alley.
– I need to go to the toilet, she told him.
– Go ahead then.
He stopped and leaned up against a tree trunk, yelling after her as she disappeared down the slope: – You don’t need to go half a mile away just to have a piss. There’s no one around now, and even if there was, who’d stop just to get a look at your arse?
– Not having a piss, she muttered. – Big job.
– Christ, Millie, you really are fuckin’ tasty.
He stood there peering out into the darkness. For an instant it felt as though the huge tree was holding him. He pressed his cheek against the rough bark. Could just make out the high diving board over the baths at the other end of the hollow. He’d jumped from the five-metre board the summer he turned nine. Or ten. He needed a fix. Maybe he’d screw Millie afterwards. If he felt up to it. But she’d have to wash first. Christ. How many women would squat down and do a shite in Frogner Park in the middle of the night? It was always the same with Millie: if she had to do something, didn’t matter what it was, then it had to be done at once. No question of hanging on for five minutes.
Her scream was high and long drawn out. She often screamed, but never like this. His first thought was to get out of there. He couldn’t take any more bother with that woman. But something in the scream held him, made him move a step or two closer to the slope.
– What’s up? he shouted.
He could see her scrambling up the slope. He clambered down a couple of yards and held out his hand. Her je
ans were round her thighs, her naked arse shining white in the darkness.
– What the fuck’s up with you, Millie? he chided her, but his voice was shaking.
She reached the top and clung on to him.
– Down there, she sobbed. – Something lying down there. I touched it.
25
IT WAS 3.30. DETECTIVE Chief Inspector Hans Magnus Viken stuffed the rest of a slice of Madeira cake into his mouth as he ran a red light in Alexander Kielland’s Place. He wasn’t hungry, but when he was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, he had to put something in his stomach to stave off the heartburn. Once it got started it would keep up all morning, sometimes even last the whole day.
As he drove, he got himself ready. Went through his thoughts systematically. What he would do once he reached the crime scene. What he would look for. He was good at that kind of thinking. Keeping a cool head when things got hectic. Because that was what was happening now, he thought as he swallowed the rest of the coffee he had bought at the service station along with the slice of cake. Things were hectic. The press was there, the officer in charge had reported. In force. What else could be expected? A corpse found in the middle of town, so to speak. Judging by the description, he thought it might be related to a missing persons report. The Crime Response Unit had rung on Thursday evening. A call had gone out for a woman who had failed to return to her home in Vindern. She was seriously ill and probably depressed. The family were afraid she might have harmed herself. On the face of it, not a criminal matter. But he had asked to be kept informed of all missing persons reports. After the find up in the marka, he wasn’t the only one on edge.
A helicopter was circling above the park. It looked like VG, or one of the TV companies. He parked as close as he could to the road. The crowd was even worse than he had imagined. The two biggest newspapers naturally, but also two camera teams, one from TV2, the other with no visible logo. He pushed his way through and stepped over the crime-scene tape stretched across the end of the car park. There were two stands there, microphones that could pick up conversations a hundred metres away.
– Is it the missing woman who’s been found? someone shouted after him.
He raised both arms in dismissal as he walked on across the muddy grass. – All in due course, he grunted over his shoulder.
The first thing that struck him as he made his way down the slippery slope and saw the white-coated technicians moving slowly in the light from the lamps was that it looked as though a scene from a film was being shot. The sight of the twisted body lying among the dead nettles at the edge of the stream, with its face in the water, as though the last thing she had tried to do was crawl there to take a drink, reinforced the impression.
Nina Jebsen came over to him, handed him a pair of blue shoe covers. She was in uniform, he noticed, and her breath smelt of tobacco. A couple of weeks ago she’d announced that she’d finally managed to give up smoking.
– Cecilie Davidsen, said Viken, more as a statement of fact than a query.
– Looks pretty much like it. Hair colour and build are a match. And the clothes still on her fit with the description we have.
– Who found her?
– A couple on their way home. Dodgy types. They’re being questioned at Majorstua.
– Any of our people there?
– Arve’s in charge. Sigge’ll be here before six o’clock.
Viken crossed to the body, shone his torch down. Parts of the back were exposed between the ragged edges of the torn jacket. A broad track consisting of five deep scratches ran from the ribs diagonally up across the neck.
– How the hell? he muttered to himself. – How the hell? His stomach started to churn. He patted his pockets, looking for an antacid, found nothing.
– They’re frighteningly similar to the scratch marks on the woman up in the Nordmarka, Nina Jebsen commented from behind him.
He straightened up and took a couple of paces back, stepped into something sticky. He shone the beam downwards. Fresh faeces covered not only the plastic overshoes but also part of the tips of his shoes. He let out a string of curses and looked around for something to clean it off with.
– The technicians have found tracks, Nina Jebsen told him.
Her voice was so studiedly calm that he turned to look at her.
– Tracks?
She pointed in the direction of one of the white coats squatting by the stream a few metres away. The next moment Viken was at his side. The track in the mud was about the length of a child’s foot, but much broader, and with clear signs of claw marks. He was no wildlife expert, but he was in no doubt that this track was like the one they had found up in the Nordmarka. He opened his mouth, but what he was about to say stuck in his throat.
The technician shone his torch along the edge of the stream.
– There are more tracks here. They seem to disappear into the water.
Viken’s stomach had turned into a burning acid bubble bath. He peered up towards the top of the slope. Heard voices up there, a car starting, someone calling. Maybe they’d picked up what was being said down here with those directional mikes. The helicopter had dropped lower and was circling like a giant bird in the dark sky. He tried to imagine the reaction when news of what he now believed to be the case became known. There would be a storm. A tidal wave. He swallowed down the jet of heartburn that pulsed all the way up into his mouth.
26
BY THE TIME Nina Jebsen had finished making out her crime-scene report, the canteen was open. She would have time to pop up there and get a sandwich and a Bonaqua before the meeting began. She took her breakfast back down to the office she shared with Sigmundur Helgarsson. As usual, something or other had delayed him, and she was pleased enough to have the room to herself for a while. She removed the sandwich wrapping, picked up one of the pieces of bread and as best she could scraped off the mayonnaise. There was some left on the lettuce, but she didn’t have time to take it to the toilet to wash it off.
As she munched away, she reread what she had typed. It was as though she only now realised what she had seen in Frogner Park the night before. She pushed the half-eaten sandwich to one side, took a few swigs of the mineral water with its sickly raspberry taste, opened Aftenposten’s net edition. Main headline: Found murdered. She knew this was just the beginning and opened VG Nett to get a better idea of what was in store. Killer bear tracks in Oslo centre. She gaped. The photograph had been taken from the helicopter and showed the crime scene by the water, the dead woman, the technicians in white, a figure that might have been herself. The press conference was going to be a lot of fun. It was due to start at ten o’clock. Agnes Finckenhagen and Viken would be there, and someone from the eighth floor, maybe the chief of police himself. Viken had made it clear that there would be no mercy for anyone found leaking information in the case. She had to smile at his phrase, like the title of some fifty-year-old Western, but there was no reason to suppose he didn’t mean what he said. Viken wasn’t as hard to get on with as some people claimed. He was like a reasonably complex machine; it was a question of finding out how it worked. She’d said something along these lines to Sigge Helgarsson one morning after he’d been hauled over the coals, but he didn’t seem to share her view. A while back Sigge had started referring to Chief Inspector H. M. Viken as His Master’s Voice, abbreviated in due course to just the Voice. Nina Jebsen thought it was a pretty appropriate nickname, but she didn’t use it herself.
– We’ve got one hour before the section leader and I have to leave, Viken announced.
Nina fidgeted with the corner of the report lying in front of her. She thought it was comical, the formal way he always referred to Agnes Finckenhagen as ‘section leader’. It was just six months ago that she’d been appointed to the post. There was not much doubt that Viken had been bypassed. A man with thirty years’ experience in the job, with a recognised talent as an investigator. When he led a team, there were not many who would cross him, and certainly not those
who wished to carry on working in the section. And if you were loyal, he would take you under his wing. It was a safe place to be for a newcomer; she wasn’t the only one to have discovered that. He spoke out for them against the higher-ups; loud and clear, as he would say himself. And then they had gone and appointed an outsider as section leader. A woman ten years his junior, with little experience of crimes of violence. Viken had contented himself with the observation that it was amazing how far you could get with a few evening classes in Better Leadership at the Business Institute. Especially if you were a woman. And then he kept his mouth shut.
– Do you need to expand the group? asked Jarle Frøen, the police prosecutor who had been put in formal charge of the investigation. A joke, as long as it was Viken who was leading it. Frøen was regarded as one of the weakest of the lawyers. Maybe that was why Viken seemed so pleased to have him along, thought Nina. The lawyer was a tubby man with a pear-shaped head, along the sides of which a few reddish tufts still clung. He wasn’t much older than her but looked more like someone in his mid-forties.
Viken seemed to be weighing the pros and cons before answering.
– Let’s wait until we know what kinds of skills we’re going to need.
– The woman last night, this Davidsen, do we have a cause of death for her? asked Arve Norbakk.
Viken looked over at Nina.
– Know anything about that, Nina?
– I spoke to the woman who’s handling the case at the Pathological Institute, a Dr Finnerud …
– I think you mean Plåterud, Viken grinned.
Nina Jebsen felt herself going red.
– Correct. She’s found a number of hypodermic needle marks on the arms and legs. They also have a provisional result from the blood tests.
– And you didn’t tell us until now, Viken interrupted. – Did they find any trace of a narcotic called thiopental?
– Yes, they did.
Viken scratched his thick lower jaw. As usual he was wearing a freshly ironed white shirt. – We haven’t told anyone that was what Hilde Paulsen was given an overdose of.
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