– I have had rather a lot to do, she managed.
– Yes, but for Christ’s sake, you might have taken the trouble to actually go along there. Do I need to remind you that we are dealing with a perverted and deranged person who has so far taken the lives of three women? If we’re going to stop him, everyone needs to pull their finger out and do exactly what they’ve been asked to do. And I mean everyone.
His mobile phone rang; he glanced down at the display.
– It’s the pathology lab, he said. – We’ll take a ten-minute break.
He disappeared out into the corridor.
– Whooph, Sigge gasped. – Glad that wasn’t me.
– He’s under a lot of pressure, said Nina.
Sigge rolled his eyes.
– As if he’s the only one who’s noticed things are hotting up.
Nina didn’t answer. She picked up her phone and withdrew to a corner of the room. A minute later she had the section head at the Rikshospital on the line. She told him what it was about, stressed how vital the information was to the investigation, that it was a matter of urgency. He promised to look into it.
When the meeting resumed, she noticed that Viken had used the break to calm himself down.
– Sorry about the interruption, he began, and for a moment Nina wondered whether he was going to apologise for the outburst against her. He didn’t. – The call was from Dr Plåterud, he said. – She has really pulled out all the stops. She’s got Glenne’s DNA profile ready and waiting for us.
It was obvious to all what the results were.
– No match with the material found under Anita Elvestrand’s fingernails.
Jarle Frøen placed both fists on the table. They were so ugly Nina couldn’t help staring at them. Big and pale, with scattered tufts of red hair along the backs of the fingers, and as freckled as his face and his bald head.
– The court is in session at six this evening, he informed them. – I postponed it for as long as possible. The question now is should we abandon it and drop the charges?
Viken glowered at him. Nina could see him struggling to maintain the calm he had achieved during the break.
– The DNA result needn’t necessarily mean anything at all, he asserted. – There’s a great deal of material still to be analysed. Last night I spoke to a former colleague in Manchester. An expert in the field of psychological profiling. He thinks what we have is extremely interesting. He agrees that this business of the bear prints is some kind of message. Same thing with the method of killing, making it look as though the victims have been savaged by a bear. His advice is to listen to this message, find out what it is the killer is trying to tell us, and wind it in from there. I asked him about this theory of a split personality. He says it’s not unlikely that what we’re dealing with is a person with two or more personalities. Several factors actually point in this direction. Among other things, the very short interludes between each killing. As you know, my hypothesis is that this twin brother of Glenne’s doesn’t exist …
Nina’s phone rang.
– This looks like the hospital, she said and stood up. – They promised me a quick answer.
She grabbed her pen and notebook and let herself out into the corridor. A woman named Astrid Glenne had given birth at the Rikshospital. The senior consultant himself had personally gone to the trouble of searching the archives to track down the notes. Nina was too tense to thank him. She had to concentrate fully to stop her pen from shaking as she wrote down what he said.
The buzz of voices stilled as she appeared in the doorway. She could feel every gaze following her as she made her way back to her seat.
– That was the Rikshospital about the birth record.
She looked at Viken. He half closed his eyes.
– About bloody time, he murmured.
– The senior consultant called me in person; he’d made it his number one priority.
– Get to the point, Viken interrupted.
Nina swallowed her irritation.
– Astrid Glenne gave birth to two boys on the night of the seventh of September 1964. The first birth was unproblematic. The second child got stuck and had to be delivered with forceps. He wasn’t breathing, had to be resuscitated, and lay in an incubator for more than three weeks, but he survived. He suffered from convulsions of some kind …
– Yes yes yes, said Viken gruffly . – We don’t need to hear the whole of the midwife’s report.
Sigge Helgarsson couldn’t resist it: – So goodbye, Mr Hyde. That leaves us with just Dr Glenne.
Viken gave him an angry look.
– What matters is not whether or not this twin actually exists. You can say what you like about Icelanders, but they’re not the brightest tool in the shed.
Sigge gaped.
– You’re the one who needs to get it together, he burst out. – If you’d said that about someone with black skin, you’d get yourself a reputation as a racist.
Viken brushed this aside.
– Racist, did you say? Before the Americans were allowed to use the base at Keflavik, they had to bloody well sign an agreement saying that not one black soldier would be stationed there. You Icelanders were terrified they might get your women pregnant. At least that way you wouldn’t be as milky white as you are now.
Nina Jebsen looked at him in astonishment. Sigge flushed to the roots of his hair.
– Complete crap, he growled. – Fifty-year-old rumours.
Viken shrugged.
– Pal of mine worked up there for a long time, he knows all about it. But we don’t have time for this nonsense.
– You’re damned right there, Viken. Jarle Frøen grinned as he got to his feet. – I’ll have a word with the district court.
56
THERE WERE ONLY two other customers at the Asylum Café. They took a window seat with a view over to the multi-storey car park and Grønland Square. When Nina had popped her head into Arve Norbakk’s office fifteen minutes earlier, it was clear that he had forgotten their arrangement to have coffee, and when she dropped a hint about it, he seemed to be so busy that she thought he would back out again. But as soon as he had picked up the hint, he was on his feet: that was a great idea, they needed to talk.
– Not a day of celebration for the team, he observed as they sat studying the menu. – All the more reason to treat ourselves to something nice to eat.
Nina agreed, but contented herself with a salad and bread on the side; it was too early for lunch.
– Sigge says he’s heard rumours that Finckenhagen wants to take Viken off the case, she said.
Arve Norbakk looked straight at her. He had the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen, at least in someone whose hair was so fair.
– Finckenhagen, he spluttered. – She wouldn’t dare. Even if Viken has made a fool of himself.
– He’s got tunnel vision about this, Nina announced. – The most elementary beginner’s mistake. These last few days he’s been interested in nothing but this doctor.
– Are you so sure it’s all been a waste of time?
She glanced at him.
– Sounds as if you still think Glenne is the one we’re looking for.
– I’m only saying it’s a good idea to keep an eye on him, said Arve.
– Should we really have been using such a huge amount of resources keeping a tail on him, as Viken insisted?
Arve answered without looking up from the menu.
– Maybe. The most obvious trails still begin and end there.
Once they’d ordered, Nina said: – One thing I’ve been thinking about. The ages of the three victims. Hilde Paulsen was fifty-six, Cecilie Davidsen forty-six, Anita Elvestrand thirty-six.
Arve raised an eyebrow.
– You’re right. Ten years younger every time.
– Probably just chance, she said, – but it does seem odd.
– If it isn’t just chance, and it happens again, then the next victim should be a woman of twenty-six.
– Don’t say that, she exclaimed as she finessed the plug of chewing tobacco out of her mouth and wrapped it in a serviette. She washed her mouth out with Pepsi Max. – I’m not sure we’re taking good enough care of this medical student.
Their food came. She’d ended up with spaghetti bolognese after all.
– Viken asked me to stay in touch with her, Arve reassured her. – I talked to her earlier today. She can call me whenever she likes. If she’s not interested, that’s all we can do, you know that as well as I do.
Nina wrapped spaghetti round her fork and realised that she’d made a mistake. Spaghetti was fine for kids, and a couple who’d known each other for a while. But first time out in a café with a man sitting opposite and watching you? Tacos were the only thing worse, she groaned to herself as she reached for a serviette. Fortunately Arve tactfully lowered his gaze to the rib steak on his own plate.
Once she’d eaten as much of the spaghetti as she thought she could allow herself, it was time to turn the conversation to matters outside the investigation.
– How did you end up in the police, Arve?
He laughed slightly and poured more beer into his glass. He was a guy who could fix car engines, mend things, cut down trees. His hands were broad and thick, with marks and scars he must have got working with machines and tools. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be touched by them, held tight by them.
– Probably because I figured it was somewhere I could actually do something, he said. – Started studying law, but I always had to get a pal to wake me up during the lectures. Dropped out and spent a couple of years at folk high school, mountain climbing and rafting and camping out in cracks in glaciers. That was probably when it dawned on me that I needed a more active life than just swotting up on points of law. Something more unpredictable. I’ve always been someone who likes doing something. How about you?
She pushed the plate of half-eaten spaghetti to one side. She hadn’t the slightest objection to telling him the story of her life. What it was like to grow up in a high-rise in Fyllingsdalen. The friends who got pregnant as soon as they were done with high school, then moved out of the family apartment and into the block opposite. She’d always known she had to get out of there. Arve carried on eating and listening, didn’t say anything.
– What was that other thing, by the way? he suddenly asked.
– Other thing?
– You said yesterday you’d found one mistake and one omission in my notes about the medical student. You gave me the mistake straight away, I was supposed to get the omission for dessert.
Nina wiped thoroughly around her mouth. Registered that the serviette was still showing signs of tomato sauce.
– You dashed that report off pretty quickly, she said, and risked a teasing smile.
– You’re right, I had to prioritise. Aren’t you going to tell me?
Nina leant back in her chair. She’d managed to change into a light silk blouse she’d bought earlier in the day. It clung tightly across her breasts.
– According to Miriam herself, she doesn’t have a large circle of friends. She’s got two or three close ones, and she has some contact with the Catholic church in Majorstua.
– Well I got all that, didn’t I? Arve protested.
– Yes, but not that she’s been engaged.
His eyebrows shot up.
– Really? Here in Norway?
She gave a triumphant laugh.
– For two years.
– Well, you got me there all right, Nina.
She liked the way he said her name, putting equal stress on both syllables.
– Honestly, he continued, – I’m glad it was you who noticed. There are enough people who like to exploit others’ mistakes. Did she say who to?
– I didn’t ask; that wasn’t the most important thing right then. She said she broke up with him some years ago. I still don’t know whether it’s of any importance at all …
Arve scratched the tip of his chin with two fingers. He sat for a while staring thoughtfully into the air, straight past her.
– It might well be important, Nina, he said at last. – I guess Viken’s not the only one who’s been suffering from tunnel vision these last few days.
57
AXEL STUMBLED THROUGH the park outside the police station where he’d spent most of the last twenty-four hours. He stopped under one of the huge hazels. It was still raining, but not as much as the day before, and the wind had subsided.
He had a large swelling above one eye, and his lower lip was still swollen. He had hardly slept for the past few days, nor washed nor even run a comb through his hair. The bristles on his chin itched, and he could smell the body odour seeping up from his armpits. The physical degeneration felt like a temptation to sink further down into it.
It was dark by the time he slanted across the street to a café on the other side. In a stand outside the door a few last copies of the morning’s papers were still on display. The entire front page of VG carried a picture of a man being restrained by two police officers. The features of the face had been disguised, but anyone who knew him would have been in no doubt about who it was. The caption read: Doctor arrested – suspected of murders.
He needed something to drink. Most of all he needed to empty his bladder. The man behind the bar stopped him as he was on his way to the toilet.
– Are you going to buy something? The toilet is for customers only.
– A cognac.
– Can you pay?
The man gave him a lingering scrutiny. That’s the way it is now, thought Axel. This is the reception you’ll be getting from now on.
– You’ll just have to wait and see, he muttered as he walked into the strong smell of filthy urinal.
Afterwards he took a table in an inner recess of the darkened room. The first glass disappeared in one. It wasn’t cognac, but the colour wasn’t unlike. He signalled to the barman and had a second. For a brief moment waving a credit card had changed his status. He took his time over the third glass. He couldn’t quite come to terms with the thought that at some point or other he would have to get up and leave the place.
His phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there staring down at the table. It struck him that if he didn’t answer the phone now, he would never answer it again. A distant sense of relief when he saw that it was Rita. She was the only person he could face talking to right now.
– Axel, I don’t believe you. What a pickle you’ve got yourself into now.
He tried to make a joke about pickle but it didn’t work out. Instead she got him to tell her about the last twenty-four hours. Afterwards she said: – What are you going to do now?
He drained his glass.
– Didn’t you say you started working for me twelve years ago, Rita? Not many people know me better than you do.
He fell silent. She said: – I don’t believe for one moment that you … Not for one moment, Axel, do you hear me? But you were incredibly stupid to let yourself get mixed up with that …
Axel interrupted before she could use a word he didn’t want to hear.
– It isn’t her fault. Save the criticism for me.
– She rang yesterday, by the way.
– Miriam?
– Isn’t that who we’re talking about?
– What did she want?
– Apparently she left an envelope behind in the desk drawer in Ola’s office. She said she’d come in and fetch it, but I never saw her.
Axel could feel himself waking up.
– When was this?
– Yesterday afternoon. And then she said something very odd.
– What did she say?
– That if she didn’t turn up, I was to deliver it to you as soon as possible. She said it was important. Seemed really upset.
He checked his unanswered calls. Over thirty of them. Lots from Bie. One from Tom. And directly below it on the list: Miriam. Yesterday evening, 6.55
. He called his voicemail. Twenty-three messages. The first was from Bie. Then a journalist from VG. Then several others he didn’t know. He clicked his way through them. On the sixth he heard an indistinct sound, a car engine probably, above it a pop song he’d heard a few times, and someone whistling in the background. He was about to click forward to the next one. Then he heard her voice: Where are we going? Miriam: the name shot through him. An indistinct male voice answered her. Axel couldn’t stay seated; he had to get to his feet. He clamped the phone to one ear, pressed a finger in the other. Miriam’s voice: The cabin? Are you mad? Suddenly the man’s voice was more prominent. What the hell have you got there? Give it to me! Some rustling sounds. Then her scream. Rising and ending in a shout: Axel. Then silence.
Axel stumbled to the toilet. Played the message over again. There was something familiar about the man’s voice. He couldn’t place it. It was drowned out by Miriam’s scream. She was calling for him. She was frightened.
He ran to the door.
– Hey there! yelled the bartender and raced after him. – You’re a helluva cheeky bastard.
Axel raised both hands submissively.
– Sorry, got a message, I have to leave. Of course I’ll pay.
The bartender glowered at him. Not even a big tip sweetened his mood.
Outside the café he ran into a woman in a black coat.
– The very person I’m looking for, she said as he hurried on.
He turned round.
– Kaja Fredvold, VG, the woman informed him. – We’ve met before. I’d like to interview you.
A swarm of thoughts buzzed through Axel’s head. Miriam. She had been afraid when he called her the previous afternoon. Afraid when he visited her that last time. He hadn’t understood what it was. Hadn’t wanted to understand.
– I don’t have time for people like you, he said as calmly as he could.
The journalist grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket. When she smiled, her jaw jutted forward, making her underbite even more prominent.
– We’re going to run a story on you anyway, Glenne. You’ll find it pays to play along.
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