She opened the fridge and peered inside. Eating was no longer simply a matter of feeling full. It was more to do with having sufficient nutrition and energy. She took out a pack of liver paté for iron and a yogurt to cover her calcium requirements. While the tea was infusing, she buttered a slice of crispbread.
She took out her iPad and sat at the kitchen table. Verdens Gang had written about the New Year Murder case, but the main article did not contain anything new. That the murder weapon had been found and was linked to another case did not appear to worry the investigators.
She drank her tea, wondering whether her father had discovered anything more, and whether she ought to have told him about the rest of the safe contents, the notebooks, accounts, photographs, newspaper cuttings and cassettes. She had not seen anything to explain where the revolver had come from, and doubted whether Wisting would find anything else. Most of the notes and papers were old.
The phone rang. She and Sofie chatted every day now. Normally she would have felt it excessive to have a friend who phoned every day, several times a day, but now she enjoyed it. She had nobody else, no work colleagues with whom to share thoughts and opinions.
‘Can you come over?’ Sofie asked, with no introduction.
Line had not heard her sound so agitated. ‘What is it?’
‘I think somebody . . .’ Sofie began, but interrupted herself. ‘You need to see this for yourself. Can you come round?’
Line glanced at the half-eaten crispbread with liver paté. ‘Give me an hour, then.’
‘Come as fast as you can,’ Sofie pleaded, ending the conversation as abruptly as it had begun.
Line ate the rest of the crispbread as she cleared away the plate and returned the yogurt to the fridge. She took a quick shower, did not bother with make-up and was standing outside the massive timber villa in the centre of town before half an hour had passed. ‘What is it?’ she asked again.
‘In here.’
They went into the kitchen. Sofie stood with her back to the worktop and pointed at the kitchen table where a number of papers and a box of light bulbs were spread out. ‘The lamp.’
The large lamp suspended from the ceiling seemed slightly out of place above the small kitchen table that Sofie had brought in her van full of furniture. It had probably seemed more appropriate when her grandfather had been living there. ‘Look inside.’
Line went over to the lamp, took hold of the metal shade and tilted it to one side. She realised immediately what had made Sofie so flustered. A little microphone was hanging beside the light bulb. ‘A bugging device,’ Sofie said.
Line peered more closely at the black microphone. It was about the same size as a fingernail and seemed old. Though it must once been advanced and modern, by now it seemed rather clumsy. ‘I think it’s been here for a long time.’
Sofie crossed her arms without uttering a word.
The microphone hung from a black cable that disappeared behind the lamp holder. Above the lamp, the connection must be camouflaged in the electric cable, and ran across the ceiling to the wall. From there, it disappeared behind one of the tall cupboards. Line pulled a kitchen chair over to the worktop and climbed up.
‘Be careful!’ Sofie warned.
The chair wobbled. Line held her arms out to the side and waited until she was steady before opening the cupboard door. It was almost empty. Sofie had put only a few baking bowls and plastic jugs on the bottom shelf. Standing on tiptoe and using the cupboard door for support, she peered into the top shelf. A black cable continued into the wall. ‘It comes out on the other side,’ she said, clambering down again.
Sofie was already in the hallway. ‘The cloak cupboard,’ she said, pointing.
On the wall adjacent to the kitchen was a broad, built-in cupboard. Line opened the doors. One part was shelved, while the other had space for jackets and coats. Sofie had not used it yet, and with the exception of a pair of Wellington boots the cupboard was bare. In the innermost recess of one shelf Line once again located the black cable, only a centimetre-long stub with a connector.
‘I think it must have been your grandfather who installed it,’ she said. ‘He’s probably had a tape recorder in the cupboard here.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know, but it looks as if he’s made secret recordings of conversations he’s had at his kitchen table.’
‘The cassettes,’ Sofie said, ‘ . . . the little cassettes lying in the safe.’
Line had come to the same conclusion. ‘I can take it away, if you want,’ she said, going over to the lamp again. ‘It’s just a matter of cutting the cable.’
Maja began to yell from the living room. They went through and Sofie lifted her out of her playpen. ‘It might as well stay there in the meantime,’ she said. ‘I’ll soon be renovating the kitchen anyway.’
They sat on the settee, Sofie with Maja on her lap. ‘Have you said any more to your father?’ she asked. ‘About the revolver?’
‘He’s in Kristiansand this weekend, looking for a connection between the two murders.’
‘Has he found anything?’
Line shrugged. ‘I haven’t spoken to him.’
She leaned forward and tickled Maja on the tummy. Maja was convulsed with laughter.
‘Are you ready to look after her on Tuesday?’ Sofie asked.
‘You’ll just have to show me a bit more about how to feed her and so on.’
‘She’s going to eat soon. We can do it then.’
Line agreed happily and decided to get hold of a Dictaphone machine so that she could play the cassettes while Sofie was at the meeting with the lawyer in Oslo.
‘The meeting’s at nine o’clock, so I need to leave by seven at the latest, if that’s not too early for you,’ Sofie said.
‘It’s fine.’
‘It’ll probably last no more than a couple of hours, so I should be home again by two o’clock.’
‘That’s perfectly okay,’ Line said, coaxing another burst of laughter from Maja.
Sofie plumped her daughter down on Line’s knee. ‘What do you think of living on your own?’ she asked unexpectedly.
Line thought about it. She enjoyed it, but there were many idle moments when there was no one to share her thoughts with. ‘It’s fine,’ she replied. ‘What about you?’
‘I thought I’d had enough of men for a while, but the house seems so big.’
‘Have you met anyone?’
Sofie shook her head. ‘No, but I realise I can’t live on my own forever. That I need somebody.’
Line nodded. She recognised this but, as for herself, she was prepared to be on her own for a long time.
Maja grew restless on her knee and her large bump was constantly in the way.
Sofie looked at the clock. ‘I think she’s starting to feel hungry,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Shall we make her something?’
Line carried Maja to the kitchen and settled her into the high chair at the table.
‘She eats porridge for lunch and in the evening,’ Sofie said, opening a cupboard door to take out a packet. ‘All you have to do is mix it with lukewarm water.’
Line studied the list of ingredients. ‘Is there any difference in the nutritional content?’
‘I buy the one without palm oil,’ Sofie said. ‘It tastes best too.’
Line followed the instructions on the packet, put the plate in front of Maja and sat down at the table herself. Maja opened her mouth eagerly, but just as Line was about to give her the first spoonful, she slapped her hand on the plate so that the porridge splashed over the table. She was delighted and smacked it again. Line pulled the dish back out of her reach.
‘Easy mistake for a beginner to make,’ Sofie said, and came over with a cloth. She wiped Maja’s fingers and then the table. Later she carried Maja up to the first floor for a nap. They took the baby alarm and sat in the garden. A heavy, laden bumblebee buzzed around the grass.
‘Sorry for phoning you,’ S
ofie said. ‘I was just so put out when I spotted that microphone. It felt so creepy.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Do you have a large family?’ Sofie asked.
Shaking her head, Line drank from the glass that Sofie had put on the table. ‘Hardly anyone. There’s only Dad and me, Grandad and my brother.’
‘Your father would be there for you, if you ever needed him.’
‘He’ll be with me at the birth.’
‘Will he?’
‘He’ll not want to come in with me,’ Line said, ‘but I’ll feel safe knowing he’s out there in the corridor.’
They sat chatting until Maja woke again. Line changed her nappy before heading for the car and driving home. Her father’s car was in the driveway and she stopped outside his house.
He was at the kitchen table, surrounded by papers. ‘Home already?’ she asked, with a smile.
He gave her a hug. ‘Yes, but I’ll have to go back down again on Tuesday.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’ve been summoned as a witness in the court case.’
‘Because of the revolver?’
He nodded.
Line took a seat and caught a glimpse of his notes. There was a timeline and a numbered list. ‘Have you discovered anything new?’
‘Just more questions.’
‘What sort of questions?’
Her father considered. ‘Maybe you can provide some answers?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you have your phone on you?’
She took it out.
‘Do you have a pin code on it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘In case it’s stolen.’
‘But do you have anything on your phone that you don’t want other people to see?’
‘Yes.’
‘What sort of thing?’
Line mulled it over. Throughout her pregnancy she had taken photos of herself, naked in front of the mirror. She’d wouldn’t want anyone else to see and, actually, she didn’t even want to tell anyone about them.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘The phone belonging to the woman who was killed in Kristiansand was never found. I spoke to a friend of hers when I was down there. She told me that sometimes Elise went somewhere else when the phone rang, and she was afraid of her boyfriend accessing what was on it.’
Line did not entirely understand where her father was going with this. What he was describing sounded completely normal to her. ‘Does it need to have anything to do with the case?’
He did not reply, and she saw from his demeanour that there was something else. Something that might create headlines and that he did not want to tell her yet. ‘Don’t give it any more thought,’ he said.
Line’s curiosity had been piqued. ‘Did she have another lover, or what?’
‘I don’t know. That’s something the investigators never looked into.’
She looked at her father’s notes again, saw some dates and names, and it dawned on her what he was getting at. ‘You’re no longer investigating the Hummel case. You’re investigating the New Year Murder.’
‘There’s a connection somewhere.’
She studied him. The tiny muscles around his eyes had contracted as he began to toy with a ballpoint pen.
‘Don’t you believe he did it?’ she asked. ‘Do you believe it was another man who murdered Elise Kittelsen? The same one that killed Jens Hummel?’
‘I don’t know what to believe,’ he replied.
66
Wisting grabbed the ballpoint pen lying on the table. His eyes strayed to the clock on the kitchen wall. Eighteen hours to go until Dan Roger Brodin would stand in the dock. The points that suggested he was innocent were listed in front of him. He would make an effort to stop the trial.
He picked up his mobile phone and tapped in Harald Ryttingen’s number. Ryttengen sounded morose when he answered, but took the initiative. ‘Are you satisfied? Did you get what you wanted?’
‘Not all of it,’ Wisting said, without mentioning how Ryttingen had deprived them of the opportunity. ‘But it was useful. That’s why I’m calling.’
‘Well?’
Wisting jumped in with both feet. ‘I must request that you postpone the trial. I’m not sure that Dan Roger Brodin is the right man.’
He heard a snort at the other end. ‘I’ve just come from a meeting with the Public Prosecutor. I put forward the opinions you’ve already come out with. Do you know what he did?’
Wisting did not reply.
‘He laughed at you, and I want to do the same now. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, whether you lack the ability to read the case documents. We’ve seldom had a more solid case. We’ve got three eye witnesses!’
‘Witnesses can make mistakes.’
‘We have technical evidence and a notorious habitual criminal in the dock. There has to be an end to this now.’
‘I met Dan Roger Brodin in prison . . .’
‘I know, and now we’re informed that you’ve been called as a witness.’
‘He told me something interesting...’
‘And tomorrow he’ll have an opportunity to do so in front of a judge,’ Ryttingen interrupted. ‘This conversation is done. I’ll see you in court. Try not to make an arse of it.’
67
The summer holidays were over. On Monday morning there were more cars on the road and people he had not seen for some time had returned to the police station. At nine o’clock Wisting assembled the nearest investigators: Torunn Borg, Nils Hammer and Espen Mortensen. They were seated when he closed the door and switched on the red light outside.
‘Our main question has been how the murder weapon from Kristiansand could have been used in Jens Hummel’s killing,’ he said. ‘I believe I’ve found the answer. I think that whoever killed Jens Hummel, hid his taxi in the barn at Huken and concealed the corpse in the dung heap on Brunla Farm, is the same person who killed Elise Kittelsen.’
He scanned the faces of his colleagues, and saw nothing but doubt and scepticism. Nils Hammer held up his hand. ‘Wait a minute now. The case in Kristiansand is regarded as closed. What you’re saying would mean that the accused is innocent. He was already in jail when Jens Hummel disappeared.’
Wisting agreed.
‘There were three witnesses to the murder,’ Torunn Borg said.
‘I think there were four,’ Wisting said. ‘We know that Jens Hummel was in Kristiansand on New Year’s Eve. I think that he saw what happened.’
‘In that case, he could have been the one who phoned the tip-off to Kristiansand and told them they had arrested the wrong man,’ Hammer said.
‘But it doesn’t match what the other three witnesses saw,’ Torunn Borg objected. ‘They recognised the perpetrator.’
‘There were other aspects,’ Espen Mortensen said. ‘He had gunshot residue on his hands.’
Wisting told them about the eyewitnesses and about the fireworks.
‘Have you put this to the police down there?’ Torunn Borg asked.
‘To deaf ears. It’s too late for them to turn back. It’s not just that they have the wrong man, but also that the right man has killed again. If they admit the wrongful arrest, they’re also forced to admit that it cost Jens Hummel his life. I think they fear that scenario.’
‘It’s easier to stop a prosecution than to overturn a conviction,’ Hammer said.
‘He hasn’t been convicted yet. I’m to give testimony at his trial tomorrow. Hopefully, we’ll have something more specific before then.’
He crossed out the items on the agenda he had been through but hesitated over the final point. ‘There’s one more thing. It could be that the investigators in Kristiansand have withheld information.’
He showed the pictures he had taken with his mobile phone and explained about the phone number removed from the log of Elise Kittelsen’s phone calls. ‘Jan Larsen has been inside for nearly two years. Nils, could you possi
bly discover where his phone is now, and who is on the list of contacts?’
Hammer had personal associates in the telecommunications industry who were willing to compromise their duty of confidentiality if something was important and urgent. ‘I can try.’
They were nearing the end of the meeting.
‘Just one thing,’ Torunn Borg said to Wisting. ‘Do you have a theory about who the murderer could be?’
‘It’s too early to pick anyone out but Phillip Goldheim has become increasingly more interesting.’ He explained to the others about the points of intersection between Goldheim and their own enquiry. ‘The police down there are following his movements closely,’ he said, and declared the meeting closed.
From his office he phoned Ivar Horne in Kristiansand. ‘Any news from your detective in Haiti?’
‘It’s not so simple,’ Horne replied. ‘Robert Hansson is apparently on vacation and has gone to Florida where he has hired a motorbike to travel to the west coast. I’ve said it’s important and asked him to phone you, but I don’t know if he’s received my message.’
Wisting thanked him. ‘Any news on Mister Nice Guy?’
‘No, we’re still tailing him. He’s active, but extremely careful.’
‘Let me know if he moves in my direction.’
‘You’ll be the first to find out,’ Horne promised.
Hammer appeared at the door as Wisting put the phone down. ‘The number is not in use,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Jan Larsen. His phone hasn’t been used for the past six months. The history doesn’t go any further back.’
Wisting gave a deep sigh.
‘If you want to find out who has used the phone, you’ll have to talk to him,’ Hammer said.
‘To Jan Larsen?’
‘He’s behind bars in Skien, and isn’t going anywhere.’
Wisting nodded in silence. If the next few hours did not yield anything, he would visit Jan Larsen in prison this afternoon.
68
Years had passed since Line had been inside the editorial offices of the local newspaper. She had worked there for two years before her temporary post at Verdens Gang. It had been a busy place, but now it was quiet and most of the desks were empty. Several looked as if they had been cleared for good. In the newspaper the advertisements were fewer and the contents thinner, the way all local newspapers were going.
Ordeal (William Wisting Series) Page 26
