Stiller hesitated to deny this, pausing for long enough to ensure that she would harbour doubts about whether or not he was telling the truth.
‘We’re on our way towards something,’ he said. ‘If we’re lucky, I might be able to reveal something next week, in time for the next article. But right now it’s too early.’
She appeared satisfied now that she had secured the promise of more information.
38
From his office window, Wisting could see Inger Lise Ness’s home, a flat in a block of four in Kirkestredet, directly beside the railway line. As the crow flies, the distance was no more than six hundred metres.
He needed a pretext to speak to her. An anonymous letter was just her style, but if she really knew something, her plans probably did not include telling the police about it. He would have to feel his way forward and so needed an excuse. And he had found one.
According to the record of offences, she had recently been found guilty of criminal deception. After being unemployed for a lengthy period, she had obtained work in a shop but had declared fewer working hours in her notification to NAV, the employment office, than was the case. Over a six-month period she had been paid almost one hundred thousand kroner more in unemployment benefits than she was entitled to. The punishment was ninety days’ imprisonment, and she was now on the waiting list to serve her sentence.
He picked up the phone, dialled the number for Kriminalomsorgen, the Criminal Justice Social Work Service, and got through to a caseworker he already knew.
‘I’m looking for a favour,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s in connection with a convicted person called Inger Lise Ness,’ he explained. ‘I’d like her to be moved up the prison waiting list.’
‘We should be able to manage that,’ the caseworker said, and the line went quiet as he tapped on his computer keyboard.
‘There’s a vacancy in Sandefjord in three weeks,’ he offered. ‘Would that do?’
‘That’s excellent,’ Wisting answered. ‘What I’d like is for you to send me the summons so that I can deliver it in person.’
‘It’s usually sent in the post,’ the caseworker told him.
‘Send it to my address and I’ll deliver it and make sure she turns up at the specified time.’
Inger Lise Ness would hardly react to a plain-clothes policeman arriving to hand over the summons in person.
‘All the same to me,’ the caseworker replied. ‘She should receive an information booklet as well. If I send them today, they should be with you tomorrow.’
Wisting thanked him and supplied his address.
39
The security system made no objection to letting her pass. The green light lit up and an electronic click sounded, and with no fuss she was inside.
The Krogh kidnapping was the kind of story not to be discussed anywhere other than in closed editorial meetings. It was an assignment that only a select few in the newspaper offices should know of before it went to print. However, it was also the kind of story that caused rumours to fly, and it seemed as if everyone knew about it and was desperate to know more.
Line replied politely but dismissively to the questions she was bombarded with and hurried upstairs to the room they had been allocated, where Daniel was waiting. She knew he had been working on the project for longer than she had but she was still impressed by how rapidly everything had fallen into place. Most of it was now ready for publication. All that was left to do was the final editing of the podcast and to put the finishing touches to the first article. They hoped to publish on Friday morning in the VG newspaper and in VG+, which was formatted for iPads. They could add to the online newspaper during the course of the day. The podcast would be available from two o’clock in the afternoon, which was in forty-eight hours’ time. Then work would begin on the next episode.
Everything about the Krogh kidnapping would be gathered on a single Internet page. It had been given a visually appealing look, with a collage of old documents, images and newspaper cuttings.
Line leafed through some of the printouts of police documents. ‘I don’t know if I believe this kidnapping yarn,’ she said.
‘What makes you doubt it?’
‘Because the kidnappers simply gave up. They sent two letters and explained where the money should be left, but they never made any attempt to collect it. It seems as if they just gave up.’
‘Maybe they got cold feet?’
‘Maybe, but it just looks a bit half-hearted.’
‘In what way?’
‘I’ve looked at some other classic kidnapping cases, mostly American – the son of Frank Sinatra, Charles Lindbergh junior – but also a few in France and Germany. What repeatedly happens is that the letters from the kidnappers contain detailed instructions and warnings about not contacting the police. The ones who took Nadia used only one sentence – Put the money in a black plastic bag behind the kiosk at Olavsberget.’
‘They had enclosed a photograph,’ Daniel reminded her.
Line had a copy of it in front of her, a picture of Nadia and her younger brother taken in a photo booth in which they were sitting with their heads close together to make room for the two of them. The situation had clearly caused them both to erupt with laughter. The picture had been in the purse she always carried with her in her handbag.
‘It doesn’t really prove anything,’ Line insisted.
‘It was enough for the police to release her boyfriend.’
‘The ransom letters may have been a diversionary tactic,’ Line pointed out. ‘In order to free him.’
Daniel held up his hand. ‘Save it!’ he said. ‘The letters are the next episode. Now, we have to go into the studio and stitch this together.’
They headed in, and Daniel sat down at the control console. Line took a seat in front of the microphone, spreading the script sheets out across the desk.
‘I’m not sure what words to use when describing the evening she disappeared,’ she said.
Daniel glanced up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Should I say “the evening she disappeared” or “the evening she was kidnapped”? “When she was taken” or “when she went missing”?’
Daniel reflected on this for a moment or two. ‘The evening she disappeared,’ he decided. ‘After all, it’s accurate and it’s what seems most natural to you.’
Speaking into the microphone to unknown listeners was easier than she had imagined. Despite having a script, she spoke freely and felt that her voice sounded suitably relaxed and spontaneous.
All the time she was speaking, her thoughts returned to the picture of Nadia and her little brother.
She lifted her gaze from the script and fixed it on the microphone in front of her.
‘There’s one question that’s going to become crucial in this podcast,’ she heard herself say. ‘I haven’t yet asked it of any of the people I’ve interviewed so far, because I didn’t think it was important. The police have asked this question, of Liv Hovet among others: she was one of the last people to see Nadia on 18 September 1987. The question is, was she carrying anything? Did she have anything with her when she left? Or, to be more specific, did she take her bag with her when she stormed out of the party in Glimmerveien?
‘The investigators had probably asked about that as a matter of simple routine, one of the points they had to go through, in the same way that everyone at the party was asked what kind of clothes Nadia was wearing on the night she went missing. They received different answers about the handbag. Why that question was so important is something you’ll learn in the next episode of The Nadia Krogh Mystery.’
40
Line flopped down on the settee, exhausted. It had been a long day and she was pleased to have Thomas there. He had already put Amalie to bed when she arrived home, and had prepared food for her, a chicken sandwich with bacon and Brie.
‘Did you know we’re related to that TV chef?’ she asked, cutting off a piece.
/> ‘Which one?’ Thomas said, smirking, with his hand on the remote control. ‘Jamie Oliver?’
‘No, the Norwegian one. Hellstrøm.’
Thomas did not seem too delighted at the news.
‘Not directly related,’ Line corrected herself. ‘But one of our great-great-grandmother’s sisters was married to his great-grandfather’s brother.’
Thomas looked as if he was trying to work this out, but ended up giving a shrug before concentrating all his attention on the TV.
Line ate half the sandwich before wrapping the rest in cling film to put in the fridge.
A strip of photographs from a photo booth was suspended from the fridge door, showing three versions of Thomas and Amalie. In the first one, Amalie was smiling happily and almost looking directly at the camera lens, but by the last one she had obviously grown impatient.
‘Did you take some photos?’ she shouted through to the living room.
‘Yes,’ Thomas replied cheerfully. ‘I kept the best one for myself.’
Line opened the fridge and put her plate inside. ‘Where did you find one of those photo booths?’ she asked.
‘At the shopping centre,’ Thomas told her. ‘It wasn’t actually a booth but a toy train that took photos as we rode on it.’
Line sat down on the settee again. ‘Thanks,’ she said, glancing at her brother. ‘For being so good with her.’
Thomas nodded in acknowledgement – he was engrossed in the TV programme again. Like their father, he was not particularly good at accepting praise.
She took out her laptop to make some amendments to her article, a few minor details her editor had suggested; they would not take long. However, instead of opening the document, she located the family-history program and searched for ‘Stiller’.
There were three results for Stiller in her own extended family, belonging to a branch emanating from a four-times-great-grandfather. His sister married an Anders Stiller in Mysen in 1862 and they had two sons, Ole and Lars. According to the source reference, the information came from digitized parish records. She decided to take a closer look when she had time.
‘Isn’t that the story you’re working on?’ Thomas asked from his chair in front of the TV.
Line looked across at the screen and caught a mention of Nadia Krogh’s name and a glimpse of her face. ‘What was that?’ she asked, even though she saw it.
‘A trailer for Crime Scene Norway, tomorrow,’ Thomas clarified. ‘They’re going to cover the Krogh kidnapping.’
Line sat bolt upright and put the laptop on the coffee table. ‘They can’t do that!’ she protested.
Thomas just stared at her. Line took out her phone and keyed in Frost’s number.
He answered in his usual fashion, brusque and surly.
‘Weren’t we to have the Krogh kidnapping story as an exclusive?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘TV2 are running a trailer on it right now,’ Line told him. ‘They’re covering it on Crime Scene Norway tomorrow night.’
The chief editor swore at the other end of the line. ‘Adrian Stiller,’ he said, cursing again. ‘He’s playing both ends against the middle. That wasn’t the agreement.’
‘What was the agreement?’ Line pressed him.
The line was silent before Frost swore again. ‘We were to get the ransom letters,’ he said, ‘exclusive disclosure, but we didn’t have an agreement about exclusive access to the story itself. I took it for granted we would get first crack at everything.’
Now it was Line’s turn to swear. ‘What do we do?’ she asked. ‘Shall we expedite it? Print the story tomorrow? I can have the article ready in an hour.’
‘No,’ Frost said firmly. ‘We’ve got another spread planned for tomorrow. We do as planned, but we’ll write a news item saying that the Krogh kidnapping case has been reopened and we’re bringing out a podcast with exclusive material on Friday. We’ll use the TV2 programme as a teaser for our own story. Can you have something ready for me in three quarters of an hour?’
‘Okay, that’ll be fine,’ Line assured him. ‘Will you talk to him?’
‘With whom?’
‘Stiller, so we don’t get any more surprises? Or would you prefer me to do it?’
‘I’ll do it. The two of you have to stay friends.’
They ended their conversation. Aware that Amalie had begun to whimper in the bedroom, Thomas got to his feet. ‘I’ll see to her,’ he said.
With an expression of thanks, Line drew the laptop towards her.
41
Adrian Stiller had assembled the local police personnel – William Wisting, Nils Hammer and Christine Thiis – in one of the smaller conference rooms. The door was closed, and the exterior red light was lit.
Hammer, standing by the window, lowered the venetian blinds. ‘What’s the weather forecast for tomorrow?’ he enquired.
Wisting sat down. ‘It’ll probably go on raining,’ he answered. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’re the one who’s going on a fishing trip,’ Hammer commented.
‘It’s good,’ Christine Thiis told them. ‘Lightly overcast and dry all weekend. Sunny periods.’
Adrian Stiller sat at one end of the table, waiting for the others to take their places. Finally, Hammer joined them.
‘It all kicks off today,’ Stiller said. ‘TV2 has the Krogh kidnapping as their main feature on Crime Scene Norway tonight. It’s being broadcast live. I’ll be in the studio.’ He turned to face Wisting. ‘Can you be at home with Haugen then? I’d like to know his immediate reaction.’
‘That would seem a bit unusual,’ Wisting broke in. ‘And suspicious.’
Stiller took out a timetable. ‘I’ve drawn up a plan for it,’ he explained, reading aloud: ‘At 20.15, you’ll send him a text message to say you’re working late, but wonder if you can call in on your way home to discuss the fishing trip.’
Wisting nodded.
‘The TV broadcast starts at 21.40. You’ll have to arrive at Martin Haugen’s a few minutes before that.’
‘What if he’s not watching TV?’ Hammer interjected.
Stiller had not finished speaking and continued without pausing. ‘The item about Nadia Krogh will be sixteen minutes into the broadcast, at 21.56. As soon as it comes up, Hammer will send you a message asking you to watch TV2.’ Crouching down, he took a mobile phone from his briefcase and passed it across the table. ‘Use this phone,’ he said to Hammer before fixing his gaze on Wisting. ‘You’ll have to store the number as Line on your phone, so it looks as if it’s your daughter who’s asking you to watch it. That should be enough for him to switch the TV to the right channel.’
He glanced at Hammer before concentrating on Wisting once more. ‘You can tell Martin Haugen your daughter is working on the Krogh kidnapping for VG. Tell him you remember the case and ask if he does too.’
Stiller could see Wisting felt uncomfortable with the plan. He grabbed a ballpoint pen and pushed his chair away from the table, as if distancing himself from the scheme. ‘You’ll be equipped with a hidden microphone,’ he went on. ‘A microscopic recording device you’ll have with you all weekend, voice-activated and with a storage capacity of forty-eight hours. The battery time is double that, so once it’s attached you won’t need to give it another thought.’
Wisting, obviously nervous, began to fiddle with his pen.
‘Tomorrow we’ll apply more pressure. When you’re talking to him tonight, it’s crucial you both agree to use your car. We’ll put a tracker and a bug on it so we can sit and listen to what’s being said. Once you’re on your way, you’ll have to call into a petrol station and buy a copy of VG. When you’re halfway to the cabin, “Line” will send you a text message with a link to the podcast, so you can listen to it in the car. It lasts thirty-four minutes, so you won’t manage to hear it all before you get there. A couple of hours later, “Line” will send you another text and ask you what you thought of it. This will give you an excuse to listen to
the rest and discuss with Haugen what he made of it.’
Nils Hammer was the one to break the silence. ‘And that’ll make him confess?’ he asked sceptically.
‘It’ll raise the Krogh kidnapping as a topic of conversation,’ Stiller replied. ‘Investigation is fifty per cent psychology. Sometimes it’s not evidence we need, but to get the suspect entangled in a net he can’t find his way out of.’
Wisting sat mutely as Stiller handed out copies of the schedule. ‘There are a lot of details here,’ he commented. ‘A lot to go wrong.’
‘Relax,’ Stiller cautioned. ‘It’s a matter of setting his thoughts in motion and making him feel vulnerable and insecure. If we make things unbearable for him, he’ll be easier to crack when the time is ripe. He has to be made to understand that carrying a big, dark secret is worse than what awaits him if he confesses.’
42
The computer screen in the CS room showed abnormally high activity. While they had been sitting in their meeting, seven outgoing calls had been registered to seven different telephone numbers.
Rolling his chair up to the desk, Hammer played the first one: a man, resident in Sandefjord.
Martin Haugen introduced himself.
‘It’s about the air pistol you have for sale on Finn,’ he began.
Wisting glanced at the screen showing the computer traffic.
‘He’s still at work,’ Stiller said. ‘He must have used a computer there.’
The recorded conversation ended with an arrangement for Martin Haugen to visit the seller’s home between four and six o’clock to look at the air pistol.
‘What does he want with an air gun?’ Stiller asked.
Hammer went into finn.no and tried to do a search on the phone number Martin Haugen had called, but that proved unsuccessful. The name of the seller was not searchable either. Instead he searched for air pistols in Sandefjord. This produced four results: he opened each individual advert and found the name of the correct seller in the third instance. In the photograph, the weapon looked like a real gun. The text of the advertisement stated that it was a copy of a Swiss SIG and used twelve-gram CO2 cartridges.
The Katharina Code Page 18
