She parked in the drive outside Oslo police station and called Flatland. A few minutes later his silver-grey Audi emerged from the gates. She sat beside him in a front seat that was draped in thick plastic. The man seemed to worry more about dirtying his car than anything else.
– Good job it’s you that’s on duty, he said, and she didn’t doubt that he meant it. He was in his fifties, hardly more than ten years older than her, but greying and as scrawny as an old dingo.
– What’s the news? she asked as he swung down Grønlandsleiret.
– We may have found the woman who’s been missing for over a week.
– The psychologist?
– We’re pretty sure it is.
– And since you want me along, I assume she’s in no condition to give an account of herself.
He glanced across at her without answering.
– Where are we going?
– Down to Hurum. A disused factory.
Jennifer sighed.
– Not more than an hour’s drive, Flatland added in his usual monotone.
– Who found her?
– A patrol from the sheriff’s office down there.
– And what were they doing in a disused factory on Christmas Eve?
The technician looked over his shoulder before gliding on to the E18.
– We got a tip-off. The woman’s partner and her sister turned up at the crime response unit with her mobile phone. Claimed it arrived in the post. There was a video on it.
He changed lanes and accelerated down into Festning Tunnel. – Someone videoed the missing woman. A factory tower was shown in the film. From the postmark on the package, we were able to locate the place within an hour.
– Videoed her and sent it to her partner? Jennifer exclaimed. – So we’re talking about premeditated murder?
– I’m not prepared to commit myself on that.
Jennifer had worked with Flatland many times before. He was the type who never said more than was strictly necessary. She glanced round the inside of the car. It wasn’t just her seat; the others were covered in the same thick protective plastic. The man is more than a touch compulsive, she thought. Definitely an advantage in a job like his.
On the roof of the factory there was still a large sign bearing the name Icosand. At the gate was another: Stop at red signal. It had to be years since that broken light had given any signal at all. A tall woman in uniform waved them in.
Two quick-response vehicles and an unmarked car were parked by the factory tower. The policewoman approached them when they stopped. Clearly she knew who they were and identified herself by name, rank and where she was stationed.
– We’ve cordoned off the whole area, she told them. – And we’re using the lower entrance. She pointed to the largest of the buildings, a concrete block four storeys tall. – That’s the one least likely to have been used by the perpetrators.
Each carrying their own case, they headed off towards the furthest end of the building, a rusty door that was stuck open and refused to be closed behind them. Inside, it was dark. Flatland took a long-handled torch out of his case. They found a staircase, followed it up to the second floor, as the constable had told them, and turned into a corridor. Several of the windows were broken, the glass lay in piles along one of the walls.
They emerged on to a gallery in a hall illuminated by two powerful lights. In the middle of the pool of light lay a naked body, propped against a concrete pillar. Two figures in white moved about down there, and a third was bent over a camera pointed at the floor.
Flatland pulled out protective overalls, hoods and shoe covers. Jennifer was still wearing her high-heeled antelope leather boots, and the shoe covers didn’t fit very well. She found a couple of unused hair bands in her pocket, and that helped them stay on.
They clambered down a rusting metal conduit, Flatland went first, making sure it was safe for her.
– We’ve made our entry point there, the technician with the camera said, pointing.
Jennifer stood a couple of metres away from the unclothed body. The head was held up by a strap around the neck, fastened to a hook in the concrete pillar. A line of blood ran from the hairline and down over one cheek, but otherwise she looked unharmed. The eyes were half open.
– When was she found?
– According to the sheriff, they entered the building at about one thirty; that’s to say almost two hours ago.
The technician’s breath misted as he spoke. The temperature inside the hall was no higher than it was outside.
– Has a local doctor been here to verify death? Jennifer asked.
– The people who found her didn’t think it was necessary. There’s no doubt that what we have here is a death.
Jennifer frowned. The body lying there was probably suffering from severe exposure; great care must be taken to ensure that death really had occurred. She approached the body directly. Only then did she notice the pool of dried blood the woman was partially lying in. It was mixed with something of a lighter consistency. She leaned forward and shone her torch on the back of the head. Beneath the caked and bloody hair there was a gaping half-moon-shaped hole. A greyish substance had seeped out of it and down the neck.
– Agreed, she commented between gritted teeth. – Not much room for doubt there.
All the same, she pulled her stethoscope out of her case. Listened to the heart and lungs, careful not to touch the strands of hair that lay between two accretions of blood around the navel and obviously did not come from the woman herself. Having ascertained that there was no sign of a pulse or respiratory sounds, she dug out a penlight to take a closer look at the pupils. Squatted there for a long time studying the woman’s eyes. They were badly damaged, the membranes covered in blood, as though jabbed with a pointed object. One eye was almost completely ripped to pieces.
Having completed her examination, she withdrew to a corner of the hall to dictate her notes. Flatland came ambling over. Stood waiting until she was finished.
– Well? he said, offering her a liquorice pastille.
– The woman is dead, Jennifer confirmed.
Flatland grinned mirthlessly. – You’re usually a little more forthcoming than that.
– I know. She grinned back at him. – And since this is Christmas Eve, I’ll give you everything I have, and a bit more too.
The edge of a pouch of snuff appeared under his lip. She realised that what she had said might be open to misinterpretation and hoped he wouldn’t immediately make a certain kind of joke. Under different circumstances she would have had no objection. Fortunately, Flatland wasn’t the type to get carried away.
– Not much marbling, she hurriedly added, – nor blistering of the skin. As you know, those are early signs of decay, but at low temperatures the appearance is delayed.
– What you’re saying is that she’s been here for some time.
Here or somewhere else equally cold for several days. Maybe as long as a week. The temperature in the rectum and the vagina is two degrees, and the lividity on the stomach and in the groin is lighter than usual.