– Those people down in Grønland should be very thankful it was you who volunteered for work over Christmas, Korn observed. – Not everyone would have spent Christmas morning in our basement unless they had to. And as for what you’ve just told me, they ought to be pulling out all the stops to find out whether or not there might be a connection.
She took the compliment with a smile. He was one of the few people who could praise her and not have her looking for some ulterior motive.
– I’ve asked myself if there’s anything more I can do. I’ve talked it over on the telephone with a colleague at the Gades Institute, and he thinks it’s interesting too. But of course he can’t send over any of their material.
– Of course not.
She said what she had come to say to him: – What if I were to go there? Take the pictures from here. Do a comparison of the forensic evidence. Get something more to show to Viken and his people.
Korn didn’t look in the least surprised. He mulled the suggestion over for a few moments before replying.
– I’ve always appreciated the fact that you show so much initiative, Jennifer. And that you are not the least bit afraid of trespassing on someone else’s territory.
She could feel herself blushing. With only Korn present, it didn’t matter that much.
– I remember the case in Bergen very well, he said, his gaze moving to follow something or other through the window, probably to spare her even more embarrassment. – You say the eyes were mutilated? In the same way?
He had spent fifteen years more than her working as a forensic expert, yet it seemed as though all that proximity with death actually made him more and more solicitous of the well-being of the living.
He leaned over the desk. – I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to Bergen. But I’ll call the department of Violent Crimes and have a word with the head down there. This has to be about priorities.
Jennifer had a mental picture of Viken being carpeted by Sigge Helgarsson, the section head who just a short while ago had been his junior and whom Viken, by all accounts, had regularly used as a whipping boy. She felt a malicious pleasure bubbling up in her and was unable to resist indulging it.
– What was her name again, the girl in Bergen? Korn asked, the telephone already in his hand.
– Richter, she answered. Ylva Richter.
8
Tuesday 30 December
ROAR HORVATH RANG on one of the bells down in the yard, the one with T. Gabrielsen written next to it. She didn’t answer immediately, and he had time to start feeling annoyed. He was on time, but people in her line of business were not renowned for their concern for other people’s ideas of punctuality.
Finally there was a buzzing from the lock. The staircase inside was musty and twisted, the whole building looking ripe for renovation. As he reached the landing on the first floor, a woman with a round face poked her head out.
– Wait just a moment in there, she said, pointing to a door. – I’ll be finished in about half a minute.
Roar let himself into a kitchen that perhaps also functioned as a common room. On a table directly behind the door was a hotplate, with a coffee machine next to it. A tiny fridge was slotted in below the window facing the back yard, a stand with a flipover leaning up against it. The cupboard on the wall contained a packet of coffee filters, a few cups and glasses, a large bag of salt and a curious little plastic container with a long spout. In the corner, between the fridge and the wall, stood a grey-lacquered filing cabinet. It had three drawers, all of which were locked. On the flipover, arrows had been drawn in blue felt tip between words written in black: dilemma, self-development, defence. He flipped back through it. From the handwriting, it was clear that more than one person had used it as an aid to explanations.
Over ten minutes went by before Torunn Gabrielsen appeared again. She started making coffee without offering any apology for the delay, and left it up to her visitor to decide whether he wanted to stand or sit.
She could be about his own age, thought Roar, although she seemed older. He couldn’t decide if her hair was longish, or shortish. She was neither tall nor short, neither fair nor dark. The face was pale and rather lumpy, and the eyes a touch red around the rims. She wasn’t wearing glasses, but he saw the traces of them across the bridge of her nose, and she squinted when she looked up at him. If he had to assess her as a woman, he would, if he was feeling diplomatic about it, have said that she wasn’t his type. Not exactly vivacious, either, he thought, or maybe she was just tired. Alert now, Roar, he warned himself as he felt his dislike beginning to get the upper hand.
– It’s very convenient for us to meet here, he said. – It gives me the chance to see Mailin Bjerke’s office at the same time.
– Is this the last place where she was before she went missing?
– That we don’t know yet, said Roar.
– But I gather she had an appointment here, that she called in after she’d been to her cabin. And her car was parked outside, further up the street.
He realised she was a woman who would rather ask questions than answer them.
– Did you see the car when you left here?
She shook her head firmly. – I walked the other way, down towards Holbergs Place.
– And the time then was?
– Around half three. My tram goes at twenty to. I explained this when I was down talking to the crime response unit.
– You’ll have to forgive us if you get asked the same questions more than once, he said evenly, glancing over at the coffee machine, which had started to bubble. – So you didn’t see her that day at all?
– The day before was the last time I saw Mailin. She popped in to leave a message. That was at three o’clock. She was on her way out to the cabin.
This concurred with what Viljam Vogt-Nielsen had told them. Roar sat down. The back of the rickety wooden chair slid out of its joints and it felt as if the whole thing would collapse if he so much as moved a finger.
– What was the message about?
Torunn Gabrielsen sat down too.
– A patient, she said, appearing to study the content of her coffee cup. – There’s a limit to the information I can give you about that.
Roar could see the way things were heading. Countless cases dragged on or were never even solved on account of this damned professional secrecy, which in reality was just an excuse for doing nothing and had precious little to do with the protection of individual rights. So it was a surprise when Torunn Gabrielsen continued:
– It was about a patient who used to come and go. He could appear suddenly without any warning and usually didn’t turn up when he had an appointment. Mailin asked me to let her know if he’d been there.
– Even though your office is on the floor below?
– I take breaks, or when I’m doing paperwork I leave the corridor door open.
She stood up and fetched the coffee jug and two cups. There was an inscription on Roar’s: Today is your day. It had no handle and the rim was chipped.
– Do you know of anyone who might want to harm Mailin Bjerke?
Torunn Gabrielsen took a mouthful of coffee and held it for a long time before swallowing. Funny way to drink coffee, thought Roar. He didn’t expect a reply to his question. Again he was taken by surprise.
– Are we talking about someone who might want to, or someone who was actually capable of it?
– Both, he said hopefully.
Another swig of coffee, more pondering as she swilled her mouth with it.
– Mailin was someone it was easy to like. But she was also very upfront and never afraid to say exactly what she thought.
– Meaning?
– That she could be really quite… direct. Sometimes people felt hurt. A lot of people can’t take it when things are said straight out, without a lot of padding and packaging.