Roar waited for more and didn’t interrupt.
– But mostly this is about patients. As I’m sure you know, Mailin worked with people who had been the victims of abuse. Several of them turned into abusers themselves.
– Anyone in particular you have in mind? he asked, fishing.
– Actually, yes.
She poured herself more coffee. – A couple of years ago Mailin had a patient who… I’m not quite sure what happened. I think he threatened her.
– You say he.
– It was a man. Mailin didn’t say much about it. But she had to terminate the treatment. It wasn’t her way to give up, quite the contrary, she could be amazingly stubborn with hopeless cases.
– But this time she was threatened.
– I don’t know that’s what he did, but that was my impression. It must have been serious, because Mailin seemed very upset.
– When was this?
Torunn Gabrielsen looked to be thinking it over. – Autumn two years ago. Directly after Pål got his office here.
– Did you meet this patient?
He took the fact that she didn’t reply as an encouragement and went on. – Since he wasn’t your patient, I’m guessing you’re at liberty to say who it was.
She let out a sigh. – I never met him. I think he came in the evenings. And Mailin never said what his name was. He was here just a few times, before she terminated. After that, I heard nothing more about it.
Roar persisted. – Autumn two years ago. August? September?
– Pål came here in September. It was straight after that.
– All the patients are presumably registered with social security?
– Not many. Mailin wasn’t part of the reimbursement scheme. Most of her patients were people who’d fallen outside the net completely.
Roar took a note. At that moment, the door slid open. The man standing there was wearing a T-shirt and cord trousers; he was unshaven and his hair was unkempt. For an instant, Roar assumed he was a patient.
– Sorry, said the new arrival on seeing the officer. – Didn’t know you were still at it.
– Quite all right, Roar assured him as soon as he realised who this was. – You are Pål Øvreby?
– Correct, said the other and held out his hand.
Roar noticed that he spoke with an accent; it sounded American, despite the very Norwegian name.
– You’ve already given us a statement about Thursday the eleventh of December, he said. – But just to avoid any misunderstandings I’d like to ask you a few of the questions again.
– Sure, he replied in English.
– You were working here most of the afternoon?
– I am definitely not a morning person. Late but strong.
– How long were you here on that particular day?
– Left here at about five, Pål Øvreby replied without thinking.
– Can you be more exact? Two minutes to, or two minutes past?
– Why have we never installed a time clock here? he chuckled to Torunn Gabrielsen.
– And you didn’t see any sign of Mailin Bjerke either before you left? Roar went on, ignoring the psychologist’s slightly flippant tone.
– Neither saw nor heard.
– Would you have done? Heard her?
Øvreby chewed it over for a moment. – Depends on what she was doing in there. He chuckled again. – But her car was just up the road. I passed it on my way.
– That’s what you told the crime response unit. And you are still quite sure it was hers?
– White, Japanese, a little dent on the passenger-side door. If you ask me enough times, I’ll probably start to doubt it.
– The parking ticket on Mailin’s car was stamped four minutes past five, Roar informed him. – Pretty much the exact time you passed. Would you have seen her if she was sitting in the car?
– From a distance of one metre? I should imagine so.
Roar quickly considered the possibilities that opened up if Øvreby was telling the truth.
– The ticket is from the machine on Hegdehaugs Way, he observed. – Less than fifty metres from Welhavens Street. Might she have been standing there paying as you walked by?
Pål Øvreby looked to be thinking this over. There was still the faint trace of a smile around his mouth.
– As far as I recall, I didn’t look that way. Besides, it was quite dark. In other words, yes, it is possible.
– Where did you go?
He wrinkled his nose. – Does that have any bearing on the case?
Roar nodded his head, back and forth, twice. – Everything has a bearing on the case.
– Everything and nothing, Øvreby remarked, whatever he meant by that. – Well, I took a little drive. I do that sometimes after a stressful day at the office.
– Was that day particularly stressful?
– Not more so than most of the others. I took the car and drove out to Høvikodden. Usually go walking there, with Lara.
Roar looked at him quizzically.
– My dog. What did you think?
Roar didn’t feel like telling him what he might have thought. – When did you get home?
– About nine, wasn’t it?
Øvreby glanced over at Torunn Gabrielsen. She didn’t answer.
– Actually, there was a lot of noise just as I was about to leave the office.
– Noise?
– Sounded like someone hammering like crazy on the street door. When I got down, there was no one there. I guess I forgot about that when I last spoke to you.
Roar picked up his notebook and wrote something. Not because he wouldn’t remember it, but because it often made a distinct impression on witnesses if what they were saying was written down.
– You’ve spent some time abroad? he asked without looking up.
– Correct. Chicago, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two.
Roar wondered in passing why some people just soaked up new dialects and accents while others stubbornly held on to what they grew up with. A good question for a psychologist.
– I hear you offer a very special type of treatment, he said.
– Who told you that?
– Sorry, professional confidentiality, Roar said as he struggled vainly to hide a grin. – Vegetarian therapy, is that it?
– Vegetotherapy, Øvreby grinned back at him.
– Tell me about that.
– It’s a little hard to explain in simple terms. It’s body-orientated, you might say. Freeing up the armour we surround ourselves with. If you can free the energy tied up in the tension in the muscles, you can free up your psychological tensions too.
– Are we talking about massage here?
Øvreby yawned. – Much more powerful than that. I can send you a link with more about it.
– Thank you, said Roar, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He stood up. – I’d like to see Mailin Bjerke’s office. Do either of you have the keys?
9
TORUNN WAS SITTING with her mobile in her hand and was about to call Dahlstrøm when Pål came bursting into the office without knocking.
– Well that went pretty well, he said as he slumped down into a chair. – No dogs buried and none dug up either.
He often tossed off some phrase like that in an effort to seem interesting. Suddenly, and for no special reason, she was furious with him. No special reason other than the thousand she already had, that she had been living with for years.
– I’m working, she said quietly, and carried on making entries in the journal she was updating.
Pål ignored her. – They don’t exactly send us the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, he went on, taking out a toothpick, which he prodded between two of his teeth and left there. – Or is that exactly what they do? Imagine if the guy that was just here is the best they can come up with. Pretty soon I’ll be joining the choir that’s always calling out for more resources for the police.