– It’s about the woman who was found, isn’t it? In that factory.
Roar breathed out slowly. – I wish I could discuss things with you freely and openly, but in the interests of the investigation…
– Didn’t she freeze too? Anne Sofie Richter wanted to know. Her voice was light and wondering, as though she’d stopped during a walk in the forest, curious to know what kind of a bird it was sitting in the tree and singing such an unusual song.
Nina Jebsen, who had been sitting listening in silence on the sofa, now said: – We’re grateful that people like you exist who are willing to take the trouble to help us. As I said on the telephone, it’s very important that you don’t talk to anyone about this. Not even friends and neighbours. So far no journalist, neither newspaper nor TV nor magazine, knows that we are looking at this case again.
Richard Richter interrupted: – If that pack turns up at the door again, there’s no telling what I might do.
He was still standing at the foot of the table, coffee cup in one hand, the other in his pocket. Roar could see how the fist opened and closed through the cloth of his suit trousers.
– You have been asked this before, Roar said, – but I would like you to think about it again. Did anything ever happen in Ylva’s crowd that really took you by surprise?
He could hear that the question was much too wide ranging and tried again: – Could we ask you to make a list of the things she was involved in, let’s say over the last two years before that fateful night?
Richard Richter let out a groan, but his wife said, still with that same doll-like smile hovering about her mouth: – That’s perfectly possible. I’ve kept all her school diaries from secondary school. She always made a note of appointments and the things she did. The police already know a lot of this, but as far back as two years?
– Swimming outings, camping trips, school holiday trips, Roar nodded. – Also with the family. In other words, a pretty extensive job.
As they stood out in the hallway saying thanks for the coffee, Anne Sofie Richter turned and disappeared through a doorway. A few moments later, she was back again.
– I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of Ylva, she said, addressing Roar. – Including the kind taken after they found her.
He didn’t reply.
– This is from the spring of that year, when she graduated from secondary school. I want you to see it, because this is what she was like, our daughter.
She handed him a framed photograph. He recognised her from other photos. The brown hair falling in waves from beneath the red student cap, regular features, brown eyes, full lips. Pretty girl, he was about to say, but managed not to. As he handed it back, he saw a vague resemblance to the mother, as though a last vestige of the young girl was still visible, stiffened, in the doll-like face.
– Thank you very much, he said as he shook her hand.
Out in the car, he had an idea. – Do you have time to drive to where the body was found?
Nina looked over at him. – Do you have time?
There were still four hours before his plane took off. He didn’t know why he’d asked her.
– I’m guessing you’re not expecting to find any tracks. After five years, I mean.
He gave a brief laugh. – You never know what’s going to happen when the supersleuths from Oslo turn up.
She smiled too. – Pity for you I know that crowd so well that I’m not about to prostrate myself in admiration.
He liked the teasing tone. If his trip hadn’t been a day return, he would have invited her out for a beer. He glanced at her hands on the steering wheel. Several rings, all with stones.
– Did you have problems with Viken? he risked asking her. – Was that why you left?
He could feel he was inviting the kind of intimacy there was no real grounds for after just the few hours in which they’d known each other, but she said: – It was something else. I know a lot of people find him difficult. It was never a problem for me. I would almost say I liked him.
Roar believed her. Among those who didn’t avoid him like the plague, Viken was much admired. He realised that her reason for moving on had something to do with the bear murders, but chose not to press the matter.
She was following the GPS signal and turned off the main road as directed.
– Of course I don’t know the exact spot. She drove on between the fields until they came to the forest at the end. – According to the report, it should be just about here somewhere.
As they parked, the sun slid down behind the mountains in the south-west. The sky took on a deep blue sheen, darker but still as clear as it had been earlier in the day. They found a track with footprints in the soft woodland earth. Roar went first. Abruptly he came to a halt. Behind some clumps of heather, next to a tree growing beside a rocky overhang, he saw a few objects. He hurried through the bracken. There was a lamp there with a thick white candle inside. It wasn’t burning, but might have done so recently, because beside it was a bouquet of flowers, and, in a vase, five roses that were still fresh.
– Looks like we found it, Nina Jebsen remarked as she joined him. They remained there for a few moments, looking at the scene. Roar suddenly experienced a flash of memory of what it felt like to stand by the grave of someone missed. In that instant he was convinced there was a connection between the two murder cases. As though the place itself was telling him as much: the trees, the path winding on, but above all these flowers and this lamp. He knew there wasn’t a shred of common sense in this kind of intuitive stuff, that it was distracting rather than useful. Alert now, Roar, he told himself. Full alert, level five steady. And by the time a couple of hours later he called Viken from the airport, he had assembled a handful of rational arguments that he felt ought to be enough to convince the detective chief inspector of the need to continue liaising with the Bergen force. The damage to the eyes and the fact that the girl had been hit on the head with a stone were just two of them.
But before he could voice even a single argument, Viken barked out: – I’m just about to send an email with some material to the police in Bergen. Have you got time to read it before you leave?
Roar told him where he was, and that the plane to Oslo was about to board.
Viken swore. – Then we might have to make another trip. We’ve got a new link to Ylva Richter.
He explained what Liss Bjerke had found inside the sofa cover at the family’s cabin.
– When you get back, I’ll tell you who she chose to give the information to, he rasped.
Roar had no intention of letting him know that he had already guessed who it was.
19
Saturday 3 January
LISS PULLED OUT the Marlboro packet. Almost empty. She needed something else, too. Tampons. Something to drink.
She wandered into an open Bunnpris. Glanced at her phone. Message from Rikke. And one from the footballer, the one who was called, of all things, Jomar. She still had his jacket.
Rikke wrote: Z’s father asked about you at the funeral – gave him your address in Norway – forgot to tell you last time – hope that’s okay.
It’s not okay, she fumed, maybe even said it out loud. It’s not okay for Zako’s father to have my address. What does he want it for? She chased the thought away. Imagined squeezing it out of herself; watched it fly away on a raven’s wings into the cold Oslo night. The way she got rid of thoughts when she was a teenager. Didn’t work quite as well now.
Jomar’s message: Call me. Must talk to you.
Standing there at the freezer counter in Bunnpris, it felt good to know that he still wanted to meet her. Suddenly she called his number. He didn’t sound surprised to hear her voice; seemed almost to take it for granted. It irritated her so much she nearly ended the call, but then controlled herself. Didn’t want to seem childish or unpredictable. All the things she really was.