‘It does a man good to take a little time away from the hell of home life and the family,’ Røed said, and grinned at Krohn. ‘Especially on a Sunday.’
‘You have children?’ Harry asked. He hadn’t got that impression from the newspaper articles.
‘Yes,’ Røed replied, looking at Krohn as if he was the one who had asked. ‘My wife.’
Røed laughed, and Krohn joined dutifully in. Harry pulled the corners of his mouth up slightly so as not to appear undemonstrative. He thought about the pictures of Helene Røed he had seen in the newspapers. How big was the age difference? Had to be at least thirty years. In all the pictures the couple were photographed against backdrops with logos, in other words at premieres, fashion shows and the like. Helene Røed was of course dressed up and dolled up, but she looked more self-aware, less ridiculous than some of the women — and the men — you see posing for the camera at similar events. She was beautiful, but there was something faded about her beauty, a youthful lustre that seemed to have disappeared a tad too early. A little too much work? A little too much alcohol or other things? A little too little happiness? Or a little of all three?
‘Well,’ Krohn said, ‘knowing my client as I do, I’d say he’d spend a lot of time here no matter. You don’t get to where he’s got without hard work.’
Røed shrugged, but offered no objection. ‘What about you, Harry? Do you have children?’
Harry was looking at the portraits. All three men were pictured in front of large buildings. Erected or owned by themselves, Harry presumed.
‘Combined with a solid family fortune, perhaps,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Along with the hard work. It makes it that bit easier, doesn’t it?’
Røed raised a well-groomed eyebrow below his shiny black hair and looked enquiringly at Krohn, as though to demand an explanation for what kind of guy Krohn had got hold of. Then he raised his head to lift the onset of a double chin over his shirt collar and fixed his eyes on Harry.
‘Fortunes don’t take care of themselves, Hole. But perhaps you know that?’
‘Me? What makes you think that?’
‘No? You certainly dress like a man of means. Unless I’m very much mistaken, that suit of yours was sewn by Garth Alexander of Savile Row. I have two of them myself.’
‘I don’t remember the name of the tailor,’ Harry said. ‘I got it from a lady for agreeing to be her escort.’
‘Bloody hell. Was she so ugly?’
‘No.’
‘No? A looker, then?’
‘Yeah, I’ll say. For a septuagenarian.’
Markus Røed put his hands behind his head and leaned back. His eyes became narrow slits.
‘You know what, Harry, you and my wife have something in common there. You only take your clothes off to change into something more expensive.’
Markus Røed’s laughter was deafening. He slapped his thighs and turned to Krohn, who again quickly managed to supply a laugh. Røed’s laughter turned into a fit of sneezing. The young man — who had just walked in with a tray of water glasses — offered him a napkin, but Røed waved him away, drew a large, light blue handkerchief with the initials M.R. on it, in lettering almost as large, from the inside pocket of his suit and blew his nose loudly.
‘Relax, it’s just my allergies,’ Røed said, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘You been vaccinated, Harry?’
‘Yes.’
‘Me too. Been safe the whole time. Helene and I went to Saudi Arabia and took the first vaccine long before it came to Norway. Anyway, let’s make a start. Johan?’
Harry listened to Johan Krohn’s presentation of the case, which was more or less a repetition of what he had heard on the phone twenty-four hours earlier.
‘Two women, Susanne Andersen and Bertine Bertilsen, disappeared on consecutive Tuesdays, three and two weeks ago respectively. Susanne Andersen was found dead two days ago. Police haven’t released anything about the cause of death but say they’re investigating it as a murder. Markus has been interviewed by the police for one reason and one reason only. That the two girls were at the same party four days prior to Susanne’s disappearance, a rooftop party for the residents of the apartment building where Markus and Helene live. And the only connection between the two girls the police have found so far is that they both know Markus and both were invited by him. Markus has an alibi for the two Tuesdays the girls went missing — he was at home with Helene — and the police have cleared him of any suspicion in that respect. Unfortunately, the press are not as logical in their reasoning. That is to say, they have other motives than the desire for the case to be solved. They have, therefore, been running with all kinds of speculative headlines about Markus’s relationship with the girls, implying that they were trying to extort money from him by threatening to tell their “story” to a newspaper which was offering the two girls a large sum for this. And they’ve also drawn into doubt the value of an alibi provided by a spouse, even though they’re well aware that it’s common and completely legal tender in a criminal case. It is, of course, all to do with the sensational mix of celebrity and murder, not the truth. Should that come to light, the people in the media are no doubt hoping it’s later rather than sooner, so they can continue with their sales-friendly speculation for as long as possible.’
Harry nodded briefly, his face impassive.
‘In the meantime, my client’s business interests are suffering because he has not — according to the media’s version at least — been cleared of all accusations. Naturally, there is the personal strain involved.’
‘First and foremost on the family,’ Røed interjected.
‘Naturally,’ the lawyer continued. ‘This would be a temporary problem we could have lived with if the police had shown themselves equal to the task. But they have had almost three weeks and have found neither the perpetrator nor any lead that might have caused the media to call off their witch hunt against the only person in Oslo who has actually provided an alibi in the case. In short, we wish for the case to be solved as quickly as possible, and that’s where you come in.’
Krohn and Røed looked at Harry.
‘Mm. Now that the police have a body, there’s the chance they’ve found DNA traces from a perpetrator. Have the police taken a DNA sample from you?’ Harry looked directly at Markus Røed.
Without replying, Røed turned to Krohn.
‘We’ve said no to that,’ Krohn said. ‘Until the police produce a court order.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we have nothing to gain by submitting to such a test. And because by accepting that sort of intrusive investigation we would be acknowledging indirectly that we can see the case from the perspective of the police, that is to say, that there could be grounds for suspicion.’
‘But you don’t see any grounds?’
‘No. But I have told the police that if they are able to establish any link whatsoever between the missing persons cases and my client, he’ll be more than happy to submit to a DNA test. We haven’t heard any more from them.’
‘Mm.’
Røed clapped his hands together. ‘There you have it, Harry. In broad strokes. Can we hear what your battle plan is?’
‘Battle plan?’
Røed smiled. ‘In broad strokes, anyway.’
‘In broad strokes,’ Harry said, stifling a jet-lag yawn, ‘it’s to find the killer as quickly as possible.’
Røed grinned and looked over at Krohn. ‘Now that was very broad, Harry. Can you say anything else?’
‘Well. I’ll investigate this case the same way I would as a policeman. Meaning without obligation or regard for anything other than the truth. In other words, if the evidence leads me to you, Røed, I’ll take you down like I would any other murderer. And claim the bonus.’