‘Mm. Lines. Cocaine or amphetamines.’
‘And sending something that could be construed as a threat.’
‘And you’re thinking you’ve got your why right there?’
‘I know it sounds like we’re grasping at straws. But we’ve turned every stone without finding anyone in the girls’ social circles with an obvious motive, so now we’re only left with two. One is that Markus Røed may have wanted to rid himself of two girls threatening him with scandal. The other is that his wife, Helene Røed, was motivated by jealousy. The problem is the two of them give each other an alibi for both nights the girls disappeared.’
‘So I’ve gathered. What about the most obvious motive?’
‘As in?’
‘As in what you touched upon. A psychopath or a predator is at the party, happens to talk to both girls and gets their contact details.’
‘Like I said, none of the people we know were there fit the profile. And it’s highly possible that party is a dead end. Oslo is a small town, it’s not that unlikely for two girls the same age to both be at the same party.’
‘A little less likely that they both share the same sugar daddy.’
‘Maybe. According to the people we’ve spoken with, Susanne and Bertine weren’t the only ones.’
‘Mm. Have you checked that?’
‘Checked what?’
‘Who else apart from Røed’s wife could have had motive for getting rid of the competition.’
Katrine smiled wearily. ‘You and your why. I’ve missed you. Crime Squad has missed you.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Yeah, there are a couple of other girls Røed has had sporadic contact with, but they’ve been eliminated from our inquiries. You see, Harry? Everyone we have a name for has been ruled out. So that just leaves the remainder of the world’s population.’ She rested her head against her fingertips as she massaged her temples. ‘Anyway, now we’ve got the newspapers and the rest of the media on our back. The Chief of Police and the Chief Superintendent are on our back. Even Bellman has got in touch telling us to pull out all the stops. So in my book you’re welcome to try, Harry. Just remember that we never had this conversation. Naturally, we can’t cooperate, not even unofficially, and I can’t give you any information other than what I’m also going public with. Apart from what I’ve already told you.’
‘Understood.’
‘I’m sure you understand too that there are those at Police HQ who won’t look kindly on competition from the private sector. Especially when the competition has been bought and paid for by a potential suspect. You can imagine what a defeat it would be for the Chief Superintendent and Kripos if you solve the case before us. For all I know there may be legal grounds for stopping you, and if there are my guess is they’ll use them.’
‘I presume Johan Krohn has examined that angle.’
‘Oh yeah, Røed has him on the team, I’d forgotten that.’
‘Anything you can tell me about the crime scene?’
‘Two sets of footprints on the way in, one on the way out. I think he cleaned up after himself.’
‘Has a post-mortem been conducted on Susanne Andersen?’
‘Just a forensic one yesterday.’
‘They find anything?’
‘A slit throat.’
Harry nodded. ‘Rape?’
‘No visible signs.’
‘Anything else?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You look like you found out something more.’
Katrine didn’t answer.
‘I get it,’ Harry said. ‘Information you can’t go public with.’
‘I’ve told you too much already, Harry.’
‘I hear you. But I assume you won’t turn your nose up at information flowing in the opposite direction should we uncover something?’
She shrugged. ‘The police can’t very well deny the public calling with any information they might have. But there’s no reward being offered.’
‘Understood.’ Harry checked the time. Three and a half hours to midnight.
As though by tacit agreement they dropped the topic. Harry asked about Gert. Katrine talked about him, but Harry still had the sense she was holding something back. Eventually there was a lull in the conversation. It was ten o’clock when Katrine accompanied him down the steps to the back garden to throw two bags into the bin. When he opened the gate and stepped out onto the street she followed, giving him a long hug. He felt her warmth. Like he had that night. But knew that would be the one and only time. There had once been an attraction, physical chemistry neither of them had been in denial about, but which they both knew would be a foolish reason to destroy what they had with their respective partners. But now, even though those relationships were destroyed, so was this destroyed. And there was no way back to that sweet, forbidden excitement.
Katrine flinched, letting go of Harry. He saw her stare down the street.
‘Something wrong?’
‘Oh, nah.’
She folded her arms, looked like she shuddered, even though it was a mild evening.
‘Listen, Harry.’
‘Yeah?’
‘If you want...’ She paused, drew a breath. ‘You can babysit Gert one day.’
Harry looked at her. Nodded slowly. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said, and closed the gate hastily behind her.
Harry took the long way home. Through Bislett and Sofies gate, where he had once lived. Past Schrøder’s, the brown cafe which at one time had been his place of refuge. Up to the top of St Hanshaugen, where he could see out over the city and the Oslo Fjord. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. There was no way back. And there was no way that didn’t lead back.
He thought about the conversation he’d had with Røed and Krohn. Where he had told them not to inform the media about the deal they had signed before he had spoken to Katrine Bratt. Explained to them that the chances of a good climate of cooperation would be increased if Bratt was under the impression she had the power of veto on whether Harry would work for Røed. Harry had described how he envisioned the conversation with Katrine was likely to go, how she would be the one to find the good arguments for him taking the case prior to agreeing. They had nodded, and he had signed. Harry heard a church bell in the distance chime the time. Tasted the lie in his mouth. He knew already it would not be the last.
Prim checked the time. Soon midnight. He brushed his teeth while tapping one foot along to the beat of ‘Oh! You Pretty Things’ and looking at the two photos he had taped to the mirror.
One was of the Woman, beautiful, even though she was out of focus, but it was still only a pale imitation. Because her beauty was not such that a frozen moment could capture it. There was something she radiated, in the very movement of her body, in the sum of how one facial expression, word or laugh followed the next. A picture was like extracting one single note from a work by Bach or Bowie, it made no sense. Nevertheless it was better than nothing. But loving a woman, no matter how much, did not mean that you owned her. He had therefore made a promise to himself to stop watching her, stop surveying her private life as though she were his property. He had to learn to trust her, without trust there would be too much pain.
The other photo was of the woman he would fuck before the weekend. Or to be more precise, the woman who would get to fuck him. After that he would kill her. Not because he wanted to, but because he must.
He rinsed his mouth out and sang along with Bowie, about how all the nightmares came today and it looks as though they’re here to stay.