‘Gut feeling.’
‘When did you start getting those?’
‘I’m trying to learn.’
‘Imitate us ordinary mortals, you mean?’
‘Autism and autistic traits are two different things, Chris.’
The police lawyer laughed. ‘Fine. Are you coming over to eat tomorrow?’
‘I’ve bought a bottle of Château Cantemerle 2009.’
‘Your taste is too elevated and your habits too exclusive for me, darling.’
‘But you can also learn, dear.’
They hung up. Sung-min noticed he had received a text message from Katrine with a link to Dagbladet. He tapped on the link and leaned back in the chair while he waited for it to download. The walls of the office were so thick they affected the coverage. And why hadn’t Hole replaced this broken chair? His back was already sore.
According to a source, there is clear evidence that the killer has consumed the brains and eyes of his victims, Susanne Andersen and Bertine Bertilsen.
Sung-min felt the need to swear and thought it a shame he wasn’t in the habit of it. That he should consider starting.
Satan’s cunt!
Mona Daa was on the treadmill.
She hated running on the treadmill.
And right now that was the very reason she was running on the treadmill. She could feel the sweat dripping down her back and see her reddened cheeks in the gym’s mirrored wall. Carcass was coming through the earphones, from a playlist Anders had compiled, and according to him it was from their early period when they played grindcore, not that melodious shit that came later. It just sounded like raging noise to her and, at the moment, that was exactly what she needed. Her feet pounded upon the rubber belt rotating beneath, which kept coming and coming, the same shit over and over.
Våge had done it again. A cannibal. Jesus Christ! Jesus fucking Christ!
She saw someone approaching from behind.
‘Hello, Daa.’
It was Magnus Skarre. The detective from Crime Squad.
Mona switched off the machine and pulled out her earphones.
‘How might I help the police?’
‘Help?’ Skarre threw out his arms. ‘Can’t I just be popping in?’
‘Never seen you in here before, and you’re not wearing gym gear. Was there something you wanted to know or something you wanted to plant?’
‘Hey, hey, take it easy.’ Skarre laughed. ‘I just thought I’d update you. Always pays to have a good relationship with the press, right? Give and take and all that.’
Mona remained standing up on the treadmill, she liked the height difference. ‘In that case, I’d like to know what you want to take before you give, Skarre.’
‘Nothing, this time. But we might have use for something further down the line.’
‘Thanks, but in that case the answer’s no. Anything else?’
Skarre looked like a little boy who’d had his toy gun taken away. Mona realised she was playing a high-stakes game. Or rather: that she was so angry she wasn’t thinking clearly.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Bad day. What is it?’
‘Harry Hole,’ he said. ‘He called up a witness, gave a false name and claimed to work for the Oslo Police.’
‘Oh.’ She changed her mind and stepped down from the treadmill. ‘How do you know?’
‘I took the witness’s statement. It was the guy with the dog that caught the scent of Bertine’s corpse. He said that prior to our visit, someone had rung, from us, to check a tip, an officer Hans Hansen. Only thing is we don’t have anyone by that name. So, I got the number which the farmer still had on his phone and checked. And you know what, I didn’t even have to contact the phone company, it was Harry Hole’s number. Talk about being caught with your pants down, eh?’ Skarre grinned.
‘And I can quote you on that?’
‘No, are you mad?’ He laughed again. ‘I’m a “reliable source”, isn’t that what you call it?’
Yes, Mona thought. Except you’re neither reliable nor a source. Mona was aware that Skarre didn’t harbour warm feelings for Harry Hole. According to Anders the reason for this wasn’t particularly complicated. Skarre had always worked in Hole’s shadow, and Hole had never tried to conceal the fact he thought Skarre was a jerk. But it seemed like a long way from there to a personal vendetta like this.
Skarre shifted his weight, cast a glance towards the girls attending the spinning class in the room next door. ‘But if you want confirmation on what you’ve dug up, you could contact the Chief Superintendent.’
‘Bodil Melling?’
‘Precisely. I’m guessing she’d give you a comment too.’
Mona Daa nodded. This was good. Good and dirty. But whatever, she finally had something Våge didn’t have, and she couldn’t afford to be fussy. Not now.
Skarre was grinning. Like a customer in a whorehouse, Mona thought. And tried to block out what that made her.
25
Friday
Cocaine blues
The Aune group had gathered, but Aune himself had given word that his family were coming at three, so everyone needed to be gone by then. Harry had been filling them in on his visit to Helene Røed.
‘So now you’re walking around in your boss’s suit,’ Øystein said. ‘And your mate’s sunglasses.’
‘Plus, I have this,’ Harry said, holding up the cat mask. ‘And you still can’t find anything about Villa Dante online?’
Truls stared at his phone, grunted and shook his head. With the same minimal expression as when he had accepted the brown envelope of cash Harry had discreetly handed him when he arrived.
‘What I’m wondering, is where Våge has got this cannibalism stuff from,’ Aune said.
Harry saw Truls look up, meet his eyes and give him an imperceptible shake of his head.
‘Was wondering that myself,’ Øystein said. ‘Doesn’t say jackshit about eating human flesh in the reports.’
‘I have a feeling Våge has lost his source,’ Harry said. ‘And has begun making things up. Like that business about Bertine having had her tattoo cut off and sewn back on — that wasn’t true.’
‘Maybe,’ Aune said. ‘Våge did resort to fabrications previously in his career, and it is strange how consistent we humans are. Even though we’re punished for a pattern of behaviour and should learn, we still tend to employ the same poor solutions when problems arise. It’s not unlikely that Våge has found the attention he’s received of late so intoxicating that he’s unwilling to let go of it and is resorting to something that has worked in the past. Or worked for a while, at least. Although I’m not discounting the possibility Våge may be right about the cannibalism. But given the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s making things up and has been familiarising himself with the literature on serial killers.’
‘Isn’t he implying...’ Øystein began, as his eyes scanned down through Våge’s article on the screen of his phone again.
The others looked at him.
‘Isn’t he actually implying that the killer himself is the source?’
‘That’s a bold but interesting interpretation,’ Aune said. ‘But our work for the day is done and the weekend awaits, gentlemen. My wife and daughter will be here soon.’
‘What will we do over the weekend, boss?’ Øystein asked.
‘I don’t have any particular work for you,’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve borrowed Truls’s laptop and I’m going to go through police reports.’
‘Thought you’d already read them.’
‘Skimmed them. Now I’m going to study them. Come on, let’s go.’