Harry sighed. ‘Perhaps I should wait a bit. Statistically speaking, I suppose these teacher infatuations are short-lived in a hundred per cent of cases.’
‘Speaking of stats,’ Folkestad said, ‘I’ve heard they’re claiming that that patient Hagen had under guard at the Rikshospital died of natural causes.’
‘So they say.’
‘The FBI ran some statistics on that. They examined all the cases where the prosecution’s key witness had died in the period between the official summons as a witness and the start of the trial. In serious trials, where the accused faced more than ten years’ prison, witnesses died of so-called unnatural causes in seventy-eight per cent of cases. The stats led to several witnesses being given a second post-mortem, after which the figure rose to ninety-four.’
‘So?’
‘Ninety-four is high, don’t you think?’
Harry stared out at the square. Silje was still looking at the sky. The sun was shining on her upturned face.
He cursed under his breath and drank the rest of his coffee.
Gunnar Hagen, balancing on one of the spindle-back chairs in Bellman’s office, looked up in surprise at the Chief of Police. Hagen had just told him about the small working group he had set up, in direct conflict with the Chief’s instructions, and the plan to set a trap in Berg. The surprise was caused by the fact that the Chief’s unusually good mood had not appeared to be upset by the news.
‘Excellent,’ Bellman exclaimed, clapping his hands. ‘Finally something proactive. May I pass on the plan and the map, so that we can get cracking?’
‘We? Do you mean that you personally-?’
‘Yes, I think it would be only natural for me to lead this, Gunnar. Such a big operation involves top-level decisions-’
‘There’s just one house and one man who-’
‘Then it’s right that I, as the most senior ranking officer, involve myself when there is so much at stake. And it is of paramount importance that the operation is kept secret. Do you understand?’
Hagen nodded. Secret if it doesn’t bear fruit, he thought. If, on the other hand, it leads to success and an arrest, publicity will be of paramount importance, and Mikael Bellman can take the credit and tell the press he was personally in charge of the operation.
‘Understood,’ Hagen said. ‘I’ll get going then. My understanding is therefore that the group in the Boiler Room can also resume their work?’
Mikael Bellman laughed. Hagen wondered what could have caused such a shift in mood. The Police Chief seemed ten years younger, ten kilos lighter and free from the frown he had carried like a deep gash in his forehead since the day he had been appointed.
‘Don’t push it, Gunnar. Liking the idea you’ve come up with doesn’t mean I like my subordinates defying my orders.’
Hagen shrugged, but still tried to capture the Police Chief’s cold, mocking gaze.
‘I’m freezing all activity in your group until further notice, Gunnar. Then we’d better have the requisite chat after this operation. And if in the meantime I find out you’ve so much as run one computer search or made a single phone call regarding this case. .’
I’m older than him, and I’m a better man, Gunnar Hagen thought, keeping his eyes raised and knowing a mixture of defiance and shame were causing his cheeks to flush.
It’s just decoration, he reminded himself, the gold braid on a uniform.
Then he lowered his gaze.
It was late. Katrine Bratt stared down at the report in front of her. She shouldn’t have done. Beate had just rung to say that Hagen had asked them all to stop their work, direct orders from Bellman. So Katrine should have been at home, lying in bed with a big cup of camomile tea and a man who loved her, or alternatively watching a TV series she loved. Instead of sitting here in the Boiler Room, reading case files and searching for possible flaws, hints of something that didn’t sit right and any vague connections. And this connection was so vague it verged on the inane. Or did it? It had been relatively easy to gain access to the reports on the Anton Mittet murder via the police’s own system. The summarised search of the car had been as detailed as it was soporific. So why had she stopped at this particular sentence? Among all the potential evidence they had removed from Mittet’s car was an ice scraper and a lighter plus some chewing gum stuck to the underside of the driver’s seat.
The contact information for Anton Mittet’s widow, Laura Mittet, was in the report.
Katrine hesitated, then dialled the number. The voice of the woman who answered sounded weary, dulled by pills. Katrine introduced herself and asked her question.
‘Chewing gum?’ Laura Mittet repeated slowly. ‘No, he never chewed gum. He drank coffee.’
‘Was there anyone else who drove the car and chewed-?’
‘No one ever drove the car apart from Anton.’
‘Thank you,’ Katrine said.
19
It was evening and the kitchen windows in the yellow wooden house in Oppsal where Beate Lønn had just finished her daily conversation with her son were brightly lit. Afterwards she had talked to her mother-in-law and agreed that if the boy still had a temperature and was coughing, they would have to postpone the journey home for a few days. The in-laws would love to have him for a bit longer in Steinkjer. Beate unhooked the plastic leftovers bag in the cupboard under the sink and was putting it in one of the white rubbish bags when the phone rang. It was Katrine, and she didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.
‘There was a piece of chewing gum under the driver’s seat in Mittet’s car.’
‘Right. .’
‘It was removed, but it hasn’t been sent for DNA testing.’
‘I wouldn’t have sent it either if it was under the driver’s seat. It was Mittet’s. Listen, if you tested every single thing you found at a crime scene, the queue would make waiting times-’
‘But Ståle was right, Beate! People don’t stick gum under their own dining-room tables. Or in their own cars. According to Mittet’s wife, he didn’t even chew gum. And no one else drove the car except him. I think the person who left the gum was leaning across the driver’s seat when he did it. And according to the report the murderer was sitting in the passenger seat and leaned across Mittet to fasten his hands to the wheel with the ties. The car has been in the river, but according to Bjørn the DNA in the spit can-’
‘Yes, I know where you’re going,’ Beate interrupted. ‘You’ll have to ring someone in Bellman’s investigative unit and tell them.’
‘But don’t you understand?’ Katrine said. ‘This could lead us straight to the murderer.’
‘Yes, of course I understand, and the only place this is leading us is straight to hell. We’ve been taken off the case, Katrine.’
‘I can just drop by the Evidence Room and have the chewing gum sent for testing,’ Katrine said. ‘Check it against the register. If there’s no match, no one needs to know. If there’s a match we’ve solved the case. No one’s going to say a bloody word about how we did it. Yes, I’m all ego now. For once we could get the credit, Beate. You and I. The women. And we deserve it, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Yes, it’s tempting, and it won’t ruin anyone else’s work, but-’
‘No buts! For once we can take the liberty of using our elbows. Or do you want to see Bellman standing there with that smug smile being honoured for our work again?’
Silence. A long silence.
‘You say no one needs to know anything,’ Beate said. ‘But all requisition orders for potential forensic clues from the Evidence Room have to be registered at the requests hatch. If they discover we’ve been sticking our noses into the Mittet file, it won’t be long before a note lands on Bellman’s desk to that effect.’