‘Murder weapon?’ she asked.
‘Syringe,’ Hole said.
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Something to do with anaesthesia.’
‘I see. We can trace almost all drugs, especially when we have access as quickly as we did in this case. The only option I can see is. .’
‘Yes?’ He smiled as though he had already got his way. Irritating man. The kind you can’t decide whether to slap or kiss.
‘An air injection.’
‘Which is?’
‘The oldest and still the best trick in the book. You fill a syringe with enough air to put air bubbles into the blood vessel and block it. If it’s blocked for long enough the blood doesn’t reach vital parts of the body such as the heart or the brain and you die. Fast and without any chemical residue. A blood clot can form inside the body without any external intervention. Case closed.’
‘But the needle mark would be visible.’
‘Not if you use a thin enough needle. You’d have to examine every centimetre of skin to reveal a mark.’
Hole brightened up. The boy opened the present and thought it was an atomic bomb.
Mia was happy.
‘Then you’ll have to examine-’
‘We did.’ Smack. ‘Every millimetre of it. We even checked the intravenous drip. It’s possible to inject air bubbles there as well, you see. There wasn’t so much as a mozzie bite anywhere.’ She watched the feverish light in his eyes die. ‘Sorry, Hole, but we were aware the death was suspicious.’ She stressed were.
‘Now I have to prepare the next lecture, so maybe-’
‘What about somewhere that wasn’t skin?’ Hole said.
‘What?’
‘What about if he injected the needle somewhere else? Orifices. Mouth, rectum, nostrils, ears.’
‘Interesting idea, but in the nose and ears there are very few blood vessels which would be suitable. The rectum is a possibility, but the odds of isolating vital organs in those regions are lower, and furthermore you have to know your way around extremely well to find a vein blind. The mouth may be feasible as it has veins with a short route to the brain and would have led to a quick, certain death, but we always check the mouth. And it’s full of mucous membranes where an injection would have caused swelling, and that would be easy to see.’
She looked at him. Sensed his brain still churning round for a solution, but he gave a resigned nod.
‘Nice to see you again, Hole. Pop by if you fancy giving it another shot.’
She turned and walked over to one of the tubs and pushed a pale, grey arm with outstretched fingers down into the alcohol.
‘Another. . shot,’ she heard Harry muttering. She heaved a deep sigh. Very irritating man.
‘He could have tried another shot,’ Hole said.
‘Where exactly?’
‘You said a short route to the brain. From behind. He could have hidden the shot from behind.’
‘Behind what. .?’ She stopped. Looked where he was pointing. Closed her eyes and sighed again.
‘Sorry,’ Harry said. ‘But FBI statistics show that in cases where a post-mortem has been performed on witnesses, the percentage of murders rises from seventy-eight to ninety-four with a second post-mortem.’
Mia Hartvigsen shook her head. Harry Hole. Trouble. Extra work. An increased chance of being pilloried for blunders not of their own making.
‘Here,’ Beate Lønn said, and the taxi pulled into the kerb.
The tram was at the Welhavens Café gate stop. There was one police car parked in front and two behind. Bjørn Holm and Katrine Bratt were leaning against the Amazon.
Beate paid and jumped out.
‘Well?’
‘Three officers are in the tram and no one has been allowed to leave. We were waiting for you.’
‘It says number 11 on this tram. I said 12.’
‘It changes number after the Majorstuen crossing, but it’s the same tram.’
Beate hurried over to the front door, knocked hard and held up her ID. The door opened with a snort and she climbed in. Nodded to the uniformed policeman standing there. He was holding a Heckler amp; Koch P30L.
‘Follow me,’ she said and started walking through the packed tram.
She scrutinised all the faces as she made her way to the middle of the carriage. Felt her heart beating faster as she approached, saw the doodlings in the condensation on the window. She signalled to the officer before addressing the man in the seat.
‘Excuse me! Yes, you.’
The face turned up to her bore angry red pimples and a terrified expression.
‘I. . I didn’t mean to. I left my travel card at home. Won’t happen again.’
Beate closed her eyes and swore under her breath. Nodded to the officer to keep following her. When they had reached the end of the carriage without any success, she called to the driver to open the back door and clambered out.
‘Well?’ Katrine said.
‘Gone. Question the passengers to see if they saw him. In an hour they’ll have forgotten, if they haven’t already. As a reminder, he’s a man in his forties, about one eighty tall with blue eyes. But the eyes are a bit slanted now. He’s got short brown hair, high, pronounced cheekbones and thin lips. And no one touch the window where he was writing. Take fingerprints and photos. Bjørn?’
‘Yes?’
‘Take all the stops between here and Frogner Park, talk to people working in nearby shops, ask if they know anyone of this description. When people catch trams early in the morning it’s often part of a routine. They’re going to work, school, the gym, a regular coffee bar.’
‘We’ve got a few more bites at the cherry then,’ Katrine said.
‘Yes, but be careful, Bjørn. Make sure the people you talk to aren’t likely to warn him. Katrine, see if we can borrow some officers to take the tram early in the morning. Get a couple of men on the trams from here to Frogner Park for the rest of the day, in case Valentin should return the same way. OK?’
While Katrine and Bjørn joined the police officers and allocated tasks, Beate looked up at the window of the tram. The lines he had drawn in the condensation had run. There was a recurrent pattern, a bit like frilly lace. A vertical line followed by a circle. After one row there was another, forming a square matrix.
It wasn’t necessarily important.
But as Harry used to say: ‘It might not be important or relevant, but everything means something. And we start searching where there is light, where we can see something.’
Beate took out her mobile and photographed the window. And remembered something.
‘Katrine! Come here!’
Katrine heard her and left the briefing to Bjørn.
‘How did it go last night?’
‘Fine,’ Katrine said. ‘I took the chewing gum for testing this morning. Registered it with the file number of a shelved rape case. They’re prioritising the police murders, but they promise to look at it asap.’
Beate nodded pensively. Ran a hand across her face. ‘How soon is asap? We can’t let what might be the murderer’s DNA end up last in the queue just to get the bouquets for ourselves.’
Katrine put a hand on her hip and eyed Bjørn, who was gesticulating to the officers. ‘I know one of the women up there,’ she lied. ‘I’ll ring her and do some pushing.’
Beate looked at her. Hesitated. Nodded.
‘And you’re sure you didn’t just want it to be Valentin Gjertsen?’ Ståle Aune said. He was standing by the window and staring down at the busy street beneath the office. At the people hurrying hither and thither. At the people who could be Valentin Gjertsen. ‘Optical illusions are common among those suffering from a lack of sleep. How much sleep have you had in the last forty-eight hours?’
‘I’ll count them up,’ Beate Lønn answered, in a way that made it clear to Ståle that she didn’t need to. ‘I’m ringing because he drew something on the window inside the tram. Did you get my text?’