‘Mm. If it’s a “homo murder”, as you call it, it definitely doesn’t fit in. There’s nothing to suggest that any of the other murder victims were gay, neither the original ones nor the officers.’
‘Maybe not. But there is something interesting here. You said the Kalsnes case was the only one that linked all the murdered policemen, didn’t you?’
‘With such a small circle of detectives it’s often the same people, Arnold, so that doesn’t make it much of a coincidence.’
‘Nevertheless, I have a hunch it’s important.’
‘You’ve got your head in the clouds now, Arnold.’
The red-bearded man sat up with an injured expression. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘“I have a hunch”? I’ll tell you when you’ve reached the point when your hunches are an argument.’
‘Because not many of us reach that point?’
‘Exactly. Go on, but keep your feet on the ground, OK.’
‘OK. But might I perhaps be allowed to say that I have a hunch you agree with me?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then I’ll take a punt and suggest you employ all of your resources to find out who killed the homosexual officer. The worst that can happen is that you solve one case. The best is that you solve all the police murders as well.’
‘Mm.’ Harry finished his coffee and got up. ‘Thank you, Arnold.’
‘Thank you. Unlicensed policemen like me are happy just to be listened to, you know. Speaking of which, I met Silje Gravseng in reception earlier today. She was handing in her pass. She was. . something.’
‘Student rep.’
‘Yes. Whatever, she asked after you. I didn’t say anything. Then she said you were a fake. Your boss had told her it wasn’t true that you had a hundred per cent clear-up rate. Gusto Hanssen, she said. Is that true?’
‘Mm. Sort of.’
‘Sort of? What does that mean?’
‘I investigated the case and never arrested anyone. How did she seem?’
Arnold Folkestad pinched one eye shut and looked at Harry as if he were aiming a weapon at him, searching his face.
‘Who knows. She’s an odd girl, Silje Gravseng. She invited me to do some shooting practice in Økern. Just like that, out of the blue.’
‘Mm. And what did you answer?’
‘I blamed my poor eyesight and the shakes. I said, and it’s true, I would have to have the target half a metre in front of me to be sure of hitting anything. She accepted that, but afterwards I wondered why she would go to a firing range when she no longer needed to pass the police firearms test.’
‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘sometimes people just like shooting for shooting’s sake.’
‘It’s up to them,’ Arnold said, getting up. ‘But she looked good, it has to be said.’
Harry watched his colleague hobble out of the door. Mused, then found the number for the Police Chief in Nedre Eiker. Afterwards he sat chewing over what she’d said. It was true that Bertil Nilsen had not been part of the investigation into René Kalsnes’s death in the neighbouring municipality of Drammen. On the other hand, he had been on duty when they had received the call telling them there was a car in the river near Eikersaga and had turned out when it was unclear whose jurisdiction it was. She also told him the Drammen police and Kripos had read them the riot act because Nilsen had churned up the soft ground where they might otherwise have found good tyre tracks. ‘So you might say he had an indirect effect on the investigation.’
It was almost ten o’clock, and the sun had long gone down behind the green hill to the west when Ståle Aune parked his car in the garage and walked up the gravel path to his house. He noticed there was no light on in the kitchen or the living room. Nothing unusual about that. She often went to bed early.
He could feel the weight of his body on his knee joints. Goodness, how tired he was. It had been a long day, but he had hoped she would still be up. Then they could have had a chat. And he would have calmed down. He had done as Harry had said and contacted a colleague. Talked about the knife attack. About how he had been sure he would die. He had done all that, now it was time to sleep. To be allowed to sleep.
He unlocked the door. Saw Aurora’s jacket hanging on the peg. Another new one. Heavens, how that child was growing. He kicked off his shoes. Straightened up and listened to the silence in the house. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but it seemed to him the house was quieter than usual. There was a sound missing, one which he obviously wasn’t aware of when it was there.
He went upstairs. Every step was a little slower, like an overloaded scooter going uphill. He would have to start getting fit, take off ten kilos, or thereabouts. It was good for your sleep, good for your well-being, good for long days at work, for your life expectancy, for your sex life, for your self-esteem, in a word, good. But he was damned if he was going to do it.
He trudged past Aurora’s bedroom.
Stopped, hesitated. Went back. Opened the door.
Just wanted to see her asleep, as he always used to. Soon it wouldn’t be so natural to do that any more, he could already feel she was more aware of certain things, private things. It wasn’t that she minded being naked when he was around, but she didn’t strut about quite so nonchalantly. And when he noticed it had stopped being natural for her, it also stopped being natural for him. But he still wanted to do this on the QT, watch his daughter sleeping peacefully, safe, protected from all the things he had experienced out there today.
But he didn’t. He would see her tomorrow at breakfast anyway.
He sighed, closed the door and went into the bathroom. Undressed and took his clothes into their bedroom, hung them over a chair and was about to crawl into bed when he was struck by it again. The silence. What was it that was missing? The hum of a fridge? The whisper of a ventilation hatch, which they usually left open?
He couldn’t be bothered to give it any further thought and snuggled down under the duvet. Saw Ingrid’s hair sticking up. He wanted to touch her, just stroke her hair, down her back, feel that she was there. But she was such a light sleeper and hated being woken up, he knew that. He was about to close his eyes, then changed his mind.
‘Ingrid?’
No answer.
‘Ingrid?’
Silence.
It could wait. He closed his eyes again.
‘Yes?’ He noticed that she had turned over.
‘Nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘Just. . this case. .’
‘Say you don’t want it.’
‘Someone has to do it.’ It sounded like the cliché it was.
‘They won’t find anyone better than you.’
Ståle opened his eyes. Looked at her, caressed her hot, round cheek. Now and then — no, more than now and then — nothing in existence was better than her.
Ståle Aune closed his eyes. And now it came. Sleep. The loss of consciousness. The real nightmares.
36
The morning sun glinted off the rooftops still wet after the short, intense burst of rain.
Mikael Bellman pressed the doorbell and looked around.
Well-tended garden. That was probably how you made time pass when you were old.
The door opened.
‘Mikael! How nice.’
He looked older. The same sharp, blue eyes, but, well, older.
‘Come in.’
Mikael wiped his wet shoes on the doormat and stepped inside. There was a smell in the house he could remember from his childhood, but which he was unable to isolate and identify.