Harry was looking at the letter. It was no longer an echo of a scream, it was the scream itself. The scream of a demon.
‘It means …’ Harry flicked his lighter and held it to his cigarette, then inhaled deeply. He let the smoke out again. ‘He wants to play.’
‘You think the V stands for something else,’ Katrine said when she and Harry left the flat an hour later.
‘Do I?’ Harry said, looking along the street. Tøyen. The immigrant district. Narrow streets, Pakistani carpet shops, cobblestones, Norwegian-language teachers on bikes, Turkish cafes, swaying mothers in hijabs, youngsters getting by on student loans, a tiny record shop pushing vinyl and hard rock. Harry loved Tøyen. So much so that he couldn’t help wondering what he was doing up in the hills with the bourgeoisie.
‘You just didn’t want to say it out loud,’ Katrine said.
‘Do you know what my grandfather used to say when he caught me swearing? “If you call for the devil, he’ll come.” So …’
‘So, what?’
‘Do you want the devil to come?’
‘We’ve got a double murder, Harry, maybe a serial killer. Can it really get any worse?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘It can.’
11
SATURDAY EVENING
‘WE’RE ASSUMING THAT we’re dealing with a serial killer,’ Detective Inspector Katrine Bratt said, and looked out at the conference room and her entire investigative team. Plus Harry. They had agreed that he would participate in meetings until he’d set up his own group.
There was a different, more focused atmosphere than during their previous meetings. This was obviously to do with the development of the case, but Katrine was pretty sure that Harry’s presence also made a difference. He may well have been Crime Squad’s drunk, arrogant enfant terrible, someone who had directly or indirectly caused the deaths of other officers, and whose working methods were highly questionable. But he still made them sit up and pay attention. Because he still had the same dour, almost frightening charisma, and his achievements were beyond question. Off the top of her head, she could only think of one person he had failed to catch. Maybe Harry was right when he said that longevity bestowed respect, even upon a whorehouse madam if she kept going for long enough.
‘This sort of perpetrator is very difficult to find for a number of reasons, but primarily because – as in this case – he plans carefully, chooses his victims at random, and doesn’t leave any evidence at the scene except what he wants us to find. That’s why the folders in front of you containing the analysis from Forensics, the forensics medical officer and our own tactical analysts is so thin. We still haven’t managed to link any known sex offender to Elise Hermansen or Ewa Dolmen, or either of the crime scenes. But we have managed to identify the methodology behind the murders. Tord?’
The IT expert let out a short, inappropriate laugh, as if he had found what Katrine had said funny, before saying: ‘Ewa Dolmen sent a message from her mobile phone which tells us that she had a Tinder date at a sports bar called Dicky’s.’
‘Dicky’s?’ Magnus Skarre exclaimed. ‘That’s more or less opposite the Jealousy Bar.’
A collective groan ran round the room.
‘So we could be on to something, if the murderer’s MO is to use Tinder and arrange to meet in Grünerløkka,’ Katrine said.
‘What, though?’ one of the detectives asked.
‘An idea of how it might happen next time.’
‘What if there isn’t a next time?’
Katrine took a deep breath. ‘Harry?’
Harry rocked back on his chair. ‘Well, serial killers who are still learning the ropes usually leave a long gap between their first murders. It can be months, years, even. The classic pattern is that after a killing there’s a cooling-down period, before his sexual frustration starts to build up again. These cycles typically get shorter and shorter between each murder. With a cycle that’s already as short as two days, it’s tempting to assume that this isn’t the first time he’s committed this type of offence.’
A silence followed, during which everyone waited for him to go on. He didn’t.
Katrine cleared her throat. ‘The problem is that we can’t find any serious crimes in Norway during the past five years that show any similarities to these two murders. We’ve checked with Interpol to see if it’s possible that any likely perpetrator may have switched hunting grounds and moved to Norway. There are a dozen candidates, but none of them appears to have moved recently. So we have no idea who he is. But we do know that experience indicates that it’s likely to happen again. And in this case, soon.’
‘How soon?’ a voice asked.
‘Hard to say,’ Katrine said, glancing at Harry, who discreetly held up one finger. ‘But the gap could be as short as one day.’
‘And there’s nothing we can do to stop him?’
Katrine shifted her weight to the other foot. ‘We’ve contacted the Chief of Police to ask for permission to issue a public warning in conjunction with the press conference at 1800 hours. With a bit of luck the perpetrator will cancel or at least postpone any plans for another murder if he thinks people are going to be more wary.’
‘Would he really do that?’ Wolff wondered.
‘I think—’ Katrine began, but was interrupted.
‘With all due respect, Bratt, I was asking Hole.’
Katrine swallowed and tried not to get annoyed. ‘What do you say, Harry? Would a public warning stop him?’
‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘Forget what you’ve seen on television, serial killers aren’t robots with the same software who follow the same pattern of behaviour, they’re as diverse and unpredictable as everyone else.’
‘Smart answer, Hole.’ Everyone in the room turned towards the door, where the new arrival, Police Chief Bellman, was leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. ‘No one knows what effect a public warning might have. Maybe it would only encourage this sick murderer, give him a feeling that he’s in control of the situation, that he’s invulnerable and can just carry on. But what we do know, on the other hand, is that a public warning would give the impression that we here at Police Headquarters have lost control of the situation. And the only people who would be scared by that are the city’s inhabitants. More scared, we should probably say, because – as those of you who have read what the papers have been saying online in the past few hours will have noticed – there is already a lot of speculation about these two murders being linked. So I have a better suggestion.’ Mikael Bellman pulled at his shirtsleeves so that the white cuffs stuck out from the sleeves of his jacket. ‘And that is that we catch this guy before he does any more damage.’ He smiled at them all. ‘What do you say, good people?’
Katrine saw a few of them nod their heads.
‘Good,’ Bellman said. ‘Carry on, Detective Inspector Bratt.’
The bells of the City Hall signalled that it was eight o’clock as an unmarked police car, a VW Passat, drove slowly past.
‘That was the worst fucking press conference I’ve ever held,’ Katrine said as she steered the Passat towards Dronning Mauds gate.
‘Twenty-nine times,’ Harry said.
‘What?’
‘You said “We can’t comment on that” twenty-nine times,’ Harry said. ‘I counted.’
‘I was so close to saying “Sorry, the Chief of Police has muzzled us”. What’s Bellman playing at? No warning, no saying we’ve got a serial killer on the loose and that people should watch out?’
‘He’s right when he says it would spread irrational fear.’
‘Irrational?’ Katrine snapped. ‘Look around you! It’s Saturday night, and half the women you can see wandering about are on their way to meet a man they don’t know, a prince they hope will change their lives. And if your idea of a gap of a single day is correct, one of them is going to be really fucking right about that.’