Mona went over to the window and looked out over Frognerparken. It had clouded over, and apart from the illuminated paths an almost tangible darkness had settled on the park. It was always like that in autumn, before the trees lost their leaves and everything became more transparent, and the city once again became hard and cold. But from late September to late October, Oslo was like a soft, warm teddy bear that she just wanted to hug and cuddle.
‘I’m all ears, Nora.’
‘It’s about the vampirist.’
‘You’ve been told to get him on as a guest. Do you think he does chat shows?’
‘For the last time, The Sunday Magazine is a serious discussion programme. I’ve called Harry Hole but he said no, and told me that Katrine Bratt is leading the investigation.’
‘But isn’t that good? You’re always complaining about how hard it is to find good female guests.’
‘Yes, but Hole is, like, the most famous detective we’ve got. You must remember that time when he was drunk live on air? A scandal, obviously, but people loved it!’
‘Did you tell him that?’
‘No, but I said that television needs celebrities, and that a famous face could attract more attention to the work the police do in this city.’
‘Ingenious. But he didn’t go for it?’
‘He said if I wanted to get him on Let’s Dance to represent the police, he’d start practising his slow foxtrot tomorrow. But that this was about a murder investigation, and that Katrine Bratt was the one with all the facts and the mandate to speak.’
Mona laughed.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. All I can see now is Harry Hole on Let’s Dance.’
‘What? Do you think he meant it?’
Mona laughed even louder.
‘I was just calling to hear what you think of this Katrine Bratt, seeing as you move in those circles.’
Mona picked up a pair of light dumbbells from the rack in front of her and did some quick bicep curls to keep her circulation going and to shift waste products out of her muscles. ‘Bratt’s intelligent. And articulate. A bit severe, maybe.’
‘But do you think she’d reach beyond the screen? In footage from press conferences she seems a bit …’
‘Grey? Yes, but she can look great when she wants to. Some of the guys in the newsroom think she’s the hottest thing they’ve got over in Police HQ. But she’s one of those women who suppress it and would rather look professional.’
‘I can feel myself starting to hate her already. What about Hallstein Smith?’
‘Now he’s got the potential to be one of your regulars. He’s eccentric enough, indiscreet enough, but smart with it. Run with that one.’
‘OK, thanks. Sisters are doing it for themselves, right?’
‘Aren’t we a bit past saying stuff like that?’
‘Yeah, but these days it’s ironic.’
‘Right. Ha ha.’
‘Ha ha yourself. How about you?’
‘What?’
‘He’s still out there.’
‘I know.’
‘I mean, literally. It’s not that far from Hovseter to Frognerparken.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Shit, haven’t you heard? He’s struck again.’
‘Fuck!’ Mona yelled, and from the corner of her eye saw the guy in reception look up. ‘My bastard head of news said he’d call me. He’s given it to someone else. Bye, Nora.’
Mona went to the locker room, stuffed her clothes in her bag, then ran down the steps and onto the street. She carried on towards the VG building as she looked for a free taxi on the road. She was lucky and got hold of one at a red light. She threw herself into the back seat and pulled out her phone. Brought up Truls Berntsen’s number. After just two rings she heard his weird, grunting laugh.
‘What?’ she said.
‘I was wondering how long it would take you,’ Truls Berntsen said.
13
SATURDAY NIGHT
‘SHE’D LOST OVER a litre and a half of blood by the time they got her down,’ the doctor said as he walked along the corridor in Ullevål Hospital with Harry and Katrine. ‘If the bite had hit the artery higher up in her thigh, where it’s thicker, we wouldn’t have been able to save her life. We wouldn’t usually let a patient in her condition be questioned by the police, but seeing as other people’s lives are at risk …’
‘Thanks,’ Katrine said. ‘We won’t ask more than we absolutely have to.’
The doctor opened the door and he and Harry waited outside while Katrine went over to the bed and the nurse who was sitting beside it.
‘It’s pretty impressive,’ the doctor said. ‘Don’t you think, Harry?’
Harry turned towards him and raised an eyebrow.
‘You don’t mind me using your first name, do you?’ the doctor said. ‘Oslo’s a small city, and seeing as I’m your wife’s doctor.’
‘Really? I didn’t know her appointment was here.’
‘I only realised when she filled in one of our forms and I saw she’d put your name as next of kin. And of course I remember the name from the papers.’
‘You’ve got a good memory …’ Harry said, and looked at the name badge on the white coat. ‘… Senior Consultant John D. Steffens. Because it’s been a long while since they printed my name. What is it you think is impressive?’
‘That a human being can bite through a woman’s thigh like that. A lot of people think modern man has weak jaws, but in comparison with most mammals we’ve got a fairly sharp bite. Did you know that?’
‘No.’
‘How hard do you think we bite, Harry?’
Harry realised after a few seconds that Steffens really was expecting an answer. ‘Well, our criminal forensics experts say seventy kilos.’
‘Well, then – you already know the answer.’
Harry shrugged. ‘The number doesn’t mean anything to me. If I’d been told 150, I wouldn’t have been any more or less impressed. Speaking of numbers, how do you know that Penelope Rasch lost a litre and a half? I didn’t think pulse and blood pressure were such accurate indicators?’
‘I was sent pictures from the crime scene,’ Steffens said. ‘I buy and sell blood, so I’ve got a pretty accurate eye.’
Harry was about to ask him to elaborate, but at that moment Katrine waved him over.
Harry went in and stood beside Katrine. Penelope Rasch’s face was as white as the pillowcase that framed it. Her eyes were open but her gaze was clouded.