‘We won’t trouble you for long, Penelope,’ Katrine said. ‘We’ve spoken to the policeman who talked to you at the scene, so we know that you met the assailant in the city just before, that he attacked you in the stairwell and that he used metal teeth to bite you. But can you tell us anything about who he is? Did he give you any other name apart from Vidar? Did he say where he lives, where he works?’
‘Vidar Hansen. I didn’t ask where he lives,’ she said. Her voice made Harry think of fragile porcelain. ‘He said he’s an artist, but works as a caretaker.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘I don’t know. He could well have been a guard. Someone who has access to keys, anyway, because he’d been inside my flat.’
‘Oh?’
With what looked like a great effort, she pulled her left hand out from under the covers and held it up. ‘The engagement ring I got from Roar. He took it from the drawer in my bedroom.’
Katrine stared sceptically at the matt gold ring. ‘You mean … he put it on you in the stairwell?’
Penelope nodded and closed her eyes tightly again. ‘And the last thing he said …’
‘Yes?’
‘Was that he wasn’t like other men, that he’d come back and marry me.’ She let out a sob.
Harry could see that Katrine was shaken, but still focused.
‘What does he look like, Penelope?’
Penelope opened her mouth, then closed it again. Stared at them in despair. ‘I don’t remember. I … I must have forgotten. How can …?’ She bit her bottom lip and tears welled up in her eyes.
‘It’s OK,’ Katrine said. ‘It’s not unusual in your situation, you’ll be able to remember more later. Do you remember what he was wearing?’
‘A suit. And a shirt. He unbuttoned it. He had …’ She stopped.
‘Yes?’
‘A tattoo on his chest.’
Harry saw Katrine gasp. ‘What sort of tattoo, Penelope?’ He said.
‘A face.’
‘Like a demon that’s trying to get out?’
Penelope nodded. A single tear ran down her cheek. As if she didn’t have enough liquid inside her for two, Harry thought.
‘And it was as if he …’ Penelope sobbed again. ‘As if he wanted to show it to me.’
Harry closed his eyes.
‘She needs to rest,’ the nurse said.
Katrine nodded and put her hand on Penelope’s milk-white arm. ‘Thank you, Penelope, you’ve been a great help.’
Harry and Katrine were on their way out when the nurse called them back. They returned to the bed.
‘I do remember one more thing,’ Penelope whispered. ‘He looked like he’d had his face operated on. And I can’t help wondering …’
‘What?’ Katrine said, leaning in to hear the barely audible voice.
‘Why didn’t he kill me?’
Katrine looked at Harry for help. He took a deep breath, nodded to her and leaned closer to Penelope.
‘Because he couldn’t,’ he said. ‘Because you didn’t let him.’
‘Well, now we know for sure that it’s him,’ Katrine said as they walked along the corridor towards the exit.
‘Mm. And he’s changed his MO. And his preferences.’
‘How does that make you feel?’
‘That it’s him?’ Harry shrugged. ‘No feelings. He’s a murderer, and he needs to be caught. Full stop.’
‘Don’t lie, Harry. Not to me. He’s the reason you’re here.’
‘Because he might take more lives. Catching him is important, but it isn’t personal. OK?’
‘I hear you.’
‘Good,’ Harry said.
‘When he says he’ll come back and marry her, do you think that’s …?’
‘Meant as a metaphor? Yes. He’s going to haunt her dreams.’
‘But that means he …’
‘Deliberately didn’t kill her.’
‘You lied to her.’
‘I lied.’ Harry pushed the door open and they got in the car that was waiting for them right outside. Katrine in the front, Harry in the back.
‘Police HQ?’ Anders Wyller asked from the driver’s seat.
‘Yes,’ Katrine said, picking up the mobile that she’d left charging. ‘Bjørn’s texted to say that those bloody footprints on the stairs were probably left by cowboy boots.’
‘Cowboy boots,’ Harry repeated from the back seat.
‘Those ones with a narrow high heel and—’
‘I know what cowboy boots look like. They were mentioned in one of the witness statements.’
‘Which one?’ Katrine said, skimming through the other texts she’d received while she was inside the hospital.
‘The bartender at the Jealousy Bar. Mehmet Something.’
‘I must say, your memory is still intact. It says here that they want me as a guest on The Sunday Magazine, to talk about the vampirist.’ She tapped at her phone.
‘And?’
‘No, obviously. Bellman has said loud and clear that he wants the least possible publicity for this case.’
‘Even if it’s been solved?’
Katrine turned to Harry. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Firstly: the Chief of Police can boast on national television about having solved the case in three days. And secondly: we might need the publicity to catch him.’
‘Have we solved the case?’ Wyller’s eyes met Harry’s in the rear-view mirror.
‘Solved,’ Harry said. ‘Not finished.’
Wyller turned to Katrine. ‘What does he mean?’
‘That we know who the perpetrator is, but that the investigation isn’t over until the long arm of the law has caught him. And in his case, that arm has turned out to be too short. This individual has been wanted across the whole world for almost four years.’
‘Who is he?’
Katrine gave a deep sigh. ‘I can’t even say his name. Harry, you tell him.’
Harry looked out through the window. Katrine was right, of course. He could deny it, but he was here for one single selfish reason. Not for the victims, not for the good of the city, not for the reputation of the force. Not even for his own reputation. Not for anything but this one single thing: that he had got away. Oh, Harry certainly felt guilty at not having been able to stop him before, for all the murder victims, for every day that this man had gone free. Even so, this was the only thing he could think about: that he had to catch him. That he, Harry, had to catch him. He didn’t know why. Did he really need the worst serial killer and offender in order to validate his own life? God alone knew. And God alone knew if it was the other way round as well. That this man had emerged from his hiding place because of Harry. He had drawn the V on Ewa Dolmen’s door, and shown Penelope Rasch the demon tattoo. Penelope had asked why he hadn’t killed her. And Harry had lied. The reason the man hadn’t killed her was because he wanted her to talk. Talk about what she’d seen. Tell Harry what he already knew. That he needed to come out and play.
‘OK,’ Harry said. ‘Do you want the long version or the short one?’
14
SUNDAY MORNING
‘VALENTIN GJERTSEN,’ HARRY hole said, pointing at the face staring out at the investigative team from the huge screen.
Katrine looked intently at the thin face. Brown hair, deep-set eyes. Unless it just appeared that way because he was jutting his forehead forward, meaning that the light fell in a particular way. Katrine couldn’t help thinking it was odd that the police photographer had let Valentin get away with it. And then there was his expression. Custody pictures usually showed fear, confusion or resignation. But he looked contented. As if Valentin Gjertsen knew something they didn’t know. Didn’t know yet.
Harry let the face sink in for a few seconds before he went on. ‘At the age of sixteen he was charged with molesting a nine-year-old girl he’d lured onto a rowing boat. At seventeen a neighbour reported him for trying to rape her in the basement laundry room. When Valentin Gjertsen was twenty-six and serving time for assaulting a minor, he had an appointment to see the dentist at Ila Prison. He used one of the dentist’s own drills to force her to take off her nylon stockings and put them over her head. First he raped her in the dentist’s chair, then he set fire to the stockings.’