Death Deserved

by Thomas Enger

  Ushering him in without a word, she closed the door quickly behind him and locked it.

  ‘Hi,’ he said finally.

  ‘Hi,’ she echoed.

  They stood gazing at each other for several seconds, then Blix hung up his jacket and left his shoes beside a black bike with WHITE embossed in grey script on the carbon frame. Here and there, the wheel rims were flecked with pink.

  ‘You didn’t need to come, you know,’ Emma told him. ‘It’s probably just someone fooling around.’

  ‘Who would that be?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Where’s the drawing?’ he asked.

  ‘In here.’

  She led the way into the living room. The sheet of paper lay unfolded on the coffee table between the sofa and the TV.

  ‘Have you touched it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, I had to.’

  Blix sat down, leaning forwards on his elbows. His first thought was that this hadn’t been drawn with a gentle touch. The circle had a jagged edge, and there was quite a distance between some of the numbers, but less space between others. The crosses were also of varying sizes. The sketch had been scribbled on the spur of the moment, and it looked as if the surface the drawer had leant on had been neither smooth nor firm.

  ‘Dahlmann,’ he said.

  ‘Hm?’

  Emma, who by now was seated on the sofa beside Blix, leaned in closer. ‘Walter Georg Dahlmann,’ he said. ‘He’s drawn this. It’s his signature.’

  ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

  Blix leaned back, but did not answer immediately.

  ‘When were you here last?’ he asked instead.

  Emma thought about this. ‘Early this morning.’

  ‘Are there no CCTV cameras here?’

  ‘We’ve talked about getting some, but we haven’t got round to it yet.’

  Silence again.

  ‘Who is Dahlmann?’ Emma asked again.

  Blix folded his hands together. He told her about Dahlmann’s background, the two people he’d killed and his prison sentence. How angry he still was at ‘the System’, as he called it, after he was released.

  ‘He used the example of O.J. Simpson,’ Blix added. Then remembered Emma’s age. ‘Simpson was a major celebrity in the USA, and was acquitted of murdering his wife and her friend. Many people thought Simpson escaped prison because of his status. Dahlmann felt the roles were reversed in his case. No one believed his story, because a famous person had lost her life.’

  ‘So he creates another story now. Like some kind of revenge on “the System”. On celebrities.’

  Blix spread his arms expansively. ‘At least he’s had plenty of time to make his plans,’ he said. ‘And it’s no secret that many people can’t cope with imprisonment. It does something to them.’

  Emma tucked her legs under her. ‘Why did he come to my door, do you think?’

  Blix was unsure what answer to give. ‘Many people who commit murder with a specific plan in mind are obsessed about how their actions are perceived, especially by the media. He may have seen what you’ve written. You’ve just today broken the story about the numbers. This could be meant as a kind of acknowledgement of you, or else it…’ He paused for a moment before going on. ‘…It could of course be a warning.’

  Emma stared thoughtfully into the middle distance.

  ‘Three crosses, three o’clock? It’s a pretty obvious signal,’ Blix said.

  ‘Signalling what, though – that three people are going to be killed?’

  ‘At any rate, that someone is going to die.’

  ‘Three o’clock.’

  Blix looked at the time. It had gone midnight.

  ‘When, though?’ Emma continued. ‘Tonight? Tomorrow?’

  ‘It’s impossible to say from the drawing. But I don’t think he intends to go after you, Emma. It would be the most natural thing in the world for you to take every possible precaution. But this,’ Blix said, pointing at the sketch, ‘I interpret more as a warning about what’s to come. To someone other than you,’ he rushed to add. ‘And it could happen at any time. On any day at all, for that matter.’

  Emma did not seem convinced. ‘Do you think he wants me to do anything with this?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s crystal clear: if you write about this, it will be headline news. At the very least he assumes that you’ll inform the police; you can’t not. So he’s raising the game another notch; and that may well be what he’s after – even more attention. But that will make it even more difficult for him to carry out his plan.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s chosen fairly high-profile victims so far. Today’s murder was even more sensational because he committed it in a public place, in broad daylight. He’s not hiding, in other words. So he has no plans to operate in secret now. Presumably he’s brimming with self-confidence, since we haven’t managed to catch him yet, and he sees no point in scaling things down and going into hiding. Quite the opposite.’

  ‘Maybe he wants us to be afraid,’ she said. ‘Or perhaps he just wants me to be.’

  Another lengthy silence ensued.

  ‘I’ll have to show this to the others,’ Blix said, feeling a stab of humiliation. ‘Hear what they think about it. And you should let your boss know.’

  Emma nodded.

  ‘You ought to have protection,’ Blix went on.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You can’t be left on your own now, Emma. Not tonight at three o’clock, or tomorrow around that time. You shouldn’t be alone at all, in fact.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t want someone looking over my shoulder all the time. It’s out of the question. I can look after myself.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Blix said. ‘But just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘I’m not a celebrity, Blix.’

  ‘No, but you write about them. You contribute towards making people famous. That could be enough to justify killing you. In Dahlmann’s eyes, anyway.’

  Blix saw her consider this.

  ‘But what does the number three symbolise anyway? As far as I’m concerned? I don’t work at TV3 or the P3 radio station…’ She struggled to come up with other alternatives, but couldn’t find any.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Blix said. ‘Not yet at least.’

  ‘Who would watch over me, then?’ she asked after a pause. ‘You?’

  Blix mulled this over. ‘I don’t have anything else to do, so…’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Emma said. ‘You must have plenty to do, with everything that’s going on.’

  ‘I…’ Blix lowered his gaze and, with a sigh, told her about the leave of absence he’d been forced to take.

  ‘Because of me?’ she asked.

  Blix shook his head. ‘Because of me,’ he answered. ‘I was careless. Unprofessional.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said all the same, tucking some of her loose, blonde hair around one ear.

  ‘If there’s anyone who should apologise, it’s me,’ Blix told her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Blix returned the look she gave him, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Do you think I blame you for killing my father?’ Emma asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Do you?’

  ‘My father was a scumbag,’ she said. ‘He murdered my mother and you saved my life. I should thank you; you did us all a favour. Apart … from Mum, of course, she…’ Her voice tapered off, and she stared out at something indefinable outside the living-room window. It was a long time before she spoke again.

  ‘I remember very little about my mother. I can recall her scent. What she looked like, of course. Her voice. But I don’t recollect anything in particular that she did. What sort of food she liked and so on. What she liked to do. I remember nothing of what happened that day.’

  She looked down at her fingers. Rubbed something off one of her nails.

  ‘I’ve never tried to find out either, because I don’t want t
o know what Mum looked like after…’ She stopped herself. ‘I don’t want to know what she was doing on the last day of her life. Except, of course, for quarrelling with my father.’

  Blix did not utter a word. He understood she intended to continue, now that she was in full flow.

  She angled her head towards him. ‘What was she wearing that day? Do you remember?’

  Blix turned this over in his mind. ‘She was dressed in blue trousers and a thick, brown knitted sweater.’

  That made Emma smile a little.

  ‘It was cold that day,’ Blix added. ‘In fact, it was snowing a little.’

  ‘What else?’ Emma asked. ‘Shoes? Socks?’

  ‘Slippers.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Emma said, nodding. ‘She always wore slippers, I remember that. Big, grey slippers.’ She laughed, a short burst of laughter.

  Blix smiled with her.

  ‘She was shot in the stomach?’ Emma said tentatively.

  Blix nodded.

  ‘So, there was a lot of blood, then.’

  ‘Yes … there was.’

  Emma seemed to think this over for a few seconds.

  ‘Do you know if … Can you say anything else about her?’

  Blix mused on this.

  ‘She’d baked buns that day,’ he replied. ‘The aroma filled the whole house. The tray was on the kitchen worktop.’

  Emma smiled. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I think she liked to read,’ Blix went on. ‘There were loads of books in your house. On a table in the living room and on the bedside table at her side of the bed.’

  ‘Do you remember what she was reading?’

  Blix nodded. He remembered it mainly because Merete had been reading the same book.

  ‘It was a book by Karin Fossum. Eva’s Eye.’

  Once again Emma smiled. ‘I’ve read that,’ she said. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘I think she read to you and your sister as well,’ Blix continued. ‘You had a lot of children’s books. Astrid Lindgren and Anne-Cath Vestly.’

  Emma looked at him with moist eyes.

  ‘And she read magazines. Se og Hør, I seem to remember.’

  ‘Maybe that’s where I get my interest in celebrities from,’ Emma said, trying to smile.

  Blix waited for a moment.

  ‘Do you want me to go on?’ he soon asked.

  Emma gazed at him again. This time with a genuine smile. ‘Do you have any family?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m divorced,’ Blix explained. ‘I’ve a daughter about your age. Iselin.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  Blix shifted slightly in his seat. ‘Right now she’s on a TV programme.’

  Emma sat up straight. ‘Worthy Winner?’ she asked. ‘Is that Iselin your daughter?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’ve written a lot about that programme,’ Emma went on.

  Blix nodded again, noticing how it affected her mood when she talked about something else.

  ‘I know,’ he said, realising he felt better too, talking about something different. Something harmless.

  50

  Blix didn’t know when he fell asleep, but it was some time after three o’clock. Kovic had called in a couple of hours earlier. She had taken Emma’s fingerprints and took the drawing away with her. The looks she had given, to Emma and Blix in turn, had been bewildered and incredulous, which was why he decided to invite her to the Kaffebrenneriet café in Grønlandsleiret at 9.00 the next morning. It was only a stone’s throw from police headquarters, but there were seldom any employees in there at that time, and he would be able to explain everything to her, undisturbed.

  Kovic was punctual.

  ‘What’s actually going on?’ she asked, sitting down on a stool on the other side of the high table where Blix was seated. ‘Have you been taken off the case, or what?’

  He waited for a moment, unsure how to express himself.

  ‘You’ll have heard about the Teisen tragedy at police college?’ he said, even though he knew the answer.

  ‘They’ve recreated the situation on a shooting simulator,’ Kovic replied. ‘All the students have to go through it. Most fire a shot. It’s justified according to the weapon regulations. The subject under discussion is whether it was right to enter the house.’

  Blix nodded and took a swig of his coffee. Rotated the cup in his hands.

  ‘Emma Ramm is the little girl who was there,’ he said. ‘She was called something else then. She took her grandparents’ name afterwards.’

  Kovic’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say anything.

  ‘I shot and killed her father,’ Blix said to be certain that Kovic had understood. ‘Fosse believes that the Teisen tragedy and my emotional attachment to Emma makes me unsuitable to go on working on this case,’ he said. ‘We’ve agreed I should take a few days leave.’

  Kovic ruminated for a few seconds.

  ‘So Fosse thinks you’re the leak?’

  Blix couldn’t bring himself to confirm this. But he was pleased she’d immediately drawn the right conclusion.

  ‘But we need you,’ she protested.

  ‘I don’t disagree with you there,’ Blix said, lifting his cup to his mouth. ‘But the decision’s been taken.’

  They sat in silence for some time, watching life pass by on the pavement outside.

  ‘Have you found Dahlmann?’ he asked, putting down his cup.

  Kovic shook her head. ‘The technicians are busy checking the drawing for possible fingerprints. DNA. Handwriting analysis.’

  ‘What does Fosse say?’ Blix asked, sensing his anger from the previous day’s meeting in his boss’s office flaring up again. ‘Is he taking it seriously?’

  Kovic raised her coffee cup and swallowed a mouthful.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’re preparing ourselves for something to happen at three o’clock.’

  Blix glanced at the time. Fewer than six hours left.

  51

  Emma entered Anita Grønvold’s office and closed the door behind her, even though no one else was nearby.

  It made a frown appear on her editor’s forehead. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t entirely know,’ Emma answered, sitting down. ‘I received an anonymous letter yesterday.’

  She produced her laptop from her bag. Anita sat motionless, waiting for her to continue. Emma dug out the picture she’d taken of the sheet of paper with the sketch of the clock face and the three crosses.

  Anita had a coughing fit that forced tears to her eyes. She swore and took a swig of coffee from a cup on her desk.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said with her eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Is it from the killer?’

  ‘Either that or someone’s pulling my leg.’

  Anita looked up at her. ‘Who might that be?’

  ‘Wollan, maybe,’ Emma suggested, peering out through the glass window at the spot where Wollan normally sat. ‘He probably doesn’t like playing second fiddle.’

  Anita shook her head. ‘That’s not his style,’ she said. ‘Though he can be pretty childish at times. Where’s the original?’

  ‘The police collected it last night,’ Emma said.

  Anita seemed about to unleash a reprimand, to tell Emma she should have phoned her first.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you took a photo of it. What are the police saying?’

  ‘They think Dahlmann wrote it,’ Emma explained.

  ‘Dahlmann?’ Anita repeated.

  ‘Walter Georg Dahlmann.’

  Anita’s eyes grew big and round. ‘The double murderer from Dalen?’

  ‘You know of him?’

  ‘Yes, for fuck’s sake. It’s a few years ago now but everybody remembers him, don’t they? Wollan did a major write-up about him a year ago, in connection with a retrial application.’ Anita stood up. ‘Does anyone else have this?’ she demanded.

  ‘No, but we can’t write about it.’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

 
‘Not yet at least,’ Emma said. ‘My source has already been taken off the case. I don’t want to create even more problems for him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Emma. We’ve got the scoop of the year here!’

  ‘I know,’ Emma said, nodding. ‘But it’s complicated.’

  Anita sat down again. ‘Are you sleeping with him?’

  The question gave Emma quite a jolt. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Are you sleeping with your source?’

  ‘No, no, it’s not like that. It’s more complicated. Anyway, the whole story has come very close to home now.’

  Anita cursed again. ‘Do they think you’re number three?’ she asked. ‘That you’re the next victim?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Emma replied, packing away her laptop.

  Anita grabbed her coffee cup but discovered it was empty. ‘But we must have first dibs on this,’ she said, putting down her cup. ‘You have to make sure of that. And you’ll have to speak to Wollan so he can prepare a story about Dahlmann. He’s got lots of background info on him.’

  Emma nodded without really knowing how she could ensure exclusive rights. She really had enough on her plate dealing with her own fears. It made no sense for Walter Georg Dahlmann to come after her, given that he’d warned her about what was going to happen. But it was impossible to rid herself of the anxiety.

  Getting to her feet again, Anita headed for the coffee machine and took a clean cup.

  ‘Phone a psychologist,’ she said.

  Emma looked blankly at her.

  ‘We must have something in print,’ Anita went on, as she inserted a coffee capsule. ‘Get a psychologist to say something about what kind of man the police are searching for. After all, you have the solution now. You can actually make something sensible out of it, something that fits Dahlmann.’

  The coffee machine had finished. Anita handed her the cup.

  ‘But you’re going nowhere until after three o’clock.’

  52

  The reek of gunpowder hung like a cloud in the air.

  Blix followed the shooting instructor’s orders – emptied his gun and checked it before pulling the ear protectors down around his neck and squinting at the target at the opposite end of the room. It looked like an excellent collection of shots.