by Thomas Enger
Fosse coughed into his palm. ‘The chief of police will never comply with a madman’s demands,’ he concluded. ‘I agree with Wibe, and what I’m about to say may sound cynical, but to my mind Sonja Nordstrøm was already dead on the second day with no sign of life. I’ve no intention of letting a murderer have his bloody finale with the whole world watching. We’re not broadcasting that link.’
‘We run the risk of him broadcasting it himself regardless,’ Abelvik pointed out.
‘Yes we do,’ Fosse said. ‘But we have no influence over that, unless we can locate him.’
Fosse looked at his watch.
‘We’ve ten hours at our disposal,’ he said. ‘And the clock is ticking. There must be something we can do, wouldn’t you say?’
65
Blix was too restless to sit inside the police station looking over Krohn’s shoulder. Kovic felt the same.
They took a patrol car and drove up to Nydalen to pay a visit to a pizza restaurant there.
The phone call to the Trinity Church had been made at 11.47 on Monday morning – almost a week ago now. It had been traced to the restaurant in Gullhaug Torg. The waiter who’d let the perpetrator use the restaurant phone had been tracked down, but could only recollect that the man had tossed a few coins into the tips jar on the counter before asking if he could make a quick call. He couldn’t give any description. The technicians had also been to the restaurant but their search had proved fruitless.
It was easier to find parking round here in the middle of the night rather than when he’d come to see Iselin in the TV studio, which was just around the corner. An enormous production bus was now parked outside the anonymous building where his daughter was housed. The Justice Department was situated only a stone’s throw further back, and there were various commercial premises in the area.
‘What are you hoping to find?’ Kovic asked.
Blix gave a shrug. ‘I just wanted to look around,’ he said. ‘Try to envisage him as he walks into the restaurant. See where he might have come from, and where he went afterwards.’
They sauntered up to the restaurant. Blix cupped his hands against the glass of the door and peered inside. He could see the phone on the wall at the end of the counter; it would be out of earshot for a busy waiter.
Two customers who’d also been in the restaurant when the call was made had been traced through their bankcard details. Neither of them could recall a customer using the phone.
‘It was a calculated risk,’ Kovic said. ‘He knew we would trace the phone call and made sure he didn’t do anything to make himself memorable.’
Blix turned around and surveyed the area. Apart from a taxi pulling out, the area was deserted, but 11.47 a.m. was lunchtime for most people. There could have been hundreds of witnesses seeing the man entering and leaving the pizza restaurant. There were also several schools in Nydalen, and a new block of flats was nearby, not to mention the busy subway station.
‘Also, he must have known there was no CCTV coverage here,’ Kovic added.
Blix stood staring at the subway station entrance. ‘What’s the next stop?’ he asked.
Kovic gave this some thought. ‘Ullevål and Blindern,’ she said, using a head movement to indicate west. ‘Storo and Sinsen to the east.’
‘The woman with nine lives,’ Blix said, ‘Mona Kleven. She was knocked down by the train at Sinsen, two stops from here.’
‘And after the shooting at Stortinget station, the perpetrator also disappeared into the subway,’ Kovic nodded. ‘He probably did the same after killing the pastor. It’s a kind of common denominator.’
Blix turned to face the TV headquarters again, where his daughter was being filmed 24/7.
‘If he uses the subway,’ Blix said, ‘maybe we can track him using CCTV footage. See where he gets on, and where he gets off. Link it up with his use of Viking Willy’s Audi. We can circle in and come a bit closer to where he hides out. Where he’s keeping Nordstrøm.’
‘Time-consuming,’ Kovic commented, looking at her watch. ‘And we can’t make a start on it until the right people are at work.’
‘But it’s worth a try,’ Blix said. ‘Even if it doesn’t yield results before noon, it could still be useful.’
66
A feeling of not being alone jerked Emma from her doze. Startled, she sat bolt upright on the sofa.
Kovic stood in front of her. Emma brought her hands to her head to check her wig was still in place.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ the detective said. ‘Here. I brought you some food.’
Emma cleared her throat and nodded, needing a few seconds to compose herself. Kovic held a steaming cup in her hands as well as a plate with two slices of bread.
‘We don’t have much in the way of provisions here on a Saturday morning, but I took a chance that you like liver paté.’
She smiled gently as she placed the food and coffee down on a small table in front of the sofa.
‘Thanks,’ Emma said. ‘That’s very kind of you.’
She felt as if she’d been out on a drinking spree. Her body ached all over and her eyes were swollen.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, stretching out.
‘Soon be eight,’ Kovic said.
Emma had no idea when she had fallen asleep, but it couldn’t have been long ago.
‘How did it go last night?’ she asked, taking hold of the coffee cup.
‘I can’t say much,’ Kovic answered. ‘But there’s no news to tell.’
Nodding, Emma took a swig of coffee, surprised at how good it actually tasted.
‘I don’t suppose you would’ve been here if you’d found her in the course of the night,’ she said, studying the slices of bread. ‘Or Dahlmann, for that matter.’
Kovic smiled again, her eyes betraying her exhaustion.
Emma took a bite of one of the slices of bread; Kovic had placed a sliver of cucumber on top.
The investigator looked lost in thought for a few moments before she ventured: ‘Blix told me about … the two of you. What happened at Teisen.’
Emma stopped chewing for a second or two, but then resumed.
‘My father died when I was eleven,’ Kovic went on. ‘An accident at work. He fell from a ladder and hit his head on a rock.’
She shook her head slightly. Emma had no idea what to say.
‘He … I adored him,’ Kovic continued. ‘Every evening he used to take me down to the harbour at Trogir to swim. It was always the highlight of the day. Just him and me. And the water. The fish.’
She gave a dreamy smile. ‘Sometimes he brought something nice for us to enjoy afterwards too. Some fruit or … something.’
‘He sounds like a great dad,’ Emma said, swallowing.
‘He certainly was.’
Emma wondered where Kovic was heading with this conversation.
‘Statistics show that many people who have a hard time in life, whether they’re criminals or junkies or whatever, do so because they’re missing one or both parents. But you’ve done well. I’ve done well. Sometimes I wonder why things went so well for people like us, while others never climb out of the gutter.’
She seemed to ponder her own question for a moment. ‘Maybe it’s just down to luck,’ she said. ‘Or maybe it’s as simple as some people being born strong while others don’t have it in them.’
Emma thought about this for a few moments.
‘For me, everything changed when my grandfather died,’ she said. ‘He had hidden the fact that my grandmother had begun to suffer from dementia, but it became really clear afterwards, of course, when there was only my grandmother left to look after my sister and me. I realised that everything was no longer just about me.’
She paused for a second.
‘I could easily have ended up in the gutter if it hadn’t been for my grandfather having a heart attack.’
Kovic waited a little before saying: ‘Isn’t it strange that a death can both break you down but also build you
up?’
Emma had never thought of it in this way before, but didn’t take long to answer. ‘Yes, that’s true.’
The next minute, Blix came into the office. His movements suggested great haste. First he said hello to Emma, and then he addressed Kovic. ‘I need you. Right now.’
Kovic got to her feet.
‘Has something happened?’ Emma asked.
Blix didn’t reply.
Seconds later both investigators had dashed out of the office.
67
‘Good news from Krohn,’ Blix said to Kovic over his shoulder. ‘He got hold of his contact in Me2b, who has managed to get us an address. The live link is being sent from a farm outside Nannestad.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Not far from Jessheim.’
Kovic had to jog to keep up with him. ‘Is he sure?’ she asked.
‘As sure as he can be,’ Blix said. ‘Plus we’ve got good circumstantial evidence. I’ll explain in the car.’
‘Shouldn’t the emergency squad or whoever deal with this?’ Kovic asked.
‘We’re keeping a low profile,’ Blix told her. ‘Anyway, we don’t have time to waste asking them.’
Seconds later they were on their way.
The tiredness that had washed over Blix at daybreak had been blown away. All night long he had been checking tip-offs and poring over case papers, searching for any tiny detail they might have overlooked or not given enough attention. He had been on the point of losing hope.
Now it was back again.
‘What circumstantial evidence are we talking about?’ Kovic asked on the way down to the garage.
‘The farm is owned by a man in his eighties,’ Blix began. ‘But it’s his grandson who lives there now. He went to school with Walter Georg Dahlmann.’
‘Shit,’ Kovic said. ‘There just has to be a connection.’
Blix nodded as he settled in behind the steering wheel. Kovic fastened her seatbelt as the car shot out of the garage.
It was nearly 9.00 a.m. now, but there were few cars on the road. Grey weather, but no rain.
‘We can’t do this on our own,’ Kovic said.
‘A patrol from Romerike will meet us,’ Blix explained, handing her a note with the address of Jekkestad farm. ‘Wibe and Abelvik are following in an unmarked car.’
Kovic keyed the address into the GPS, which calculated it would take thirty-seven minutes to reach the farm. Blix planned to cut that time down drastically.
‘What’s his name?’ Kovic asked. ‘The schoolmate.’
‘Bjørn Helge Bergan.’
‘Criminal record?’
‘Yes, but nothing major. Drugs, mostly.’
‘Do you think he’s there?’
‘His mobile phone is, anyway,’ Blix told her, gripping the wheel more tightly. ‘A farm is actually the perfect spot. No neighbours in the immediate vicinity. Loads of space.’
In his mind’s eye, he pictured Sonja Nordstrøm’s wan face. The slow movements of her eyelids. How she had stared blankly into the distance.
The farm was not far from Oslo Gardermoen airport. Soon they turned off the E6 in that direction. Blix put his foot down and overtook all the cars he could. Even though he wasn’t using the blue light, most drivers dutifully pulled over on to the hard shoulder.
He rang Abelvik. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.
‘Seven or eight minutes away.’
‘OK. We’ll be there in five.’
A plane belonging to Norwegian airways was about to take off as Blix and Kovic passed the western runway. Only a few hundred metres further on, he turned off left at a roundabout and accelerated out on to the 120 road. They followed Nannestadveien and stopped at an intersection where a sign indicated Jekkestad. An unmarked car sat there waiting for them with the engine running. Blix nodded to the driver, who was in uniform.
They were surrounded by fields on all sides. One of them was newly mown, while another was green – as if it were springtime. A row of silage bales packed in white plastic was lined up outside one of the farms.
Blix and Kovic stepped out to meet the local officers, and swiftly brought them up to speed on the situation. When Wibe and Abelvik arrived a couple of minutes later, Blix quickly explained what he planned to do.
The tarmac road leading to Jekkestad farm twisted and turned through the landscape. The plan was simple: the other units were to park a short distance away, but move on foot around to the rear of the farmhouse so they had eyes on the whole site. Blix and Kovic would then drive straight into the farmyard and park outside the farmhouse. Permission had been granted for use of weapons.
Before they left the car, Blix took time to fill his lungs with air.
‘Nervous?’ he asked, glancing across at Kovic.
‘Extremely,’ she replied.
‘Good,’ Blix said, putting his hand on the door handle. ‘I wouldn’t want to work with anyone who isn’t nervous in these circumstances.’
Over the police radio they learned that Wibe, Abelvik and the two local officers were in position. Blix and Kovic clambered out and walked across to the big white farmhouse; a red-painted barn stood a short distance away. They saw a tractor parked outside it. A black cat crept through the grass, on the other side of the house. In the sky, birds flew in formation towards some distant destination.
‘Stay a bit behind me,’ Blix said as he rang the doorbell. They heard a ding-dong sound inside.
‘There’s a white delivery van at the back here,’ Wibe reported over the police radio. ‘I’ll call in the registration number.’
‘Copy,’ Blix murmured.
He heard no footsteps inside.
‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Kovic said. ‘Just like before we found Viking Willy.’
Blix also hoped they wouldn’t find yet another victim. He rang the doorbell again, holding his finger on the button for a long time before pressing it several times in rapid succession. Then he looked at his watch.
Two minutes to ten.
Still no sounds from inside. Blix made up his mind to give Bergan a call.
Taking out his mobile, he dialled the number. Seconds later he heard a faint, vibrating sound from somewhere inside the house. Blix let it continue to ring and pushed at the door.
It was open.
Blix announced over the police radio: ‘We’re going in.’
68
Once inside, Blix stopped and listened.
Teisen came flooding back: the silence. The lack of knowledge. The fear of what was ahead. The feeling of time working against him.
‘Aren’t you going to draw your gun?’ Kovic whispered just behind him.
After some hesitation, Blix quietly took out his pistol. Noticed how his muscles immediately tensed. He took a gulp of air. Raised his shoulders and quickly let them drop. He had to get his head straight. Think like a professional – search, evaluate, report, act.
Shoes were scattered all over the hallway floor. Muddy Wellington boots, filthy trainers. The stink of alcohol and stale smoke wafted towards them.
‘Bergan?’ Blix called out. ‘This is the police!’
No answer.
They moved steadily forwards. In the kitchen they found empty beer cans and booze bottles haphazardly strewn across a table; the occasional 1.5-litre soft-drink bottle – some empty, others with a few dregs left. Several pizza boxes were stacked on top of the cooker, the one on top open, with a few crusts and leftovers inside. Snuff pouches. Cigarette ash. A crumpled fag packet.
‘Bergan?’ Blix shouted again.
Now they heard movements from upstairs. Heavy footfall across the floor.
‘Who is it?’ they heard a sleepy voice yell.
‘It’s the police,’ Blix repeated.
‘The police?’
Blix and Kovic exchanged looks.
‘There’s no dope here now,’ the voice above them groaned. ‘I promise.’
‘We’re armed,’ Blix warned. ‘Come down and keep your ha
nds where we can see them.’
A number of seconds passed before they heard footsteps on the stairs. A man in his underpants descended with his hands above his head. His belly rolled down towards his crotch, and his hair was tousled and unkempt.
‘Bjørn Helge Bergan?’ Blix inquired with his gun pointed directly at him.
‘Yes. But why … what…?’
Blix returned his gun to its holster. Kovic followed suit.
‘Can you show us your computer equipment?’
‘Eh?’
‘You’ve got a computer, I assume? A Mac or something?’
‘Yes, yes, of course, but…’
‘Just show us it,’ Kovic said with her right hand resting on her pistol holster.
‘The office is over there,’ he said with a nod. ‘But what on earth do you want with my computer?’
Blix relayed on the police radio that the situation was under control and for Wibe and Abelvik to come to the farmhouse.
Bergan pointed at a T-shirt hanging over a chair. Kovic nodded. He pulled it on and ushered them into what he had described as an office but looked more like a storeroom. Boxes, bags, a vacuum cleaner, empty beer crates, a few rolled up maps. There was a bookcase with some magazines and a handful of paperbacks. A screen the size of a TV sat on a table beside the window. It was connected to a hard disk tower that sat on the floor beneath the table, along with a printer. Loudspeakers were placed either side of the screen.
‘I don’t understand why you’re so interested in my computer,’ Bergan said. ‘I only use it for gaming. And shopping on the net and whatever.’
Blix touched the computer mouse. A password dialogue box appeared.
‘Can you open it for us?’
‘Don’t think I really want to.’
Blix shot him an aggressive look. ‘Why not?’
They heard a noise at the front door, followed by shoes on the floor and Wibe’s voice identifying himself.
‘We’re in here!’ Kovic called out.
‘Do you have something to hide?’ Blix asked, taking a step closer to Bergan.