– Sounds like a nice cosy world.
Roar spread other pictures of the victim out across the desk. – They’ve had around twenty murders related to these gangs since 2005 down there. Only a couple of those cases are regarded as being closed, and even those have left a lot of questions unanswered.
– Probably not easy to get people to come forward.
– Anyone who breaks the code of silence lives the rest of their life with a death-sentence hanging over them.
– So Ibro Hakanovic’s murder was a revenge killing?
– It’s not unlikely. But there may also be other explanations. He leaned back in his chair. – One of the informants claims that Ibro planned to start up on his own.
– Self-employment.
– Exactly. He worked for years as an enforcer. He might have come to Norway to start his own drug-smuggling network. There’s talk of cocaine taking a new route to Oslo via Lithuania and Stockholm. The old Copenhagen–Malmö route is so well known, and it’s swarming with undercover operatives, take my word for it.
– This guy was going behind someone’s back. And so one of his own took him out.
– Possibly. But not definitely. Practically all the murders in recent years have been carried out using firearms. Even the few that weren’t don’t resemble this. He nodded at the pictures on the desk. – Could be we’re dealing with a newly formed gang. Maybe someone Ibro Hakanovic started working with. Or else he’s strayed on to their patch. Directly before the bodies were found, the police were called to a disturbance in a nearby park, a knife fight. There could be a connection.
– They don’t know?
– By the time they arrived, those involved were gone. Just a few splashes of blood left.
Jennifer flicked her hair back. – All of this strengthens Arash’s case.
Roar Horvath rubbed his cheeks with both hands. – That’s in no small measure due to you, Jenny. It seems highly probable that someone up there in the forest took a shot at him.
– After killing Marita Dahl. Might she have any connection with these Malmö gangs?
– We’re following that up. So far we’ve found nothing to indicate that is the case.
Roar Horvath sat looking at her. Jennifer crossed one leg over the other, looked out the window.
– I was lying there thinking last night, she said, realising she had to choose her words with care. – If Marita Dahl had her throat cut by someone who knew exactly how Ibro Hakanovic was killed …
– I can see where you’re going.
– Arash was interrogated here on Friday night. If someone who works here had access to that interrogation … I’m guessing, of course, but Arash might have mentioned something about Marita. Maybe this policeman read the report.
– Naturally we have considered that.
– Could be you’re extra-cautious when you’re dealing with a colleague. That would be only natural. Doctors protect each other, it’s pure instinct. Policemen too. It’s inevitable in professions exposed to risk.
Still a pang in her chest every time she thought of her meeting with that policeman by the stream in the forest.
– Does Dahl have an alibi?
Roar Horvath scratched the side of his neck with his index finger. She was deep inside investigator territory and wasn’t expecting an answer, but he said: – He was at a shooting-club meet up in Nes.
– Well that isn’t far away.
– He’s been interviewed at length. Every detail of his account will be checked and double checked. Don’t worry about it, Jenny.
– Is he left handed?
Roar Horvath spread his hands, and she didn’t pursue it.
– What are you going to do with Arash? she asked instead.
– The charges will probably be dropped in the course of the day.
– Are you going to release him straight back on to the streets?
– We’re still deciding what to do.
– He’s been in close proximity to two murders. He might be in danger. He saw the person who killed Marita Dahl.
Roar Horvath thought about this. – Masked, if we believe what he says. But there is another possibility here.
Jennifer nodded. – It could be Marita was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
– You lay awake a long time last night, I can see that. You’ve really been thinking about this.
Again she blushed. – Well, Arash spoke to Ibro Hakanovic at the hospital. He might have found something that … He should definitely have protection.
– We’ll try to get him admitted to a psychiatric wing. Whatever else, he needs treatment.
The sudden concern didn’t sound convincing.
– Damn, I forgot the coffee, he said.
– Don’t worry about it. I won’t be staying long.
There was no stopping him; he was already on his feet. Pepsi jumped up and followed him. With a mixture of hand signals and verbal threats he persuaded the dog to lie down by the window again.
– She can’t bear being left on her own, he sighed. – Usually my mother looks after her during the day, but she’s going away.
He’d mentioned something about moving back in to his childhood home. Back to Mum, thought Jennifer, and felt an unexpected surge of sadness.
– If I leave her at home, there’s not a single chair left in one piece, chewed to bits, stuffing all over the place. Not to mention shoes. She’s a shoe fetishist.
– This is your mother you’re talking about?
He laughed loudly as he disappeared out into the corridor. He wasn’t gone more than twenty seconds. The coffee didn’t look any worse than what she herself usually served at work. He carried a plate of biscuits, too. All that’s missing is a glass of wine, she thought with a shiver.
– And now the other reason I asked you to come in, he said, and it occurred to her that it might be about that glass of wine. – We need to go through that evening at the hospital one more time.
– Sounds like a good idea, she said, relieved.
– Don’t you think it’s odd that no one saw the bed with Hakanovic in it being taken down to the basement?
– Apparently it was the usual hell on earth that evening. People running round in all directions.
– I realise that. But we need to check everything on the timeline, who the patient was in contact with, whether anyone saw or heard anything we don’t know about.
She knew what he was going to ask her about.
– In which case someone needs to go through the journals and all that. Confidential material. I thought you might be in a position to help us there.
– So that’s why you’re spoiling me like this, she said, glancing at the mug of coffee and the plate of biscuits.
– Of course. No such thing as a free lunch, he added.
She had to laugh. Knew at once that she would say yes. – I’ll go through the journal notes. If the hospital authorities allow it.
– Brilliant, he exclaimed.
– I can also talk to the people who were on duty that evening. Not question them, just find out if there’s anything related to the journals.
– I don’t know how many times I’ve told you this, Jenny. The police force missed out on a first-rate detective in you. It’s good that we can make use of you now and then.
She wished there had been a little more irony in his voice. He had changed, it struck her. Or pretended to have. Once she had been convinced that at heart people didn’t change. But she had to admit that she had done so herself. And maybe it was everything she no longer was, and didn’t want to be reminded of, that became so oppressive when Roar Horvath looked at her. Of any feelings she might have had for him, only the embarrassing ones remained.
– Actually there was something I wanted to show you, he said suddenly. – Some video sent to us from Malmö. Including footage from a CCTV camera close to the crime scene.
He leaned over the desk, switched on the computer. – Take a look at this.
A black-and-white image appeared on the screen. He pressed a key and the image began to move.
– The killing happened mid-morning. Not as many people around as later in the day. That makes it easier to sort out whatever might be relevant.
The film cut between several camera angles. People passing by wearing summer clothing. An elderly woman with a shopping trolley, a young woman with two kids in tow. A tallish figure, seen from behind, dark coveralls, head hooded in a balaclava.
– Not your average morning outfit, said Jennifer as she leaned closer to the screen.
– Notice the way he walks.
He ran the film again, this time in slow motion, and then again at normal speed.
– Slight limp in the left leg, said Jennifer.
– That’s what we’ve been wondering about. What can you tell us about the possible causes of that?
She studied the sequence a couple more times. – She isn’t dragging her foot.
– She?
Jennifer frowned. – Isn’t that a woman?
– That’s what we think. Roar Horvath pointed to a document on the desk. – The skin cells under Ibro Hakanovic’s nails are from a woman.
– Really?
– According to the DNA. Double X, which is what you have and I don’t.
– Well I presume so, said Jennifer, deep in thought. – Until proven otherwise. But he might have scratched someone prior to being admitted to hospital.
– All the signs are that he scratched the person who killed him. Possibly as his throat was being cut.
He fell silent, which annoyed her. It was as though he was hoping to excite her curiosity.
– We sent the profile to Malmö.
– And they found a match?
– Not there, but they’ve been on to Europol and they have two different crime scenes with matching DNA. Hamburg and Cologne. We’re talking about four murders around the turn of the century.
– None solved?
– Contract killings. Professionals.
– Who nevertheless leave evidence behind?
He shrugged. – If you kill enough people, that’s probably unavoidable.
– Arash is innocent.
She said it as though she had believed it all along.
Roar Horvath thought about it. – In some way or other he is involved. But for the time being we don’t know how.
Once again he brought the figure up on the screen, the head and back, the five-second walk before it disappeared around a corner. Then he fast-forwarded, paused. Another camera. The person in the coveralls approaching.
– That’s her, said Jenny.
The person was no longer wearing a balaclava but now had a cap pulled down low over the forehead.
– No doubt about it.
– You need to ask an orthopaedic surgeon or a neurologist about that limp, but my guess would be that the person has a hip injury. Jennifer pointed. – The way the pelvis jerks upwards.
She took a couple of paces towards the door, demonstrating what she meant. – It doesn’t look like paralysis.
– Fresh injury?
Jennifer had to smile. – You’re looking for half-educated guesses, I can see that. But no, she’s probably had that for a while. It takes time to learn to walk as fluently as that with a hip injury.
The film continued. As Roar Horvath was exiting it, Jennifer exclaimed: – What’s that?
He opened the file again, navigated back through it.
– They sent us almost an hour, from three different cameras.
Jennifer leaned forward and stared at the screen. The young man wearing a T-shirt and knee-length shorts appeared and hurried by, his face half turned away. It took just a couple of seconds.
Roar Horvath ran the sequence again. – Someone you know?
That powerful build, the way of running, the short haircut. She knew it before Roar Horvath paused the film and zoomed in, before she could make out the picture of Ayers Rock on the front of the T-shirt.
She forced herself to shake her head. – He looked like someone … It isn’t him.
But that was exactly who it was. Suddenly the smell of Roar Horvath’s aftershave became so oppressive she had to turn away.
– I’ve got a lunch appointment, she said, more quickly than she ought to have. – I’ll go through those journals as soon as I can, be in touch.
– Jenny, there’s something I’ve been thinking about.
She looked at her watch, put her hand on the doorknob.
– One of these days, maybe we could go out for a drink.
– No thanks, she said, much too loudly, her voice somewhere between a groan and a yell.
She went out into the corridor, on down the stairs, out through reception, four or five people waiting there. She could still see that image of Sigurd as it flickered by, wearing the T-shirt she had given him, the one she’d been so proud to see him wearing.
Roar Horvath followed her. She stopped outside in the car park.
– I never managed to tell you, Jenny. What happened that time. It wasn’t very nice of me.
He’d dumped her. These things happened. She was upset for three days. Then relieved.
– Think about it, he said. – We could talk. That’s all.
– All right, she said. – I’ll think about it.
35
Katja lay on the bed, eyes closed, her face in the pale light from the window glistening with sweat. She might have been asleep, but she tossed uneasily, whimpering now and then. Sigurd turned away, peered out through a gap between the curtains, pressed his hand against his damp bandage. On the drive back from Svinesund she hadn’t given a proper answer to any of his questions. Had talked incoherently about people he didn’t know, wailed, wept, pleaded with him, as though she thought he might throw her out of the car.
Late that night they had taken a room at a hotel near Bislett stadium. The car was up at Fagerborg, the GPS transmitter transferred to the wheel arch of a car with Polish number plates. It had pulled into a petrol station near Sarpsborg, coming from the north and heading south. It would be some time before their pursuers realised. Sigurd had no idea what to do with that time. He stood by the window and sifted through his thoughts. Was still standing there when she said his name in the half-dark.
– You didn’t leave?
– No, he answered. – I didn’t leave.
She lifted her arm, as though there was no strength in it. He went over, stood beside the bed.
– I’ve got you, she said as she took hold of his hand. – Do you know?
– Know what?
– What you mean to me?
He thought of something. – Your phone. I found it.
He pulled away, opened the side pocket of his bag, handed it to her.
She looked at it. – You knew where it was all the time, didn’t you?
He gave a non-committal grunt, but she let it drop.
When he came back from the toilet, she was still lying there looking at it.
– He called me, she said quietly. – Ibro called me and left a message.
– Is that unusual?
– He called me from the hospital.
– You told me that.
– He called me on this phone, too. She waved the one Sigurd had hidden. – Afterwards.
She picked up the new one, looked from one screen to the other.
– I presume you told him that phone was missing?
She nodded.
– Then why would he ring you on that one?
– I don’t know.
– What does he say?
She glanced up at him,
– I can’t bear to listen. I’m deleting this message. She started to fiddle with the keys.
– Christ, you mustn’t do that.
He grabbed it off her. Her pupils expanded; she lowered her head
as though she was about to go for him, then she collapsed.
Sigurd scrolled down the list. What she said was right: a call from Ibro on Saturday, two minutes past midnight. The call on the new phone was more than an hour and a half earlier.
He called the answering machine: fourteen new messages. The first, from Vanessa, he clicked past. The next three as well.
The fifth message was from Ibro. Sigurd put the phone on speaker.
Katja.
She gave a start at the sound of the voice, stared at it as though it were communicating from the beyond. Sigurd squatted by the bed. She bit her lip; he could see she was struggling to hold back the tears.
Katja … something’s happened.
The voice sounded drowsy. Not just drowsy; he had to be drunk, or stoned. So out of it he was calling her on a phone she no longer had.
But you mustn’t let them—
Katja shut off the recording. – I don’t want to hear any more.
– What do you mean?
– Surely you understand. He’s dead.
– Hell, Katja, maybe he’s saying something about what happened.
– I know who they are.
Sigurd eased on to the side of the bed, wincing with pain. – If he gives the names, the police will have to do something.
– You listen, she mumbled.
He navigated back to the message.
You’re the only one who knows where the proof is … I can prove … Katja, you must fetch them. She can’t—
Katja covered her face with her hands. – Turn it off.
Sigurd shushed her. The voice grew even more slurred. Again something about proof, and some names. One of them repeated; it sounded like Ludmilla something or other. Golobova maybe. And then Katja’s name, repeated several times; it sounded like a prayer, directed at her. She curled into a ball, squeezed the pillow as though it were a child she was protecting, and at that moment he could have stroked her hair, lain on the bed beside her and held her tight. But he didn’t lift his hand; instead, he turned away.
Certain Signs that You are Dead Page 26