The Hunting Dogs

by Jorn Lier Horst

  ‘… he had a foul smell, of smoke, though something else as well. I’ve seen him before.’

  He stopped and rewound it again.

  ‘I’ve seen him before.’

  The sentence was familiar, but had taken new meaning. They had never succeeded in proving any connection between Cecilia Linde and Rudolf Haglund. Not a single one of the documents on the table suggested any point of intersection between their lives. He had thought the comment might mean she had spotted him on one of her runs, and perhaps Rudolf Haglund had even kept an eye on her as he planned the abduction. However, it might also mean that Cecilia Linde’s murderer occupied a position somewhere in her social circle.

  25

  Among the contents of the cardboard box was an unfiled, stapled sheaf of papers, a printout from a database containing an overview of everyone involved, with each name allocated a reference. Thus it was a simple matter to find someone when the name appeared again. It also simplified the checking of named tip-offs.

  There was no corresponding method for discovering which police personnel had been involved and what actions they had taken. Any one of them could have let themselves into the crime lab and exchanged evidence item A-3. If Wisting included cleaning, canteen, janitorial, civilian and other office staff, there were more than seventy people with access to the police station by means of an admittance card and personal code. All such ingress was stored in a computer system. The information would still be available but sorting would be a hopeless task. The exchange could have taken place at any time in the course of the three days Rudolf Haglund was held in custody, or it could have happened on any of the following days before Finn Haber sent the cigarette butts off for analysis.

  Of the seventy members of staff, only twenty worked in the criminal investigation department. The enquiry had occurred during the general holiday period when a couple of detectives had been abroad. Of the eighteen who turned up, twelve became directly involved. If any of them had a motive to falsify the evidence it was reasonable to assume it would be someone in contact with Rudolf Haglund. Wisting was the person who had spent most time with him, but there were others.

  Working methodically, he placed the red ring binder marked Accused in front of him. It contained everything concerning Rudolf Haglund.

  At the very front was a list of personal details. Wisting himself had filled out the spaces on the standard form during the first interview. In addition to his name, date of birth, address and phone number, the report contained information about his employer, job title, income, education, qualifications, and a list of convictions.

  The next document was a decision in pursuance of the Criminal Procedure Act §175 regarding the arrest of Rudolf Haglund. The actual sheet of paper was still called a blue form because, prior to the introduction of computers in police matters, the police lawyer recorded the decision on a blue sheet of paper. The document was stamped and signed by Police Prosecutor Audun Vetti and dealt with the formalities and basis for the arrest, though it did not contain any information about the actual case.

  The blue form was accompanied by a separate document entitled Report on Prisoner in Custody. This too was a standard form containing information about the case, the time and place of the arrest, the name of the prisoner, where he was being transferred and which police lawyer had instructed that he be held in custody.

  Nils Hammer and Frank Robekk were the arresting officers.

  In the corner cabinet, Wisting found a writing pad and ballpoint pen. He clenched his teeth and drummed the pen on the blank sheet. His intention was to draw up a list of his colleagues who had been in direct contact with Rudolf Haglund. Clicking the pen a couple of times, he noted the first two names before leafing further through the folder. The next document was a report detailing the search and seizure of belongings. The items in Haglund’s possession when he was arrested were: a wallet, keys, pocketknife and tobacco. This report had been written by Nils Hammer.

  There were three reports concerning the investigations carried out at Haglund’s smallholding in Dolven. The first was a report about a fruitless search with dogs. The next described the crime scene technicians’ unproductive examinations led by Finn Haber. The third was a tactical search led by Nils Hammer. They had seized foreign porn magazines and films with titles such as Teenager and Preteens, as well as sado-masochistic journals. These confirmed Haglund’s sexual preferences and underpinned their belief that he was the right man.

  There then followed the interviews that Wisting himself had written in ink, interspersed with reports about how Haglund was transported between the police station and the remand cell at the prison, and how he had been given a medical examination.

  The list of names lengthened. It included retired police officers, detectives who had left the service and applied for jobs in the private sector, or had been employed in the Økokrim police financial branch or Kripos, the national criminal investigation section. Of all the names listed, only Nils Hammer was still working in the local department.

  Wisting ran his eye up and down the list. They were all experienced, competent and dependable people. Many of them had been excellent role models for him and trusted colleagues, such as Frank Robekk.

  Each time he came across one of the names, he placed a vertical line to its right on the pad. One name stood out: Nils Hammer. The numbers spoke for themselves. In the material, there were twenty-three intersections between Nils Hammer and Rudolf Haglund. Next on the list was himself with seventeen meetings, followed by Finn Haber with twelve.

  Leaning back, he lifted his eyes to the window. Outside, the sky was even darker, and a cargo ship was journeying westwards. He trusted Nils Hammer, who had taken Frank Robekk’s place. There was a certain security in having Hammer on an investigation team. Wisting could always rely on the tasks he assigned being accomplished in the fastest possible time. Again, Hammer was not an adherent of formalities. Some of his effectiveness was due to his ability to take shortcuts across the rules, and he could be extremely creative in the context of an investigation.

  All the same, the list facing him was nothing more than data open to interpretation. The result could just as easily be a consequence of Nils Hammer’s commitment and willingness to take on work-related tasks. He clicked his pen another couple of times before obliterating the whole list. He needed to find a different approach, but for now had no idea what that might be.

  26

  Around two o’clock, the rain stopped, but low clouds still hung heavy in the sky. The sea was the colour of slate and capped with waves of foam. Wisting took his phone with him onto the verandah. He could hear the steady sound of water dripping from the trees, and somewhere a bird chirping.

  A long list of unanswered calls awaited. His father had phoned twice. There were unknown numbers, probably news editors. Nils Hammer’s name appeared halfway down the list, and he had left a message on voicemail. Possibly news of the missing girl on what would be called the Linnea case if she did not turn up safe and well. The message was brief. He simply wanted Wisting to know that he was there for him, should he need anything. He had also spoken to their trade union leader who had offered to cover legal costs if it came to that.

  He deleted the message and called his father, who could not hide his upset. The old man spoke rapidly, his pitch rising as he spoke. ‘I knew it would be bad, but not as awful as this,’ the old man said. ‘You are being pilloried, pure and simple. Prejudged. And this Audun Vetti …’ He almost spat out the name. ‘Nothing but legal procedure.’

  Wisting peered indoors at the case documents spread across the coffee table as he spoke to his father, explaining the background to the newspaper headlines, confirming that someone really had faked evidence. He did not have to confirm that he was not the culprit.

  Afterwards, he keyed in Suzanne’s number, told her what had happened and what he thought. Suzanne seemed distant and preoccupied. He could hear her moving glasses and plates around, and the noise made by the café dishwasher
. ‘How are things with you?’ he asked.

  She explained that there were fewer customers than usual, and the way she said this made it sound as though she blamed him. They exchanged a few insignificant pleasantries until some customers approached the counter and she had to round off the conversation. Click and empty silence.

  He stood motionless, with the mobile phone in his hand, recalling a conversation of last autumn.

  He had guested on a talk show, discussing the discovery of a dead body in the programme host’s summer cottage. The celebrity had persuaded him to say more than he had intended about things he normally did not reveal to anyone: the dangers of the job, how he had risked his life several times, even about the time he had been forced to kill someone in the line of duty. Before the camera’s gaze, he described how he had already planned his own funeral, including that the service should open with the hymn Where Roses Never Die.

  Strange to hear himself speak about such things; it had been alienating for Suzanne. ‘I don’t like the way you put yourself and your work above your nearest and dearest. I need to feel secure around the man I live with. Even when we’re not actually together. How can I feel safe when I hear what goes on in your work? I can’t relax when you’re not at home. Every single night I wonder whether that will be the one you don’t come home. That you’ve gone too far by placing a case about strangers above yourself and your family.’

  Stuffing the mobile into his pocket he returned inside, sat in the armchair and drew the black ring binder towards him, the so-called null and void documents. The folder was divided into five sections, five theories for the Cecilia case that had been put aside the moment Rudolf Haglund’s name cropped up.

  First the ransom theory. Kidnapping and demands for money were not matters they had a great deal of experience with at the police station, but it was one of the first ideas to be discussed with Nora and Johannes Linde. One month prior to the abduction, Finansavisen, the financial newspaper, published an overview of Norway’s wealthiest families, and the Lindes were accorded ninth place. Their business and personal lives were splashed across two pages, accompanied by a photograph of their beautiful country estate on the Vestfold coast, a feature that could have encouraged exactly this type of crime.

  Both parents had been insistent that they wanted to pay if any ransom demand arrived, but agreed for the police to supervise. Every hour that passed without the kidnappers making contact, however, diminished their hopes of buying Cecilia’s return.

  The next theory was also linked to Johannes Linde’s business activities. Linde had established the firm called Canes in partnership with Richard Kloster. Kloster had been bought out of the business six months before the first successful fashion collection was launched, and had taken legal proceedings against the Linde company. This had to do with ownership and rights to product names. Richard Kloster was already being investigated for tax evasion, and reports were circulating about possible money laundering. This theory had the kidnappers located in Richard Kloster’s circle, and that Linde already knew what he had to do to free his daughter.

  They had induced Økokrim to re-order their priorities in the case and draw up a charge against Kloster supplying grounds for search and seizure of his property. In conjunction with the financial investigators, they had scoured his home, his cottage, his yacht and all the other places where he spent time, without finding anything suspicious.

  Frank Robekk had been responsible for the third theory: The burglary.

  When the Linde family moved to their summerhouse at the end of June, they discovered that there had been a break-in. Frank Robekk was assigned responsibility for checking any connection between the break-in and the disappearance three weeks later.

  The burglar had entered through a window in Cecilia’s room, and it did not seem that he had been anywhere other than her room. An intruder alarm was installed in the public rooms of the house, but did not seem to have been activated. It did not appear that anything had been stolen. Cecilia thought a sweater might be missing, but she had so many that she could not be absolutely certain. The break-in was never cleared up.

  The fourth proposal concerned Cecilia’s boyfriend, the photographer Danny Flom, since violent crimes are often carried out by someone close to the victim. Nils Hammer had been assigned to this.

  Wisting was never entirely able to figure out Danny Flom. Two years older than Cecilia, he had worked as a freelance photographer for a number of media bureaux. They had met two years earlier on a photoshoot for one of Linde’s collections. When Wisting cast his mind back, it struck him that Danny Flom reminded him of Tommy Kvanter, Line’s former boyfriend. A man who very obviously had a dark as well as a light side. Flom had years of practice in hiding his dark side, but Wisting recognised an expression that occasionally crossed his face. In general he was pleasant and forthcoming, with something almost bohemian about him that was alien to the streamlined lifestyle of the Lindes. Cecilia’s parents described him as entertaining, charming and cheerful, but they had also experienced his mood swings, sides of him that Cecilia was blind to. It was obvious that Johannes Linde in particular was not especially keen on the relationship.

  His record showed no previous convictions. He had been fined a couple of times for smoking hash, and one allegation of assault had been dropped after the accusation was withdrawn. They had also discovered another woman, a female photographer who had accompanied him on a work-related trip shortly after he and Cecilia met. He had confirmed the relationship when they confronted him, but maintained that it had only been a brief fling, and that Cecilia knew about it. The woman involved had given a matching explanation.

  What was certain was that Danny Flom’s influence on Cecilia had been enormous, and that had suggested a fourth theory: Staging. In other countries the police had experienced daughters of wealthy men staging their own abduction with their boyfriends to obtain money for a new life, free from her parents. This theory was never actively worked on.

  The fifth theory was called the List Project, simply that Cecilia Linde had been abducted by person or persons unknown.

  Pursuing an unknown perpetrator was one of the most demanding of all tasks, and no shortcuts could be taken. In such cases, quality of information mattered as much as quantity. They had to make a broad sweep in an effort to chart all movement along the route Cecilia had probably taken, and identify everyone then present in the vicinity. The result was an extremely long list of names that could be divided by gender and age, sorted and ranked by domicile, hair colour, clothing, sometimes vehicle, smoker/non-smoker, right-handed/left-handed.

  Lists. Lengthy boring lists of things that probably would never lead anywhere but in the end, it could be statistical trains of thought that provided the solution. In the Cecilia case, the list of names was compared with the register of owners of white Opel Rekords and a list of men previously convicted of sex crimes.

  It was like trailing a fishing net behind a boat, trawling the waters with no discrimination about what was caught. This was how they had found Rudolf Haglund, but the net they had used was coarse-meshed, and the likelihood that something or someone had slipped through was high.

  Wisting leaned back in his seat. It might be worthwhile now, seventeen years after the events, to run through the lists again. They had already searched back in time to see if anything existed on the listed persons’ records. The thinking being that the kidnapper might have done something similar before. Again, if they had captured the wrong man, he might have done something similar in later years.

  He let the pages slip through his fingers. Without access to the police computer systems this was a dead end.

  27

  Line drew the curtains of her hotel room and pulled off her winter boots. Desperate for sleep, she sat at the desk and picked up the model car she had found outside Jonas Ravneberg’s house. The plate underneath told her it was a 1955 Cadillac. The numbers 1:43 probably referred to the size ratio between the model car and the real vehicle. Sh
e opened the doors and squinted inside before replacing it on the desktop.

  While in the café, she had compiled a bullet point list of actions, starting with the murder victim’s mobile phone. It could have led the police to Jonas Ravneberg’s house ahead of her, she thought, but she also knew that the first police patrol on the scene had concentrated on securing the site, leaving the investigation to the experienced crime scene technicians who would be called out from their homes. When they arrived, the methodical and laborious work had begun, in which the chief rule was to do nothing in a hurry.

  She produced her own phone and adjusted the settings to hide caller ID before tapping in the eight-digit number listed as unregistered in the police report. The first two numbers were six and nine, indicating the subscriber’s domicile as Fredrikstad. She let it ring until the line disconnected automatically.

  In her experience, some people did not answer their phone if the call came from a withheld number, so she reactivated caller ID and made a fresh attempt, opening her laptop as it rang. She trusted the police report, but checked the number herself to be on the safe side. The phone rang out a second time.

  It was unproblematic for the police to discover the identity of an ex-directory subscriber, but they were probably at the mercy of Telenor’s office hours. The report had been written at 03.40, during the night, and the officer who had checked the number had most likely chosen to leave it for others to obtain the supplementary information.

  Eleven minutes after the call from the unregistered number, Jonas Ravneberg had phoned Directory Enquiries. Then he had called the duty lawyer.

  Line phoned the same number. Fairly early in her career as a crime journalist she had, to her surprise, discovered that some lawyers could be extremely forthcoming, even referring to criminal case documents they had received from the police. After a while she had realised there was an expectation of returning the favour. The majority of defence lawyers and their clients, sooner or later, found themselves in the media’s glare.