by Jo Nesbo
‘So you set a task that has no solution?’ Oleg said.
‘Not using the information provided,’ Harry said. ‘A taste of the future, if you really want to become detectives.’
‘So what should we do, then?’
‘Look for fresh information,’ Harry said. ‘Or put what you already know together in a different way. Often the solution is hidden in the information you already have.’
‘What about the vampirist case?’ Jesus asked.
‘Some fresh information. And some that was already there.’
‘Did you see what VG said today?’ Oleg asked. ‘That Lenny Hell instructed Valentin Gjertsen to kill women Hell was jealous about. Just like in Othello.’
‘Mm. I seem to remember you saying that the motive for murder in Othello wasn’t primarily jealousy, but ambition.’
‘Othello syndrome, then. By the way, it wasn’t Mona Daa who wrote it. It’s funny, but I haven’t seen anything written by her in ages.’
‘Who’s Mona Daa?’ Jesus asked.
‘The only crime reporter who got the whole picture,’ Oleg said. ‘A strange girl from up north. Goes to the gym in the middle of the night and wears Old Spice. So, tell us, Harry!’
Harry looked at the two eager faces in front of him. Tried to remember if he’d been that keen on the course when he was at Police College. Hardly. He was usually hung-over and couldn’t wait to get drunk again. These two were better. He cleared his throat. ‘OK. In that case, this is a lecture, and I must remind you that as police students you are under an oath of confidentiality. Understood?’
The pair of them nodded and leaned forward.
Harry leaned back. He wanted a smoke, and knew that cigarette outside on the steps was going to taste good.
‘We’ve been through Hell’s computer, and it’s all there,’ he said. ‘Plans of action, notes, information about the victims, information about Valentin Gjertsen, alias Alexander Dreyer, about Hallstein Smith, about me—’
‘About you?’ Jesus said.
‘Let him go on,’ Oleg said.
‘Hell wrote a manual about how to take impressions of the house keys of these women. He had discovered that on a Tinder date, eight out of ten women leave their bag at the table when they go to the toilet, and that most of them keep their keys in the little zipped compartment inside the bag. And that it takes on average fifteen seconds to make a wax impression of three keys, both sides, and that it’s easier to photograph the keys, but that for some types of keys a photograph isn’t enough to make a sufficiently accurate 3D file from which to produce copies using the 3D printer.’
‘Does that mean he knew he was going to feel jealous about them as early as the first date?’ Jesus asked.
‘In some cases, maybe,’ Harry said. ‘All he wrote was that when it was so simple, there was no reason not to make sure he had access to their homes.’
‘Creepy,’ Jesus whispered.
‘What made him pick Valentin, and how did he find him?’ Oleg asked.
‘Everything he needed was in the patient records he’d stolen from Smith. It said there that Alexander Dreyer was a man with such intense and detailed vampiristic fantasies of killing that Smith was considering trying to get him sectioned. The argument against was that Dreyer demonstrated a high degree of self-control, and lived such a well-ordered life. I assume that it was this combination of a desire to kill and self-control that made him the perfect candidate for Hell.’
‘But what did Hell have to offer Valentin Gjertsen?’ Jesus asked. ‘Money?’
‘Blood,’ Harry said. ‘Young, warm blood from female victims who couldn’t be linked to Alexander Dreyer.’
‘Murders in which there’s no obvious motive, and where the murderer hasn’t previously been in contact with the victims, are the worst ones to solve,’ Oleg said, as Jesus nodded. Harry recognised the quote from one of his own lectures.
‘Mm. The most important thing for Valentin was to keep his alias, Alexander Dreyer, away from the case. Together with his new face, it was that name which meant he was able to move about in public without being caught. He was less concerned about it coming out that Valentin Gjertsen was behind the murders. And of course in the end he was unable to resist the temptation to signal to us that he was the man behind the murders.’
‘To us,’ Oleg said. ‘Or to you?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Either way, it didn’t actually get us any closer to the man we’d been searching for all these years. He was able to just carry on following Hell’s directions, carry on killing. And it could be done safely, because Hell’s replica keys meant that Valentin could let himself into his victims’ homes.’
‘A perfect symbiosis,’ Oleg said.
‘Like the hyena and the vulture,’ Jesus whispered. ‘The vulture shows the hyena where to go by hovering over the wounded prey, and the hyena kills it. Food for both of them.’
‘So Valentin kills Elise Hermansen, Ewa Dolmen and Penelope Rasch,’ Oleg said. ‘But Marte Ruud? Did Lenny Hell know her?’
‘No, that was Valentin’s own work. And that was directed at me. He’d read in the papers that I had called him a wretched pervert, so he took someone who was close to me.’
‘Just because you called him a pervert?’ Jesus wrinkled his nose.
‘Narcissists love being loved,’ Harry said. ‘Or hated. Other people’s fear confirms and inflates their self-image. What they find insulting is to be ignored or belittled.’
‘The same thing happened when Smith insulted Valentin in the podcast,’ Oleg said. ‘Valentin saw red and set off at once to his farm to kill him. Do you think Valentin became psychotic? I mean, he’d managed to control himself for so long, and the first murders were cold, calculated acts. Whereas Smith and Marte Ruud were spontaneous reactions.’
‘Maybe,’ Harry said. ‘Or maybe he was just full of the self-confidence serial killers often get when their first murders are successful, making them think they can walk on water.’
‘But why did Lenny Hell commit suicide?’ Jesus asked.
‘Well,’ Harry said. ‘Suggestions?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Oleg said. ‘Lenny had planned the murder of women who had let him down and therefore deserved it, but now he was standing there with Marte Ruud’s and Mehmet Kalak’s blood on his hands. Two innocent people who had nothing to do with this. His conscience woke up. He couldn’t live with what he had caused to happen.’
‘Nope,’ Jesus said. ‘Lenny planned to kill himself right from the start, once the whole thing was over. These were the three women he wanted to kill, Elise, Ewa and Penelope.’
‘I doubt that,’ Harry said. ‘There were more women mentioned in Hell’s notes, and other replica keys.’
‘OK, what if he didn’t kill himself?’ Oleg said. ‘What if Valentin murdered him? They could have fallen out about the murders of Mehmet and Marte. Seeing as Lenny saw them as innocent victims. So maybe Lenny wanted to turn himself in to the police, and Valentin found out about that.’
‘Unless Valentin just got fed up with Lenny,’ Jesus said. ‘It’s not that unusual for hyenas to eat a vulture if it gets too close.’
‘The only fingerprints on the bolt gun are Lenny Hell’s,’ Harry said. ‘Obviously it’s possible that Valentin killed Lenny and tried to make it look like suicide. But why go to the trouble? The police have enough evidence against Valentin to put him away for life. And if Valentin was concerned about covering his tracks, he wouldn’t have left Marte Ruud in the cellar, or the computer and files that proved that he and Hell were working together upstairs.’
‘OK,’ Jesus said. ‘I agree with Oleg about the first part. Lenny Hell realised what he had allowed to happen and decided he couldn’t live with himself.’
‘You should never underestimate the first thing you think,’ Harry said. ‘That’s usually based on more information than you’re actually aware of. And the simplest solution is often the right one.’
‘But there’s one thing I don’
t understand,’ Oleg said. ‘Lenny and Valentin didn’t want to be seen together, fine. But why such a complicated system of handing things over? Couldn’t they just have met in one of their homes?’
Harry shook his head. ‘It was important to Lenny to keep his identity hidden from Valentin, seeing as the risk of Valentin being arrested was still pretty high.’
Jesus nodded. ‘And he was worried that Valentin would lead the police to him in order to get a reduced sentence.’
‘And Valentin definitely didn’t want to let Lenny know where he lived,’ Harry said. ‘One of the reasons Valentin was able to stay hidden for so long was that he was very careful about that.’
‘So the case is solved, no loose ends,’ Oleg said. ‘Hell committed suicide and Valentin kidnapped Marte Ruud. But have you got evidence to show that he was the one who killed her?’
‘Crime Squad thinks so.’
‘Because?’
‘Because they found Valentin’s DNA at Schrøder’s, and Marte’s blood in the boot of his car, and because they found the bullet she was shot in the stomach with. It had drilled its way into the brick wall in Hell’s cellar, and the angle in comparison to the position of the body showed that she was shot before she was hanged. The bullet came from the same Ruger Redhawk revolver Valentin had with him when he was planning to shoot Smith.’
‘But you don’t agree,’ Oleg said.
Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t I?’
‘When you say “Crime Squad thinks so”, that means you think otherwise.’
‘Hm.’
‘So what do you think?’ Oleg asked.
Harry ran one hand over his face. ‘I’m not sure it’s all that important who put her out of her misery. Because in this instance that’s exactly what it was. An act of deliverance. The mattress in the cage was teeming with DNA. Blood, sweat, semen, vomit. Some hers, some Lenny Hell’s.’
‘Oh God,’ Jesus said. ‘You mean Hell abused her too?’
‘There could even have been more of them.’
‘More than Valentin and Hell?’
‘There’s a water pipe above the stairs to the cellar. It’s impossible not to hit it if you don’t know it’s there. So I asked Bjørn Holm, our senior criminal forensics officer, to send me a list of everyone whose DNA was found on that pipe. Anything too old degrades, but he found seven unique profiles. As usual, we’d taken DNA samples from everyone working at the scene, and found matches for the local sheriff, his colleague, Bjørn, Smith and me, plus another member of crime-scene unit we didn’t manage to warn in time. But we couldn’t identify the seventh profile.’
‘So it wasn’t Valentin Gjertsen or Lenny Hell?’
‘No. All we know is that it’s a man, and he isn’t related to Lenny Hell.’
‘Could have been someone working there?’ Oleg said. ‘An electrician, a plumber, someone like that?’
‘True,’ Harry said, and his gaze fell on the copy of Dagbladet that lay open in front of him, and a portrait of Bellman, who was about to take over as Justice Minister. He read the caption again: ‘I’m particularly pleased that the persistence and tireless work of the police enabled us to find Marte Ruud. The family and the police both deserved that. And that makes it easier for me to leave my post as Police Chief.’
‘I have to go now, guys.’
They left Police College together and just as they were about to go their separate ways in front of Chateau Neuf Harry remembered the invitation.
‘Hallstein’s finished his vampirist dissertation, and the disputation is on Friday. We’ve been invited.’
‘Disputation?’
‘Oral exam with all your family and friends dressed up to the nines in the room,’ Jesus said. ‘Hard not to screw up.’
‘Your mum and I are going,’ Harry said. ‘I don’t know if you feel like it, or have time? Ståle’s one of his opponents.’
‘Wow!’ Oleg said. ‘Hope it’s not too early. I’m going to Ullevål on Friday.’
Harry frowned. ‘What for?’
‘It’s just Dr Steffens, he wants another blood sample. He says he’s researching a rare blood disorder called systemic mastocytosis, and that if that’s what Mum had, then her blood repaired itself.’
‘Mastocytosis?’
‘It’s caused by a genetic defect called c-kit mutation. It’s not hereditary, but Steffens is hoping that the substance in the blood that may help to repair it might be. So he wants some of my blood to compare it to Mum’s.’
‘So that’s the genetic link your mother was talking about?’
‘Steffens says he still thinks it was a case of poisoning, and that this is a shot in the dark. But that most big discoveries are just that. Shots in the dark.’
‘He’s right about that. The disputation is at two o’clock. There’s a reception afterwards you can go to if you like, but I’ll probably skip that.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Oleg smiled, and turned to Jesus. ‘Harry doesn’t like people, you see.’
‘I do like people,’ Harry said. ‘I just don’t like being with them. Particularly not when there’s a lot of them at the same time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Speaking of which.’
‘Sorry I’m late, private tutorial,’ Harry said, slipping behind the bar.
Øystein groaned as he put two glasses of beer down on the counter, spilling them as he did so. ‘Harry, we’ve got to get more people in here.’
Harry peered at the crowd filling the bar. ‘I think there are too many already.’
‘I mean on this side of the counter, you idiot.’
‘The idiot was joking. Do you know anyone with good taste in music?’
‘Tresko.’
‘Who isn’t autistic.’
‘No.’ Øystein poured the next beer and gestured to Harry to take payment.
‘OK, let’s think about it. So Hallstein looked in?’ Harry pointed at the St. Pauli hat that had been pulled down over a glass next to the Galatasaray banner.
‘Yes, he said thanks for the loan. He had a few foreign journalists with him, to show them the place where it all began. He’s having one of those doctor’s things the day after tomorrow.’
‘Disputation.’ Harry handed the customer his card back and thanked him.
‘Yeah. There was another guy who came over to them – Smith introduced him to the others as a colleague from Crime Squad.’
‘Oh?’ Harry said, taking the next order from a man with a hipster beard and a Cage the Elephant T-shirt. ‘What did he look like?’
‘Teeth,’ Øystein said, pointing to his own row of brown pegs.
‘Not Truls Berntsen, surely?’
‘Don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him here several times. Usually sits in that booth over there. Usually comes on his own.’
‘Bound to be Truls Berntsen.’
‘The women are all over him.’
‘Can’t be Truls Berntsen.’
‘But he still goes home alone. Weird bloke.’
‘Because he doesn’t take a woman home?’
‘Would you trust someone who turns down free cunt?’
The bearded hipster raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged, put the beers in front of him, went over to the mirror and pulled on the St. Pauli hat. He was about to turn round again when he froze. He stood and looked at himself in the mirror, at the skull on his forehead.
‘Harry?’
‘Mm.’
‘Can you give me a hand here? Two mojitos with Sprite Light.’
Harry nodded slowly. Then he took the hat off, went round the bar and hurried for the door.
‘Harry!’
‘Call Tresko.’
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to call so late, I thought maybe the Forensic Medical Institute was closed for the night.’
‘We’re supposed to be closed, but this is just how it is when you work in a place with a systemic lack of capacity. And you’re calling on the internal number that only the police are supposed to use.’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes, this is Harry Hole, I’m an inspector at—’
‘I know it’s you, Harry. This is Paula, and you’re not an inspector anywhere.’
‘Oh, it’s you. OK, I’m working on the vampirist case, that’s why I’m calling. I want you to check those matches you got for the samples from the water pipe.’
‘I wasn’t the person who did them, but let me look. But I should tell you that, apart from Valentin Gjertsen, I don’t have the names of the DNA profiles in the vampirist case, just numbers.’
‘That’s OK, I’ve got lists of names and numbers from all the crime scenes in front of me, so go ahead.’
Harry ticked them off as Paula read off the DNA profiles that matched. The sheriff, the local officer, Hole, Smith, Holm and his colleague from Forensics. And finally the seventh person.
‘Still no match there, then?’ Harry said.
‘No.’
‘What about the rest of Hell’s house, was any other DNA found that matched Valentin’s profile?’
‘Let’s see … No, it doesn’t look like it.’
‘Nothing on the mattress, the body, nothing to connect—?’
‘Nope.’
‘OK, Paula. Thanks.’
‘Speaking of connections, did you ever find out what was going on with that strand of hair?’
‘Strand of hair?’
‘Yes, last autumn. Wyller brought me a strand of hair and said it was something you wanted to have analysed. He probably thought it would get rushed through if he dropped your name.’
‘And was it?’
‘Of course, Harry – you know all the girls here have a soft spot for you.’
‘Isn’t that the sort of thing you say to very old men?’
Paula laughed. ‘That’s what happens when you get married, Harry. Voluntary castration.’
‘Hm. I found that strand of hair on the floor of the room my wife was in at Ullevål Hospital, it was probably just paranoia.’