– You’re right, Rita. Time to get things straightened up. I’ll go to the police. But there’s one thing I have to do first.
He could see that she very much wanted to know what that might be, but he didn’t give her the chance to ask.
50
NINA JEBSEN POPPED a piece of Nicorette into her mouth and again tried to get into the register of residents site. When she got the same message again, that the server was down, she reached for the phone to call Viken, and remembered in the same instant that he was in a meeting. She considered postponing the search, but then had a better idea. The chief inspector had popped in to see her after returning from Nesodden. She had rarely seen him looking more pleased. He congratulated her once again for establishing that Axel Glenne had been at the student’s flat in Rodeløkka. Nina had no objection to being praised by Viken, and she was encouraged to continue her search for Axel Glenne’s twin, even though she was unable to access the register of residents. Even when Viken was at his most provoking, she found herself inspired to try her hardest. It was by no means everyone’s reaction. Sigge Helgarsson, for example, responded to Viken’s style in the opposite way, becoming reluctant, passive, inclined to do no more than the bare minimum.
She called the Rikshospital. Was informed that the departmental head was the only one able to give permission to divulge information from the maternity ward, even when the information was over forty years old. The head had gone home for the day, but would be back tomorrow. Nina looked at the pile of documents on her desk, thought things over. Viken had said Glenne was born in Oslo, but not where in Oslo. She could try the other hospitals, but reasoned that the same rules of access would apply there. She decided that Axel Glenne’s twin brother could wait another day. If he exists, as Viken had commented, with that rascally smile of his.
For a man like Axel Glenne, a successful doctor and father of three, to have invented a twin brother and persuaded even those closest to him that he was out there somewhere seemed a little far-fetched, to put it mildly. Even more so that it all had something to do with the murders of three women. It was no secret that Viken had a weakness for convoluted psychology. He had persuaded her to read books by John Douglas and other writers on the subject of the psychological profiling of killers, and he was apparently still in regular contact with a profiling expert he had got to know during his much-vaunted period with the CID in Manchester. Not long ago he had given a lunch-hour lecture on split personalities. But he had no respect at all for the opinions of Norwegian psychologists and psychiatrists on such matters, know-alls and phoneys that they were, every last one of them.
Nina had already managed to assemble a fair amount of information on Glenne and his family. The wife, Vibeke Frisch Glenne, known as Bie, had studied theatre and art history. In the eighties and nineties she had been editor of the Norwegian edition of Anais, later working as a freelancer for a number of other women’s magazines. She wrote about literature, travel, sex, fashion, and of course about health. Nina had found images of her on the net, from which it was obvious that she was an attractive woman. The Glennes’ joint income was of a size she could only dream about, and they had enough in the bank to keep them in style for the rest of their lives. Axel Glenne had been in practice for sixteen years and there had never been any complaints against him. He had three tickets for speeding and a conviction for driving while under the influence of alcohol that was over twenty years old. Not a lot that could be used against him.
She read through the memorandum Arve had written about Miriam Gaizauskaite. As usual, he had done a thorough job and had come up with a lot of stuff. Miriam hailed from a small country town in the south of Lithuania. Catholic family. Oldest of four children. Mother a doctor. Father a naval officer in the former Soviet Union who died in a submarine accident in the Barents Sea when Miriam was eight years old. Miriam came to Norway six years ago to take up a place at the faculty of medicine in the University of Oslo. From there on the information was a little sparse, and Nina reflected that for once, she could have done a better job than Arve. She also noted a few errors.
It was gone 6.30. Her stomach was rumbling. All she’d had to eat since lunchtime was a piece of crispbread. Convenient to have so much to do that she had no time to think about food, but it was going to be a long evening, and she ought to eat something to keep her concentration levels up. She could probably allow herself a little more now, seeing as she’d missed dinner. Arve Norbakk was also going to be working late, and she had nothing against a visit to a local café in his company.
He glanced up when she popped her head in.
– Busy?
He thought about it. Didn’t exactly seem open to invitations.
– I’m trying to find out whether old Mrs Glenne gave birth to one or two children all those years ago, she told him.
– Probably no point in asking the woman herself, he observed with a show of interest.
– I called the home where she’s living. According to the carer I spoke to, she denies ever having had any children at all.
– Like that, is it, he grinned absently, but Nina was not going to give up that easily.
– Actually, I’ve just been looking through that memorandum you wrote about the medical student.
As she had expected, this interested him more.
– I was just sitting here thinking about her, he said. – Do you think it’s enough with only one man on guard up there?
Nina had been wondering the same thing.
– She was given the offer of a personal alarm but said no. So there’s nothing more we can do.
He looked as if he was considering the matter.
– I guess you’re right at that. And something’s going to happen pretty soon now.
– An arrest? asked Nina. – Glenne?
Arve Norbakk leaned back in his chair.
– Bet your bottom dollar.
– But do we have enough? It all seems a bit thin.
He looked up into her eyes, and she wanted to sit down on the desk, right next to his hand.
– Viken’s made up his mind, he said. – Show me the police prosecutor in Oslo who could say no. Certainly not Jarle Frøen.
She understood what he meant.
– What I was going to say about your memo, she said, resuming her thread, – is that it contains one big mistake plus one major oversight.
Her ironic tone was supposed to convey that she was exaggerating, but it couldn’t be too obvious, not if she was to succeed in arousing his interest. From the look he gave her, she guessed she had succeeded. She suspected him of being more ambitious than most of the others, and she felt certain that this oversight she was teasing him about was the result not of carelessness but of the fact that he took on more work than everyone else.
– Let’s hear it then, he encouraged her.
It had often struck her that Arve Norbakk had a chance of going far in the business, and she didn’t think any the less of him for it.
– The mistake first. Miriam hasn’t been in Norway six years, it’s seven years. She told me she spent a year in school here before she began studying medicine.
He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.
– So that’s it then? he smiled, and at once turned serious. – Thanks, Nina, a bit too much haste rather than speed at the moment. Great having a colleague who gives you the chance to correct your mistakes.
She saw her chance and took it.
– Fancy coming out for a bite to eat? Then I’ll tell you about the other thing, the oversight.
His mobile phone rang; he picked it up and looked at the display.
– Sorry, I have to take this. Can we do it tomorrow?
Maybe he was just saying it to avoid the invitation, but Nina decided that he really would like to have that cup of coffee with her.
– Deal, she said. – I’ll come and pick you up.
51
WHEN EVENING PRAYERS were over, Father Raymond went to his office and tidied aw
ay a few documents on his desk. He felt restless, and that was always when he worked best. As though the Lord had given him the gift of restlessness so that he would not fall for the temptations of passive self-satisfaction but make use of the abilities he had been blessed with. He began work on the lecture he was going to give at Saturday’s instructions seminar. It had started to rain, and a fierce wind rattled the house. He liked the sensation, how vulnerable it made him feel as a human being. And with it that sense of being held tight.
After he had been working for a while, he heard a knock on the door, and for a moment he struggled against a feeling of irritation at the interruption.
– Miriam, he exclaimed when he saw who it was standing there. Her hair hung down over her eyes. – But you’re soaking wet.
He found a towel in the cupboard and she dried her face.
– I forgot my umbrella, she explained. – Not that it would have been much help in this wind.
She was not just wet, he noticed. There were shadows below her eyes, and her hair was unkempt. Beneath her coat she wore a thin blouse with the top button undone. He couldn’t see the cross she usually wore on a gold chain around her neck.
– I rang at the sub-prior’s office, she burst out. – He said I would find you here.
Father Raymond had often thought of her after her last visit. What she had told him of the relationship with this man who was married with children had worried him. Most of all because she seemed to have got so deeply involved. She had been so tormented, and now obviously things had got even worse.
– What can I do for you, Miriam?
She looked as though she was struggling to find the words.
– That business you were talking about last time, he said to encourage her. – Have you managed to get any closer to making a decision?
She looked down at the floor.
– I haven’t seen him for a couple of days.
He gave her time to continue.
– I’m afraid, Father.
The priest coughed. He felt a powerful desire to sit down beside her.
– My neighbour has been murdered … She was lying outside my door … She has a little daughter.
She burst into tears. Father Raymond got up and went over to her. He touched the collar of her coat with two fingers. Miriam bent her neck; it looked so slender and vulnerable.
– This is a terrible story, he comforted her. – And for you to be mixed up in it. It’s so meaningless.
She turned her face up to him.
– It’s as if it’s had something to do with me the whole time, Father.
She was pale, and her mascara had run. Now, seeing this face so naked and helpless, he felt even more powerfully than before this sensation for which there were no words. The trace of Him in another’s face.
Miriam picked up the towel and dried around her swollen eyes.
– Something happened, she snuffled. – Just before I came here.
He began to rock back and forth on his feet, almost imperceptibly. It helped focus his attention.
– Can you tell me about it?
She hesitated.
– I don’t know. I don’t want to get you in trouble.
– Dearest Miriam, you know you can tell me everything. There is not a single thing you could tell me that I could not bear to hear.
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it quickly. He closed his eyes.
– Dearest Miriam, he said again.
– There was something in the letter box. An envelope with some … really hideous pictures.
– What kind of pictures?
She began to shake, and he put his arm round her shoulders.
– If it is something criminal, you must go to the police.
– Not until I know, she said in a low voice. – If I’m wrong, it would destroy him.
– Him?
He held her gaze.
– Is this the man you have a … have had a relationship with?
She swallowed twice.
– Is he threatening you, Miriam? Because you refuse to see him any more? You must not take any chances.
She straightened up. A firmness had appeared in her eyes.
– It always helps to come here, Father. When I talk to you, I know what the right thing to do is. I must be completely certain first. I can’t bear the thought of going through the rest of my life ashamed. I’ve already hurt him so much. If I’m wrong, it could destroy everything for him … First I have to hear what he says. I must give him the chance to explain. Can I come to see you again tomorrow? Or Friday?
– Dearest Miriam, come whenever you want to.
Again she took hold of his hand, and this time she kept hold of it.
– I don’t know what I would have done without you.
Father Raymond felt a warmth spreading through his whole body.
– But you must promise not to say a word about this to anyone, she said.
He was taken aback.
– I have a duty of confidentiality, Miriam, as you well know. But if you believe yourself to be in danger, in any way …
She released his hand.
– I don’t know if I can let you go, he protested. – Not until I know what this is about, what you’re telling me.
She attempted a smile.
– Dear Father, will you have me cloistered? Lock me up with the nuns in Karina priory?
Father Raymond had to abandon his attempt to finish writing the lecture that evening. After Miriam had gone, he sat there listening to the rain lashing against the window. He had no doubt that she meant what she said. He was bound by his oath of silence, but not where life and limb were in danger. He made up his mind to visit the prior to discuss the matter.
52
VIKEN RESTED HIS gaze on Jarle Frøen, the police prosecutor. Beneath Frøen’s thin red hair an irregular array of freckles was scattered across his scalp. It looked as though he might have stood beneath the ladder where a particularly clumsy painter was at work. The little splashes continued down on to a pale face that had a rather doughy consistency. As though it would never quite stop collapsing.
Viken enjoyed the feeling of being in control of the situation and did not let himself be provoked by Frøen’s surprising obstinacy. On the contrary, he found it stimulating. He didn’t even have to look at Finckenhagen to know where he had her, and that the result of the meeting was a foregone conclusion.
– We must keep our nerve, Frøen objected, and Viken smiled a friendly and obliging smile. It was, after all, the prosecutor’s job to sit there and cast doubt on whether they had enough evidence to make an arrest. – I note that this Glenne has a connection to all the victims, a distant one to be sure, but in and of itself striking. I note that he disappeared from the scene where Elvestrand’s body was found. Perhaps not surprising that he didn’t want to be caught with his trousers down, so to speak.
Frøen chuckled at his own little joke.
– I note also that he has not reported to us, despite our efforts to get in touch with him. I note that he has not been home since Monday. All more than a little suspicious, I grant you, Viken. But do you honestly think it’s enough to warrant holding him in custody? I’ll tell you what the court will want to know. One: is there the least bit of technical evidence that actually links the accused to the case? Two: where the bloody hell is the motive?
Viken let him ramble on and didn’t waste time with interruptions that would only have encouraged him. When Frøen did finally stop, he even permitted himself a question: – Any further objections? He was careful to sound encouraging rather than sarcastic, and cast a glance in Finckenhagen’s direction, though she wasn’t the one he had asked.
– I’m certainly not going to lecture you about the due processes of law, he said to Frøen, once the prosecutor had declined the invitation to continue. And thinking that a touch of flattery never did any harm, he added: – It’s good to have you on the team, Jarle. A relief to have people around who really know their stu
ff. Who can separate the wheat from the chaff. If we put enough effort into it and find Glenne in the course of the evening, that gives us effectively twenty-four hours before we need to make a formal application for remand. Plenty of time to go over every inch of his office, both the cars, the villa with garage and outhouses, the summer place down in Larkollen, and anywhere else you like. As for technical evidence, you can bet your boots we’ll have some by this time tomorrow. As you know, we have DNA traces from the victims. The most interesting were those found under Anita Elvestrand’s fingernails. I’ve just been talking to the pathologists. They had a preliminary DNA analysis of this material. Dr Plåterud said it was very interesting.
– In what way? Frøen wanted to know.
– Some peculiarity or other they need to take a closer look at … Viken prised a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and put his glasses on. – She called it translocation. People with such genes need not necessarily be visibly different, but it is not unlikely that someone in the immediate family might in some way deviate from the norm. It would be absolutely spiffing to get a little peek at this Dr Glenne’s molecules.
From the corner of his eye he could see Finckenhagen smiling.
– And I’ll use stronger language if we haven’t got something out of this chap before we get that far. I’ll use the time well, you can rely on it. We’ll drive him as hard as we can the whole night. You asked about motive. Well, as you know, I am of the considered opinion that the whole concept of motive is too narrow to encompass murders of this kind.
He left a short pause before continuing.
– This won’t be so much about motive as about a psyche so twisted that we have difficulty in comprehending it.
– Do you have any reason to believe that Glenne is so deranged? I mean, to all intents and purposes the chap seems completely functional.
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