– But no joy, I gather from your expression. Do you have anything at all that might point the finger at the man she was living with?
– Nothing so far. He’s never lived in Bergen, but of course he might have gone there on the odd occasion.
– And still Viljam Vogt-Nielsen is number one on Viken’s list?
Roar carried on chewing as he answered. – Viken is concerned that we don’t overlook the psychology behind the murder of Mailin Bjerke. This business of the eyes being lacerated is a message we have to try to interpret. And the sheer rage behind those blows to the head. It points to someone in a close personal relationship to his victim.
He swallowed his food down with half a glass of beer. – And why was her mobile phone sent in the post?
– Maybe someone out there wants to play some kind of game with you, Jennifer hazarded.
Roar made a face that showed he was sceptical about her idea. – It can’t be ruled out, but we’re more inclined to think it shows a perverted sense of concern for his victim. He’s killed her, but he doesn’t want her to lie and rot there.
The furrows in his brow deepened and suddenly looked like three seagulls in flight, one with a large wingspan, flanked by two smaller ones.
– Whatever, we must keep concentrating on those closest to her. Her partner, of course, but also the stepfather. We’re trying to get in touch with the biological father, too. Apparently he hasn’t seen his family in over twenty years. He lives in Canada, but no one knows his whereabouts at the moment.
Jennifer had no difficulty in recognising Viken’s thought processes in what Roar was saying. She’d heard the detective chief inspector talking often enough about signals and signatures and hidden messages in the way a crime had been committed. Her own view of psychological profiling was that it was an American fad. About as scientific as trying to follow a scent.
– The sense of smell is a pretty useful tool, she observed. – Especially for dogs. When Roar looked at her quizzically she added: – It isn’t necessarily successful each time Mr Viken gets going on the human psyche.
Roar piled more scrambled egg on to his bread. He didn’t answer.
– And talking about psychology, she went on, – what about Mailin Bjerke’s patients? She presumably had a very close relationship to them as well. And you’ve hinted that one of them may have threatened her.
Roar looked thoughtful. She guessed he was wondering whether he’d already told her too much. She had to smile at the thought of what Viken would have said if he knew that she was sitting in the kitchen of one of his trusted associates with nothing on but a man’s shirt. She remembered her panties were lying somewhere in the bedroom, or out in the hallway.
– One of the other members of the team is trying to find out about Mailin Bjerke’s patients over the past few years, said Roar as he pushed his plate away. – Not easy, because only a few of them are registered with the social services. As regards those who were involved in her research, we may be able to get help from her supervisor, Tormod Dahlstrøm.
– Was Dahlstrøm her supervisor? Jennifer was impressed. Even she had followed his television series on the psychological element involved in cultural conflicts.
She chewed the remains of the cold meat, still ravenously hungry, she noticed. – What about this Jim Harris? Liss is convinced he saw something. Maybe he was the one who threatened Mailin that time so that she was afraid to carry on the treatment. He seems a distinctly dubious character.
– We’re trying to get in touch with the guy, Roar told her. – Turns out it’s not that easy. We might have to put something out via the media.
– It’s got to be worth that at least. Mailin had an appointment with him at around the time she disappeared.
Roar shook his head. – We still can’t say for certain that she was anywhere near her office that day.
– Even though the car was parked outside? You know roughly when she left the cabin, and you’ve got the time on the parking ticket.
– She might have been in several other places. We don’t have either witness observations or an electronic trail.
Jennifer thought it over.
– What about the toll roads? she suggested. – Every vehicle that enters the city gets registered somewhere or other.
Roar grunted. – We’ve checked, of course. Mailin Bjerke paid by phone. The car was photographed on its way through the toll, but the company deletes the pictures after a couple of days.
Jennifer couldn’t resist it. – So in other words, you were a little bit slow on the uptake. She added, jokingly: – For once.
The attempt to tease him seemed to have no effect, though the three seagulls on his forehead were almost gone now.
– There are limits to what you can manage to cover in the first few days in a missing persons case, was all he would say. – And the car had been found a long time before.
He gave her what was left of the scrambled egg.
– Do I look that hungry? she wanted to know.
– The evening is still young, it’s not even eleven yet. He laid his hand over hers. – And I want you to be able to keep going all the way into the early hours of the morning.
With a sigh that was considerably less than a vociferous protest, she gave him to understand that she might be persuaded to spend the night in a bachelor apartment in Manglerud.
22
Tuesday 6 January
WHEN THE KNOCK came on the office door, Jennifer jumped to her feet and opened it. The woman standing out in the corridor was considerably taller than her. She might be in her fifties, the hair dark but the eyebrows not dyed, revealing that she had probably been a blonde.
– Ragnhild Bjerke, the other woman responded once Jennifer had introduced herself. – A pleasure.
The voice sounded stiff and flat, and the phrase hardly reflected what was going through the woman’s mind as she stood there. Jennifer held the door open for her, but she stayed where she was.
– If you don’t mind, I would rather see her at once.
Jennifer could well understand that Mailin Bjerke’s mother didn’t want to postpone what she had made up her mind to go through with. On the way down the corridor she said:
– It isn’t unusual for relatives to be unsure whether or not they want to see the body.
She glanced over at her visitor. Ragnhild Bjerke’s face was as stiff as her voice and showed no expression.
– I wasn’t able to think about it before, she said. – Haven’t been able to think at all, actually. Tage, my husband, suggested that he and Liss go that morning, Christmas morning. I didn’t understand the significance of it. But now I must see her.
– Most people feel glad afterwards, Jennifer agreed.
The mortuary assistant was waiting by the chapel. His name was Leif, and Jennifer had asked him to handle the preparation of the body. He’d worked at the institute for twenty-five years and knew all the tricks of the trade when it came to making a body look as good as possible. After admitting them and folding back the sheet that covered the bier, he withdrew soundlessly. Hesitantly Ragnhild Bjerke approached. For almost ten minutes she stood looking down at her dead daughter, who lay there with hands folded across her chest and her ruined eyes shut. Then Jennifer broke the silence, moving a couple of steps closer. The click of the high heels on the floor startled Ragnhild Bjerke, as though bringing her out of a trance. She turned and wandered back out of the door again.
They sat at the small round table in Jennifer’s office. Not a word had been said on the way back from the chapel. The visitor’s face was as expressionless as when she had arrived.
– The ring, she murmured at last.
Jennifer recalled that Liss had noticed the same thing, the gold ring Mailin always wore. – It wasn’t there when we found her, she confirmed.