‘Yeah,’ Truls said. ‘Absolute shit.’
‘But in a cool way,’ Øystein said. ‘You should see it,’ he said, nudging Oleg.
‘Really?’
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Not really.’
‘OK,’ Øystein said. ‘But if David Carradine said you have responsibility for those you’ve saved, then there’s sure as shit something in it. I mean David Carradine, come on, people!’
Truls scratched his protruding chin. ‘Yeah, OK.’
Katrine came over to them.
‘Sorry I’m only getting here now, had to take a look at a crime scene,’ she said. ‘Seems everyone is here. Even the priest.’
‘The priest?’ Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Wasn’t it him?’ Katrine said. ‘A man in a clerical collar was leaving as I arrived, in any case.’
‘Which crime scene?’ Oleg asked.
‘An apartment in Frogner. The body’s chopped into pieces. The neighbours heard a motorised sound. The wallpaper in the living room looks like it was spray-painted. Listen, Harry, could I have a word in private?’
They withdrew to the table by the window, the one which had once been Harry’s usual spot.
‘Great to see Alexandra is already back at work,’ she said.
‘She’s a tough girl, fortunately,’ Harry said.
‘I hear you’ve invited her to Romeo and Juliet?’
‘Yeah. I got two tickets from Helene Røed. It’s supposed to be good.’
‘Nice. Alexandra is a good woman. I asked her to check on something for me.’
‘OK?’
‘She checked the DNA profile on the saliva we found on Susanne’s breast against the database of known offenders. We didn’t get any hits there, but we know it was a match for Markus Røed.’
‘Yeah.’
‘But the saliva was never checked against the database of unknown offenders, DNA in unsolved cases, that is. After the video where Markus Røed admitted the sexual abuse of a minor came to light, I asked her to run his DNA against that database too. And do you know what came up?’
‘Mm. I can guess.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘The rape of the fourteen-year-old at Tuesdays. What did you call the case again?’
‘The Butterfly case.’ Katrine looked almost a little peeved. ‘How did you...?’
‘Røed and Krohn claimed they were unwilling to provide a DNA sample because to do so would be to admit there were grounds for suspicion. But I suppose I guessed Røed had another reason. He knew you had DNA in the form of semen from the rape.’
Katrine nodded. ‘You’re good, Harry.’
He shook his head. ‘If I were I would have solved this case long ago. I was wrong every step of the way.’
‘So you say, but I happen to know there are other people who rate you as well.’
‘OK.’
‘And it’s these others I’d like to talk to you about. There’s a vacancy in Crime Squad. We’d all like you to apply for it.’
‘We?’
‘Bodil Melling and me.’
‘That’s “both”, you said “all”.’
‘Mikael Bellman has mentioned it might be a good idea. That we could create a special position. A freer role. You could even start with this murder in Frogner.’
‘Any suspects?’
‘The victim had a long-standing inheritance dispute with his brother. The brother is being questioned right now, but he has an alibi apparently.’
She studied Harry’s face. The blue irises she had gazed into, the soft mouth she had once kissed, the sharp features, the sabre-shaped scar running from the corner of his mouth up to his ear. She tried to interpret his look, the changes in his facial expression, the way he pulled his shoulders back, like a large bird before it flies away. Katrine considered herself adept at reading people, and some men — like Bjørn — she felt were like an open book. But Harry was and remained a mystery to her. And to himself, she suspected.
‘Give my regards and say thanks,’ he said. ‘But no thanks.’
‘Why not?’
Harry gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve realised during this case that I’m only good for one thing, and that’s catching serial killers. Real ones. Statistically, you’ll pass a serial killer on the street just seven times in the course of a lifetime. In which case I’ve used up mine. There aren’t going to be any more turning up.’
The young shop assistant was wearing a tag that read ‘Andrew’, and the way the man in front of him had just pronounced his name suggested he had spent time in the USA.
‘A new chain for a chainsaw,’ Andrew said. ‘Yes, we can sort that out.’
‘Right away, please,’ the man said. ‘And I need two rolls of duct tape. And a few metres of strong, thin rope. And a roll of bin bags. Would you have that for me, Andrew?’
For some reason Andrew shuddered. Perhaps it was because of the man’s colourless irises. Or the soft, overly ingratiating voice with a hint of a Sørland accent. Perhaps the fact he had placed a hand on Andrew’s forearm. Or simply that Andrew — in the same way some people were afraid of clowns — had always been afraid of priests.