Prim went back to the kitchen and put the ziplock bag back. Stood for a moment looking at the large freezer bag. At the human brain inside. Shuddered. It made him nauseous. He was dreading it.
After brushing his teeth and going to bed, he switched on the police radio and listened to the messages going back and forth. Sometimes it seemed reassuring and was sleep-inducing to listen to these calm voices expressing, in such sober brevity, what was going wrong out there in the city. Because so little occurred and what did was rarely dramatic enough to keep Prim from falling asleep after a short while. But not tonight. They had ended the search in Grefsenkollen for the missing woman and were now using the police radio to arrange times and rendezvous points for the different search parties early tomorrow morning. Prim opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out the cocaine holder. It was partially made of gold, he thought. Five centimetres long and shaped like a bullet. A snuff bullet. If you twisted the grooved area slightly, the bullet ‘loaded’ with an appropriate dose you could then sniff through the hole at the tip. Truly elegant. It had belonged to the woman the police were now looking for, it even had her initials on the side, B.B. A gift no doubt. Prim ran his fingers across the grooves, rolled the bullet against his cheek. Then he placed it back in the drawer, switched off the radio and stared at the ceiling for a while. There was so much to think about. He tried to masturbate but gave up. Then he began to cry.
It was almost two in the morning when he finally fell asleep.
15
Tuesday
Truls looked at his watch. Ten past nine. Markus Røed should have arrived ten minutes ago.
Truls and Harry had pushed the bed against the wall in order to move the desk into the middle of Harry’s hotel room and were now sitting on chairs on one side of the desk looking at the empty chair awaiting the third person. Truls scratched under his arm.
‘Arrogant prick,’ he said.
‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘Just think about what he’s paying you per hour and that you’re on the clock. That feel better?’
Truls straightened out a forefinger and tapped aimlessly on the laptop in front of him. Thought about it. ‘A bit,’ he grunted.
They had gone carefully through the procedure.
The division of responsibilities was simple. Harry would ask the questions, and Truls would keep his mouth shut and concentrate on the screen without giving away what he saw. That suited Truls just fine, it was after all pretty much what he had been doing at Police HQ for the last three years. Playing patience, online poker, watching old episodes of The Shield and looking at pictures of Megan Fox. But Truls was also supposed to attach the leads with the electrodes to Røed. Two blue and one red on the chest around the area of his heart, one red at the arteries on each wrist. The leads ran to a box which was in turn connected to the laptop by a single cable.
‘Planning on using the good cop/bad cop tactic?’ Truls asked, nodding at the kitchen roll Harry had placed on the table. The routine was that after making the interviewee cry, the bad cop would march out angrily, whereupon the good cop would immediately proffer the paper towels, say a few compassionate words and then just wait for the interviewee to confide in him. Or in her. People thought women were kinder, they were stupid like that. But Truls knew better. Knew better now.
‘Maybe,’ Harry said.
Truls looked at him. Tried to picture Harry in the good-cop role but gave up. Years ago, back when Truls and Mikael Bellman had been partners on the force, Bellman had always been the good cop. He was bloody good at it too, and not just in interviews, the smart, sneaky bastard. So good he was now Minister of Justice. It was fucking unbelievable, considering all the shit the two of them had got up to. On the other hand, it almost made perfect sense. No one had Mikael Bellman’s ability to bury their hands so deep in shit without getting them dirty.
There was a knock at the door.
They had given word to reception to send Røed up when he arrived.
As agreed beforehand, Truls opened.
Røed was smiling, but seemed nervous, Truls thought. His skin and eyes were shiny. Truls showed him in without introducing himself or shaking his hand. Harry took care of the pleasantries, saying they wouldn’t take up much of Røed’s time, asking him to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt. He held out his hand until Røed passed him his jacket, which Harry hung in the wardrobe. Truls started to attach the electrodes. Placing them to avoid the stripes of scabs above and below both nipples. There were also a couple of bruises. Either Røed had taken a beating from someone, or else that wife of his was a real savage in bed. Or maybe it was one of the girls he provided for.
After Truls had attached the last electrodes to the wrists, he went round to Harry’s side of the desk, sat down, pressed the enter key, and looked at the screen of the laptop.
‘Does it look all right?’ Harry asked.
Truls nodded.
Harry turned to Røed. ‘The questions will be mainly yes or no; polygraph tests are best suited to the analysis of short answers. Ready?’
Røed’s smile appeared a little forced. ‘Fire away, guys, I’ve got to leave in half an hour.’
‘Is your name Markus Røed?’
‘Yes.’
There was a pause, while they looked at Truls, who was looking at the screen. He gave a short nod.
‘Are you a man or a woman?’ Harry asked.
Røed smiled. ‘A man.’
‘Can I hear you say you’re a woman?’
‘I’m a woman.’
Harry looked at Truls, who nodded again.
Harry cleared his throat. ‘Did you kill Susanne Andersen?’
‘No.’
‘Did you kill Bertine Bertilsen?’
‘No.’
‘Have you had sex with one or both of these women?’
The room went silent. Truls saw Markus Røed beginning to blush. Saw him gasp. And sneeze. Twice. Three times. Harry tore off a square of kitchen roll and held it out. Markus Røed reached to the back of the chair as though for his jacket — no doubt had a handkerchief there — before he accepted the paper towel and wiped his nose on it.
‘Yes, I have,’ he said, throwing the paper towel in the wastebasket Harry lifted up. ‘With both of them. But it was consensual for all parties involved.’
‘At the same time?’
‘No, I’m not into that sort of thing.’
‘Did Susanne and Bertine know each other?’
‘Not to my knowledge. No, I’m fairly sure they didn’t.’
‘Because you made sure that they didn’t meet?’
Røed let out a brief laugh. ‘No, I never hid the fact I was seeing other women. And I invited them both to the party, didn’t I?’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did either of these women extort you for money?’
‘No.’
‘Did they threaten to expose your relationship?’
Røed shook his head.
‘Please respond verbally,’ Harry said.
‘No. My relationships were not so secret as to matter. Not that I wanted them to be public knowledge, but I didn’t make much effort to hide them either. Even Helene was aware of them.’
‘Do you think she might have been jealous and killed them?’