She had taken Gert up to the flat and called Bjørn’s number, only to be told that his phone was switched off or out of reach of the network. She realised something was wrong and called Bjørn’s parents. And it was the fact that she had instinctively called them rather than any of Bjørn’s friends or workmates, who, after all, lived in the city, that made her realise that she was worried.
His parents had reassured her, saying that he was bound to get in touch with a good explanation, but Katrine could hear from Bjørn’s mother’s voice that she too was concerned. Perhaps she too had noticed that Bjørn didn’t seem to have been himself recently.
You might think that a murder detective would eventually come to accept that there are some things, some questions you will never get an answer to, and you just have to move on. But some of them never managed that. Like Harry. Like her. Katrine didn’t know if this was an advantage or a hindrance from a professional perspective, but one thing was certain: for life outside of work it was nothing but a disadvantage. She was already dreading the weeks and months of sleepless nights that lay ahead of her. Not because of Gert. You could set your watch by when he slept and woke up. It was the restless, compulsive activity of her brain in the darkness that would stop her sleeping.
Katrine zipped up the bag containing the case files and papers she needed to take home, walked towards the door, turned out the light and was about to leave her office when the phone on her desk started to ring.
She picked it up.
“It’s Sung-min Larsen.”
“Great,” Katrine said, in a toneless voice. Not that she meant that it wasn’t great, but if this phone call meant he had decided to accept her offer of a job in Crime Squad, the timing wasn’t exactly good.
“I’m calling because... Is now a good time, by the way?”
Katrine looked out of the window, towards Botsparken. Bare trees, brown, withered grass. It wouldn’t be long before the trees grew leaves and blossoms, before the grass turned green. And then, after that, it would be summer. Or so they said.
“Yes,” she said, and heard that she still wasn’t managing to sound enthusiastic.
“I’ve just experienced a remarkable coincidence,” Larsen said. “Earlier today I received information that sheds new light on the Rakel Fauke case. And I’ve just had a phone call from Johan Krohn, Sv—”
“I know who Krohn is.”
“He says he’s at Smestaddammen, where he and his assistant had arranged to meet his client, Svein Finne. And that Svein Finne has just been shot and killed.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why Krohn called me in particular, he says he’ll explain that later. Either way, this is primarily a case for Oslo Police District, which is why I’m calling you.”
“I’ll pass it on to the uniforms,” Katrine said. She saw a deer creep across the brown lawn in front of Police Headquarters, heading towards the old prison block, Botsfengselet. She waited. Noted that Larsen was also waiting. “What did you mean when you said it was a coincidence, Larsen?”
“It seems odd that Svein Finne has been shot just an hour after I received information that means Finne is back as a suspect in the Fauke case.”
Katrine let go of her bag and sank down on the chair behind the desk. “You’re saying...”
“Yes, I’m saying I’m in possession of information that indicates that Harry Hole is innocent.”
Katrine felt her heart start to beat. Blood was coursing through her body, pricking her skin. And something else, something that had been lying dormant, woke up.
“When you say ‘in possession of,’ Larsen...”
“Yes?”
“It sounds as if you haven’t shared this information with your colleagues yet. Is that correct?”
“Not entirely. I’ve shared it with you.”
“All you’ve shared with me is your own conclusion that Harry’s innocent.”
“You’ll end up reaching the same conclusion, Bratt.”
“Really?”
“I’ve got a suggestion.”
“I thought you might have.”
“That you and I meet at the crime scene, and we’ll take it from there.”
“OK. I’ll come over with the uniforms.”
Katrine called the duty officer, then let her parents-in-law know she was going to be late. While she was waiting for them to answer she looked down at Botsparken again. The deer was gone. Her late father, Gert, had told her that badgers hunt everything. Anytime, anywhere. They’ll eat anything, and fight anything. And that some detectives had the badger in them, and some didn’t. And what Katrine could feel right now was the badger waking from hibernation.
52
Sung-min Larsen was already there when Katrine arrived at Smestaddammen. Between his legs stood a quivering, trembling dog, as if it was trying to hide. There was a thin but insistent bleeping sound, like an alarm clock, coming from somewhere.
They walked over to the body, which was lying on the ground beside the bench. Katrine realised that the bleeping was coming from the dead body. And that the body was Svein Finne. That the deceased had been shot in the groin and through one eye, but that there were no exit wounds in his back or head. Special ammunition, perhaps. Even if Katrine knew it couldn’t be the case, it felt like the monotonous electronic bleeping from the dead man’s watch was gradually getting louder.
“Why hasn’t anyone...” she began.
“Fingerprints,” Sung-min said. “I have a preliminary witness statement, but it would be good to be able to know for certain that no one else has touched his watch.”
Katrine nodded. Then gestured that they should move away.
The officers were setting up cordon tape as Sung-min told Katrine what he had found out about the sequence of events from Alise Krogh Reinertsen and her boss, Johan Krohn, who were standing on the other side of the lake with a small crowd of curious onlookers. Sung-min told Katrine that he had ushered them all over there to get them out of the line of fire, seeing as it couldn’t be ruled out entirely that Svein Finne was merely a random victim, and that the perpetrator was looking for others.
“Hmm,” Katrine said, squinting up at the hillside. “You and I must be right in the line of fire right now, so we don’t really believe that, do we?”
“No,” Sung-min said.
“So what do you think?” Katrine said, crouching down to pat the dog.
“I don’t think anything, but Krohn has a theory.”
Katrine nodded. “Is it the body that’s upset your dog?”
“No. He got attacked by a swan when we arrived.”
“Poor thing,” Katrine said, scratching the dog behind one ear. She got a lump in her throat, as if there was something familiar about the trusting look in the dog’s eyes as it gazed up at her.
“Has Krohn explained why he called you specifically?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I think you should talk to him yourself.”
“OK.”
“Bratt?”
“Yes?”
“Like I said before, Kasparov used to be a police dog. Is it OK if he and I start to look into which direction Finne came from?”
Katrine looked at the trembling dog. “I can have the dog unit here within half an hour. I presume that’s one of the reasons why Kasparov was retired.”
“His hips are worn out,” Larsen said. “But I can carry him if it turns out to be a long way.”
“Really? But don’t dogs’ sense of smell get weaker as they get older?”