– You big rough bastard, she growled.
He fumbles his way along a corridor. It is lit by a strip of small blue lights along the floor. On one of the plates he reads: Viktor. The door opens. An interview room within. The detective chief inspector is sitting there, but his name is not Viktor.
We’ve been waiting for you, Brede.
He opens his mouth to protest. They’ve got to stop calling him Brede. He refuses to put up with it any more. The chief inspector takes him by the arm, drags him into another room, a large room with a screen pulled down in front of the stage.
We managed to film him. Thanks to you we managed to film him, Brede.
Four or five people sitting in the first row; otherwise it’s empty in there. One of them turns, bathed in a greenish light. It’s his mother.
I’m proud of you, Axel. Proud of you.
He feels relieved that she recognises him and is about to ask her to explain this business about Brede. Tell them who I am, he is on the point of saying, but before he can do so, he is pushed down into one of the seats.
Eighth row. This’ll just have to do, it was the best we could get.
Detective Chief Inspector Viktor squeezes in beside him, places a hand on his thigh.
Glenne, you just wait till you see this.
He’s got it now, he’s not calling him Brede any more.
Viktor turns and snaps his fingers three times. There’s an old projector at the back of the room. Rita is there cranking it up. Images appear on the screen. Daybreak. The camera glides between the trees, all the branches bare of needles.
I don’t want to see this.
Viktor puts his arm around him, holds him firmly. He tries to pull away, but there’s someone sitting on the other side of him too now. Smells of rotting meat. He can’t manage to turn his head enough to see who it is.
We’re not going to stop until you’ve seen everything.
The camera approaches a tarn. Someone standing on the bank, a man in a white suit and boots, a bowler hat on his head. He’s holding a stone in his hand. In front of him, black hair dipping in the water’s edge, lies a naked woman. She is bleeding from the head. A tree trunk gets in the way of the camera.
Watch closely, Glenne,Viktor whispers in his ear. Watch closely now, and you’ll see the Medusa’s face.
The camera moves forward again, zooming in. The man by the tarn turns. His face fills the screen. That evil grin, the laughter that can’t be heard.
He mustn’t look at the eyes. Tears himself away, heading out, shrieking like an animal as he tries to drown out Viktor’s voice: Do you recognise yourself, Dr Glenne? Now, at last, do you recognise yourself?
38
Monday 22 October
AGNES FINCKENHAGEN SAT with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand and VG spread out on the table in front of her. The front page was covered with a single headline: POLICE SUSPECT GREEN TERROR. Inside, three pages were devoted to the raid on the barn in Åsnes county in Hedmark, which was presented as the police’s most important lead so far in the so-called bear murders. Finckenhagen had just come from a meeting with the Chief Constable and the Chief Superintendent. They wanted to know why they had to learn of important developments from the press. She couldn’t give a good answer and had to put up with a roasting that lasted for almost an hour. At the end of it she was given the remainder of the morning to deliver a report on the case.
She rang Viken and asked him to call in and see her. Get here at once, she ought to have said. But Viken was the type you made suggestions to, not gave orders. A man everyone had an opinion on, as she had soon discovered when she joined the section. She got on with him extremely well. To begin with she had had her doubts, not least because he had, after all, applied for the job she had been brought in to do. But he had never shown any opposition or rivalry. On the contrary, from the very first day she had found him loyal, supportive even. You had to respect that, she’d thought. A man whose concern for the job overrode any personal ambition he might have.
She had never heard anyone question Viken’s abilities as one of the best detectives in Oslo, and when he spoke, even the most experienced listened. He had led investigations into a number of cases of serial rape, almost all of which had been solved. Influenced by American profilers, he had developed a special understanding of the psychology of people involved in serial criminal activities. He gave lectures on the way technical finds at crime scenes could reveal something about the perpetrator’s inner world. Finckenhagen found it very interesting, but discovered that within the section generally, there was little enthusiasm for what he was doing. But she felt sure that developments in the techniques of investigation would presently show him to be right, and she was more than willing to stand up for him if need be. She had seen for herself the almost cruel efficiency with which Viken used his psychological insight to elicit a confession during questioning. As a leader, however, he would have been a disaster for the section, something the people up on the eighth floor had understood only too well. He was the lone-wolf type, someone who found it difficult to delegate responsibilities. What was worse was that he polarised opinion among those around him. People were either strongly for or strongly against him. His supportersappeared willing to do anything for him, it seemed. But even amongst those he was more feared than loved.
Viken knocked twice on the half-open door and walked in. As usual he was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck to reveal a line of thick grey chest hair.
– Are we going to do this sitting down or standing up? he asked with that enigmatic smile Finckenhagen had long puzzled over but in the end found really quite sympathetic.
– Please, do sit down. Have you read VG?
– Never miss it.
– Well, what do you make of it?
– They’ve got hold of more information than we’d like. He didn’t appear to be worried in the slightest.
– Where did they get it from? she wanted to know.
He scratched beneath his chin, drew his fingers along his jawline, making the skin taut.
– Possibly from the forest deeps of Hedmark. Possibly from us.
– In which case we have a problem.
He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. The polished toecaps of his shoes glinted.
– I’ll take another look at it, Chief. If we find the source, you’ll be the first to know. But even so, it could’ve been worse.
– How d’you mean?
– Journalists are like a wolf pack. If they find a bone, they’re all over it. If they don’t, they’re all over us. That would have done a lot more damage to the investigation.
Finckenhagen wasn’t sure she liked the imagery he used.
– The Chief Superintendent is not quite of the same opinion as you. Nor is the Chief Constable.
Viken grinned a rather wolf-like grin himself.
– Let him growl away a bit. That’s his job. He doesn’t bite.
She had to smile. It was reassuring to have a guy like Viken in the team, someone she could lean on when things got tough.
– Is there anything at all in this story of VG’s?
He shook his head firmly.
– Environmental criminality, yes. Hunting and trapping of protected species, sales to foreign countries. But murder and terror? I don’t think so. Sure, the guy we’ve arrested was in possession of the same tranquillising agent as was used in the murders, but I’m inclined to believe him when he says he used it on animals, not people. And anyway, he has alibis for most of the times that interest us.