His mobile phone rang; he glanced down at the display.
– It’s the pathology lab, he said. – We’ll take a ten-minute break.
He disappeared out into the corridor.
– Whooph, Sigge gasped. – Glad that wasn’t me.
– He’s under a lot of pressure, said Nina.
Sigge rolled his eyes.
– As if he’s the only one who’s noticed things are hotting up.
Nina didn’t answer. She picked up her phone and withdrew to a corner of the room. A minute later she had the section head at the Rikshospital on the line. She told him what it was about, stressed how vital the information was to the investigation, that it was a matter of urgency. He promised to look into it.
When the meeting resumed, she noticed that Viken had used the break to calm himself down.
– Sorry about the interruption, he began, and for a moment Nina wondered whether he was going to apologise for the outburst against her. He didn’t. – The call was from Dr Plåterud, he said. – She has really pulled out all the stops. She’s got Glenne’s DNA profile ready and waiting for us.
It was obvious to all what the results were.
– No match with the material found under Anita Elvestrand’s fingernails.
Jarle Frøen placed both fists on the table. They were so ugly Nina couldn’t help staring at them. Big and pale, with scattered tufts of red hair along the backs of the fingers, and as freckled as his face and his bald head.
– The court is in session at six this evening, he informed them. – I postponed it for as long as possible. The question now is should we abandon it and drop the charges?
Viken glowered at him. Nina could see him struggling to maintain the calm he had achieved during the break.
– The DNA result needn’t necessarily mean anything at all, he asserted. – There’s a great deal of material still to be analysed. Last night I spoke to a former colleague in Manchester. An expert in the field of psychological profiling. He thinks what we have is extremely interesting. He agrees that this business of the bear prints is some kind of message. Same thing with the method of killing, making it look as though the victims have been savaged by a bear. His advice is to listen to this message, find out what it is the killer is trying to tell us, and wind it in from there. I asked him about this theory of a split personality. He says it’s not unlikely that what we’re dealing with is a person with two or more personalities. Several factors actually point in this direction. Among other things, the very short interludes between each killing. As you know, my hypothesis is that this twin brother of Glenne’s doesn’t exist…
Nina’s phone rang.
– This looks like the hospital, she said and stood up. – They promised me a quick answer.
She grabbed her pen and notebook and let herself out into the corridor. A woman named Astrid Glenne had given birth at the Rikshospital. The senior consultant himself had personally gone to the trouble of searching the archives to track down the notes. Nina was too tense to thank him. She had to concentrate fully to stop her pen from shaking as she wrote down what he said.
The buzz of voices stilled as she appeared in the doorway. She could feel every gaze following her as she made her way back to her seat.
– That was the Rikshospital about the birth record.
She looked at Viken. He half closed his eyes.
– About bloody time, he murmured.
– The senior consultant called me in person; he’d made it his number one priority.
– Get to the point, Viken interrupted.
Nina swallowed her irritation.
– Astrid Glenne gave birth to two boys on the night of the seventh of September 1964. The first birth was unproblematic. The second child got stuck and had to be delivered with forceps. He wasn’t breathing, had to be resuscitated, and lay in an incubator for more than three weeks, but he survived. He suffered from convulsions of some kind…
– Yes yes yes, said Viken gruffly. – We don’t need to hear the whole of the midwife’s report.
Sigge Helgarsson couldn’t resist it: – So goodbye, Mr Hyde. That leaves us with just Dr Glenne.
Viken gave him an angry look.
– What matters is not whether or not this twin actually exists. You can say what you like about Icelanders, but they’re not the brightest tool in the shed.
Sigge gaped.
– You’re the one who needs to get it together, he burst out. – If you’d said that about someone with black skin, you’d get yourself a reputation as a racist.
Viken brushed this aside.
– Racist, did you say? Before the Americans were allowed to use the base at Keflavik, they had to bloody well sign an agreement saying that not one black soldier would be stationed there. You Icelanders were terrified they might get your women pregnant. At least that way you wouldn’t be as milky white as you are now.
Nina Jebsen looked at him in astonishment. Sigge flushed to the roots of his hair.
– Complete crap, he growled. – Fifty-year-old rumours.
Viken shrugged.
– Pal of mine worked up there for a long time, he knows all about it. But we don’t have time for this nonsense.
– You’re damned right there, Viken. Jarle Frøen grinned as he got to his feet. – I’ll have a word with the district court.
56
THERE WERE ONLY two other customers at the Asylum Café. They took a window seat with a view over to the multi-storey car park and Grønland Square. When Nina had popped her head into Arve Norbakk’s office fifteen minutes earlier, it was clear that he had forgotten their arrangement to have coffee, and when she dropped a hint about it, he seemed to be so busy that she thought he would back out again. But as soon as he had picked up the hint, he was on his feet: that was a great idea, they needed to talk.
– Not a day of celebration for the team, he observed as they sat studying the menu. – All the more reason to treat ourselves to something nice to eat.
Nina agreed, but contented herself with a salad and bread on the side; it was too early for lunch.
– Sigge says he’s heard rumours that Finckenhagen wants to take Viken off the case, she said.
Arve Norbakk looked straight at her. He had the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen, at least in someone whose hair was so fair.
– Finckenhagen, he spluttered. – She wouldn’t dare. Even if Viken has made a fool of himself.
– He’s got tunnel vision about this, Nina announced. – The most elementary beginner’s mistake. These last few days he’s been interested in nothing but this doctor.
– Are you so sure it’s all been a waste of time?
She glanced at him.
– Sounds as if you still think Glenne is the one we’re looking for.
– I’m only saying it’s a good idea to keep an eye on him, said Arve.
– Should we really have been using such a huge amount of resources keeping a tail on him, as Viken insisted?
Arve answered without looking up from the menu.
– Maybe. The most obvious trails still begin and end there.
Once they’d ordered, Nina said: – One thing I’ve been thinking about. The ages of the three victims. Hilde Paulsen was fifty-six, Cecilie Davidsen forty-six, Anita Elvestrand thirty-six.
Arve raised an eyebrow.
– You’re right. Ten years younger every time.
– Probably just chance, she said, – but it does seem odd.
– If it isn’t just chance, and it happens again, then the next victim should be a woman of twenty-six.
– Don’t say that, she exclaimed as she finessed the plug of chewing tobacco out of her mouth and wrapped it in a serviette. She washed her mouth out with Pepsi Max. – I’m not sure we’re taking good enough care of this medical student.