8
Katrine Bratt sat with her feet on the desk and a telephone pressed between her shoulder and ear. Gunnar Hagen was on another call. Her fingers ran across the keyboard in front of her. She knew that behind her, outside the window, Bergen was bathed in sunshine. That the wet streets were glistening from the rain that had been falling all morning until ten minutes ago. And that with the Bergen law of averages it would soon start to drizzle again. But right now there was a glimpse of sun, and Katrine Bratt hoped Gunnar Hagen would finish on the other line, so that he could resume the conversation he was having with her. She only wanted to hand over the information she had and get out of Bergen Police Station. Into the fresh Atlantic ozone that tasted so much better than the air her former boss was inhaling at that moment in his office in the east of the capital. Before he released it again in the form of an indignant shout:
‘What do you mean we can’t talk to him yet? Is he out of the coma or not?. . Yes, I appreciate he’s in a fragile state, but. . What?’
Katrine hoped that what she had spent the last few days finding out would put Hagen in a better mood than he was obviously in now. She scanned the pages, just to check what she already knew.
‘I don’t give a shit what his solicitor says,’ Hagen said. ‘And I don’t give a shit what the consultant says, either. I want him questioned now!’
Katrine Bratt heard him smack down the receiver. Then, at last, he was back.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Hagen said.
‘Is it him?’ she asked.
Hagen sighed. ‘Yes, it’s him. He’s coming out of the coma, but they’re doping him up and saying we have to wait at least two days before we can talk to him.’
‘Isn’t it wise to tread warily?’
‘Probably. But as you know we need some results now. The police murders have us on our knees.’
‘Two days won’t make much difference.’
‘I know, I know. But I have to do a bit of barking. I mean, that’s half the point of climbing your way to the top. Isn’t it?’
Katrine Bratt had no answer to that. She’d never had any interest in becoming a boss. And even if she had, she had a suspicion that detectives who had done time in psychiatric wards would not be first in the queue when the big, spacious offices were being allocated. The diagnosis had shifted from manic depression via borderline personality disorder to bipolar and healthy. At least as long as she took the small pink pills to keep her on an even keel. They could criticise the use of pills in psychiatry as much as they liked, for Katrine they had meant a new and better life. But she noticed that her boss kept a watchful eye on her, and that she wasn’t being given more work in the field than absolutely necessary. That was fine, though; she liked sitting in her cramped office with a high-spec computer and exclusive access to search engines even the police didn’t know about. Looking, searching, finding. Tracking down people who had apparently vanished from the surface of the earth. Seeing patterns where others only see chance. That was Katrine Bratt’s speciality and more than once it had been of benefit to Kripos and Crime Squad in Oslo. So they would have to put up with the walking psychosis.
‘You said you had something for me.’
‘It’s been quiet in the department for the last few weeks, so I’ve been having a look at the murdered police officers.’
‘Did your boss at Bergen tell you. .?’
‘No, no, no. I thought it was better than gawping at Pornhub and playing patience.’
‘I’m all ears.’
Katrine could hear that Hagen was trying to sound positive, but was unable to conceal his despair. He had probably got sick of his hopes being raised only to be dashed in the following months.
‘I’ve gone through the data to see if there were any recurrent names in the original rapes and murders in Maridalen and by Lake Tryvann.’
‘Thanks, Katrine, but we’ve done that, too. Ad nauseam, one might say.’
‘I know. But I work in a slightly different way, you see.’
Deep sigh. ‘Go on then.’
‘I noticed there were different teams on the two cases. Only two officers from Krimteknisk and three detectives were on both. And none of the five could have had a complete picture of who was brought in for questioning. As neither of the cases was cleared up, it was a protracted affair and the case file was enormous.’
‘Enormous — you can say that again. And naturally it’s right that no one can remember everything that happened during the investigation. But everyone who was brought in for questioning is on the police central registration system. That goes without saying.’
‘That’s exactly the point,’ Katrine said.
‘What’s exactly the point?’
‘When people are brought in for questioning, they’re registered and the interview is filed according to the case they’re brought in for. But sometimes things fall between two stools, such as if the interviewee is already in prison — then the interview is an informal matter in the cell and the person isn’t registered as he’s already on the register.’
‘But the notes from the interview are still in the case file.’
‘Normally, yes. But not if this interview is primarily about another case for which he is the prime suspect, and for example, the murder in Maridalen was only a minor part of the interview, a routine long shot. Then the whole interview is filed under the first case and a search wouldn’t link him to the second case.’
‘Interesting. And you’ve found. .?’
‘A person who was questioned as a prime suspect in a rape case in Ålesund while he was inside for the assault and attempted rape of an underage girl at a hotel in Otta. During the interview he was also asked about the Maridal case, but afterwards the interview was filed under the Otta rape. The interesting thing is that this person was also hauled in for the Tryvann case, but on that occasion in the usual manner.’
‘And?’ For the first time she could hear signs of genuine interest in Hagen’s voice.
‘He had an alibi for all three cases,’ Katrine said, and she felt rather than heard the air go out of the balloon she had inflated for him.
‘I see. Any other amusing stories from Bergen you think I should hear today?’
‘There’s more,’ Katrine said.
‘I have a meeting in-’
‘I checked the man’s alibi. It’s the same for all three cases. A witness who confirmed he was at home. The witness was a young lady who at that time was regarded as reliable. No record, no connection with the suspect, apart from them lodging in the same house. But if you follow the link to her name into the future, interesting things happen.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as embezzlement, drug dealing and forging documents. If you look a bit more closely at the interviews she’s been summoned to since then, there’s a common theme running through them. Guess what it is.’
‘False statements.’
‘Unfortunately, we’re not in the habit of looking at old cases in a new light. At least not cases that are as old and complex as the Maridalen and Tryvann ones.’
‘What’s the woman’s name, for goodness’ sake?’ The interest was back in his voice.
‘Irja Jacobsen.’
‘Have you got an address for her?’
‘Yes. She’s in the police registration system, the national register and a couple of others-’
‘Well, for goodness’ sake, let’s get her in now!’
‘-such as the missing persons register.’
There was a long silence coming from Oslo. Katrine felt like going for a walk, down to the fishing boats in Bryggen, buying a bag of cod heads, heading home to her flat in Møhlenpris and slowly making dinner and watching Breaking Bad while, hopefully, it started to rain again.
‘Great,’ Hagen said. ‘Well, at least you’ve given us something to get our teeth into. What’s the name of the guy?’
‘Valentin Gjertsen.’