‘Your lovely wife is sitting in there,’ Lena said when Mikael Bellman reached the outer office. Lena was well over sixty, and when Bellman was appointed four years ago, the first thing she had said was that she didn’t want to be known as his PA, in the way of modern job descriptions. She was and would remain his secretary.
Ulla was sitting on the sofa by the window. Lena was right, his wife was lovely. She was vivacious, sensitive, and giving birth to three children hadn’t changed that. But more importantly, she had backed him up, had realised that his career required nurturing, support, elbow room. And that the occasional misstep in his private life was only human when you had to live with the pressure that went with such a demanding position.
And there was something unspoiled, almost naive about her that meant you could read everything in her face. And right now he could read despair. The first thing Bellman thought was that it was something to do with the children. He was on the point of asking when he detected a hint of bitterness. And he realised that she had found something out. Again. Damn.
‘You look very serious, darling,’ he said calmly, walking towards the cupboard as he unbuttoned the jacket of his uniform. ‘Has something happened to the children?’
She shook her head. He breathed out in feigned relief. ‘Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but I always get a bit worried when you turn up unannounced.’ He hung up his jacket and then sat down in the armchair facing her. ‘So?’
‘You’ve been seeing her again,’ Ulla said. He could hear that she had been practising how to say it. Worked out how to say it without crying. But now there were already tears in her blue eyes.
He shook his head.
‘Don’t deny it,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘I’ve checked your phone. You’ve called her three times this week alone, Mikael. You promised …’
‘Ulla.’ He leaned forward and took her hand over the table but she pulled away. ‘I’ve spoken to her because I need advice. Isabelle Skøyen is currently working as a communications adviser for a company that specialises in politics and lobbying. She’s familiar with the workings of power, because she’s been there herself. And she knows me, too.’
‘Knows?’ Ulla’s face contorted in a grimace.
‘If I – if we are going to do this, I need to make the most of anything that can give me an advantage, anything that can help me cross the line ahead of everyone else who wants the job. The government, Ulla. There’s nothing bigger than that.’
‘Not even your family?’ she sniffed.
‘You know very well that I’d never let our family down—’
‘Never let us down?’ she yelped. ‘You’ve already—’
‘—and I hope you’re not thinking of doing that either, Ulla. Not on the grounds of some unwarranted jealousy towards a woman I’ve spoken to on the phone for purely professional reasons.’
‘That woman was only a local politician for a very brief time, Mikael. What could she possibly have to tell you?’
‘Among other things, what not to do if you want to survive in politics. That was the experience they were buying when they employed her. For instance, you shouldn’t betray your ideals. Or those closest to you. Or your responsibilities and obligations. And, if you get it wrong, you apologise and try to get it right next time. It’s OK to make mistakes. But betrayal isn’t OK. And I don’t want to do that, Ulla.’ He took her hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away. ‘I know I don’t have the right to ask for much after what happened, but if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need your trust and support. You have to believe me.’
‘How can I …?’
‘Come.’ He stood up without letting go of her hand and pulled her over to the window. He positioned her so she was facing the city. Stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. Because Police Headquarters was at the top of a hill they could see half of Oslo, which lay bathed in sunshine below them. ‘Do you want to help make a difference, Ulla? Do you want to help me create a safer future for our children? For our neighbours? For this city? For our country?’
He could feel that his words were having an effect on her. Christ, they were having an effect on him too – he actually felt pretty moved by them. Even if they were more or less lifted straight from notes he had made when he was thinking about what to say to the media. It wouldn’t be many more hours before he was officially offered the ministerial post, and said yes, and the newspapers, television, radio all started phoning for a comment.
Truls Berntsen was stopped by a short woman when he and Wyller emerged into the atrium after the press conference.
‘Mona Daa, VG. I’ve seen you before.’ She turned away from Truls. ‘But you seem to be a new arrival at Crime Squad?’
‘Correct,’ Wyller said. Truls studied Mona Daa from the side. She had a fairly attractive face. Wide – Sami heritage, perhaps. But he had never really made sense of her body. The colourful, loose-fitting outfits she wore made her look more like an old-school opera reviewer than a tough crime reporter. Even though she couldn’t be much over thirty, Truls couldn’t help thinking that she’d been around for an eternity: strong, persistent and robust, it would take a lot to shake Mona Daa. And she smelled like a man. Rumour had it that she used Old Spice aftershave.
‘You didn’t exactly give us much to go on in the press conference.’ Mona Daa smiled. The way journalists smile when they want something. Only this time it looked like she wasn’t just after information. Her eyes were glued to Wyller.
‘I dare say we didn’t have much more,’ Wyller said, smiling back.
‘I’ll quote you on that,’ Mona Daa said, making notes. ‘Name?’
‘Quote me on what?’
‘That the police really don’t know anything beyond what Hagen and Bratt said during the press conference.’
Truls saw a brief look of panic in Wyller’s eyes. ‘No, no, that’s not what I meant … I … don’t write that, please.’
Mona went on writing as she replied: ‘I introduced myself as a journalist, and it ought to be pretty obvious that I’m here because of my job.’
Wyller looked to Truls for help, but Truls said nothing. The young dude certainly wasn’t as cocky now as when he was charming those student girls.
Wyller squirmed and tried to make his voice sound lower. ‘I refuse to let you use that quote.’
‘I see,’ Daa said. ‘Then I’ll quote you on that as well, to show that the police are trying to muzzle the press.’
‘I … no, that’s …’ Wyller was blushing furiously now, and Truls had to make a real effort not to laugh.
‘Relax, I’m only kidding,’ Mona Daa said.
Anders Wyller stared at her for a moment before breathing out again.
‘Welcome to the game. We play tough but fair. And if we can, we help each other out. Isn’t that right, Berntsen?’
Truls grunted something in response and left them to decide how to interpret it.
Daa leafed through her notebook. ‘I won’t bother repeating the question of whether you’ve identified a suspect, your boss can deal with that one, but let me just ask more generally about the investigation.’
‘Fire away,’ Wyller said with a smile, looking like he was already back in the saddle.
‘Isn’t it the case in a murder investigation like this that the spotlight is always aimed at previous partners or lovers?’
Anders Wyller was about to answer when Truls put a hand on his shoulder and interjected: ‘I can already see it in front of me, Daa: “Detectives are unwilling to say if they have a suspect, but a source in the police has told VG that the investigation is focusing on previous partners and lovers.”’