‘She… I stayed behind at Jimmy’s after she… I sat in the room at the back with Kenneth drinking coffee and watching TV. They’ve got Eurosport. – There was a phone call. Something had happened – so could we come and clear up?’
‘Who was it who rang, did you say?’
‘Dunno.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘We went up, and there she lay.’
‘Torild?’
He nodded.
‘And was she dead?’
‘Yes! She was dead. No doubt about that.’
‘It must have been a terrible shock for you.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, yes…’
‘But – so was there nobody else in the room?’
‘No, just her. She was lying on the bed, naked, and we – we saw straight away, her eyes, wide open…’
‘Did the two of you find out what had happened?’
‘No. Some of the clients could be a bit rough, you see? Kenneth said it was definitely somebody who’d completely lost it.’
‘And… but who let you in?’
‘To the hotel? Kenneth had a master key.’
‘Kenneth? So which hotel was this?’
‘The Pastel, of course! What did you think?’
‘And which day?’
‘Thursday! Well, that was when it happened.’
‘Not Friday, then?’
‘Friday? It was Thursday! Believe me, I know!’
‘OK. So how did the two of you carry out your assignment?’
His mouth started to tremble again. ‘Kenneth had one of those plastic bin liners. We got her into it, carried her down to the car, put her on the back seat and drove off. We talked a fair bit about what we were going to do with her, whether we should dump her in the sea or… But then we decided to take her up there, to Fanafjell, and it was Kenneth’s idea that we should c-carve a Satanist emblem onto her skin, to put people off the scent. She was dead anyway, so it didn’t make any odds to her!’
‘So that’s what you did?’ I said, surprised at how calm my own voice sounded.
He nodded.
‘And then?’
‘Well, afterwards… I drove Kenneth into town, before I drove back… Oh yes, I made a detour via Ulven and Lysekloster that time…’
‘Worried she might suddenly be at the roadside thumbing a lift, were you?’
Vidar Waagenes gave me a long-suffering look. ‘Helge…’ He opened his briefcase and took out a brown envelope. Then he unfolded a form, cleared his throat discreetly and glanced round a trifle pompously before continuing. ‘I’ve received a copy of the final report from the Institute of Forensic Medicine regarding the cause of death and including the results of various other tests.’
He paused. Helge Hagavik sat there, looking at him in silence. He glanced from one of us to the other before continuing: ‘From this it emerges that Torild Skagestøl died from suffocation, probably from somebody pressing a pillow or similar object against her face. The Satanist emblem was definitely carved onto the body when she was already dead, et cetera, et cetera. We don’t need to go into every detail. But there’s one thing you need to be aware of, Helge, according to what you’ve told us both today and before.’
He paused for effect before fixing his eyes on his client, saying: ‘According to this report here, Torild Skagestøl was HIV-positive.’
Raw fear spread across his face. ‘HIV? But, but she was on the safe list!’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘The safe list…’
Forty-five
‘LET ME TELL MUUS,’ said Vidar Waagenes, as we made our way back upstairs. ‘I mean, that my client’s willing to make a full confession of complicity after the victim was killed, but that he insists he had nothing whatever to do with the killing.’
‘I think he’s going to be over the moon – Muus, I mean.’
‘But tell me, Veum, what was that about – Friday?’
‘Friday was the day Judge Brandt died, at a hotel in the centre of town, after being with a young woman. It was a false trail.’
He paused on the stairs. ‘Maybe not.’
‘No? Why not?’
He tapped me on the chest with the brown envelope from the Institute of Forensic Medicine. ‘If Judge Brandt was in the habit of going with prostitutes… If I’m not much mistaken, he was part of an exchange trip to Central Africa last year. An initiative aimed at trying to promote our Western legal systems down there.’
‘You mean, that he… That we’re talking about a source of infection?’
‘If I’m not much mistaken, Scandinavian statistics show that there’s a remarkably high incidence of HIV-positives among heterosexual men who’ve had sex with prostitutes during trips to Africa, not least in the central regions.’
‘So he brought something back home with him, then?’
‘But whether this has anything to do with this case, I’ve really no idea.’
‘Everything or nothing, probably.’
In the Personal and Violent Crime Department Dankert Muus was waiting for us with a face like thunder. ‘So what in hell’s name have you two managed to dig up? Been keeping bad company, Waagenes? I mean, even worse company?’
‘Veum’s helped me get my client to talk. He’s ready to confess, Muus.’
A look of reluctant acknowledgement spread over the chief inspector’s normally grim face. ‘Well, I’ll be!’
‘But not to the actual murder,’ Vidar Waagenes quickly added. ‘Just complicity afterwards.’
His enthusiasm collapsed like a burst balloon. Muus eyed the lawyer with suspicion.
‘Does this mean that he knows who did the murder, then?’
‘A client,’ he claims.
‘Oh? But in that case, is there anyone who knows who the client was?’
‘There may well be,’ I interrupted. ‘As you know, I’ve already made a number of inquiries around Birger Bjelland & Co.’
‘Oh? And?’
‘If we get Helge Hagavik to repeat what he’s just told us, then all we need do is call in Birger Bjelland for a – what shall we say? – chat? And I may also be able to add something further.’
‘Such as?’
I recapped most of what I’d found out. About the Persen brothers and Jimmy’s as the intermediary. About the guy called Robert in the bar at the Pastel Hotel and what went on in the rooms there. About Astrid Nikolaisen and the safe list. And lastly, about Dr Evensen, whom I advised them to contact as soon as possible, with or without a lawyer present. The only thing I didn’t mention was what I’d found out about Birger Bjelland’s background in Stavanger. Those cases were long past their sell-by date, and anyway, it was not certain they could be investigated at all now and were perhaps better kept up my sleeve as evidence in a formal prosecution.
‘You’ve certainly not been dragging your feet, Veum, I must say. What about… I heard you’d had an accident?’ He nodded at my face. ‘D’you think it’s connected with all this?’
‘Only indirectly, if at all. I told you about it last time I was here. And I showed you the letter I received. Now I’ve seen all I need to in the person of Ole Hopsland, The Knife’s son. I can’t prove that The Knife was at the wheel, of course, but his fingerprints are the first thing you people should look for. If you find them, I’ll be happy to give you the threatening letter, with the envelope and the whole shooting match, and press charges right away.’
‘The truck was stolen anyway. We’ve established that much.’
‘When was that?’
‘Sometime after five o’clock yesterday, from a depot in Åsane.’
‘Any witnesses who saw it in Fløenbakken?’
‘No, not yet. Not that that necessarily means anything. At that time of day you could park in Fløenbakken without anybody noticing.’
‘Well… I’ve said my piece. I’m making a few discreet inquiries myself in connection with the case. To return to Birger Bjelland, something else cropped up as a result of the report from the Institute of Forensic Medicine.’