Medusa (30 page)

Her ironic tone was supposed to convey that she was exaggerating, but it couldn’t be
too
obvious, not if she was to succeed in arousing his interest. From the look he gave her, she guessed she had succeeded. She suspected him of being more ambitious than most of the others, and she felt certain that this oversight she was teasing him about was the result not of carelessness but of the fact that he took on more work than everyone else.

– Let’s hear it then, he encouraged her.

It had often struck her that Arve Norbakk had a chance of going far in the business, and she didn’t think any the less of him for it.

– The mistake first. Miriam hasn’t been in Norway six years, it’s seven years. She told me she spent a year in school here before she began studying medicine.

He let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

– So that’s it then? he smiled, and at once turned serious. – Thanks, Nina, a bit too much haste rather than speed at the moment. Great having a colleague who gives you the chance to correct your mistakes.

She saw her chance and took it.

– Fancy coming out for a bite to eat? Then I’ll tell you about the other thing, the oversight.

His mobile phone rang; he picked it up and looked at the display.

– Sorry, I have to take this. Can we do it tomorrow?

Maybe he was just saying it to avoid the invitation, but Nina decided that he really would like to have that cup of coffee with her.

– Deal, she said. – I’ll come and pick you up.

W
HEN EVENING PRAYERS
were over, Father Raymond went to his office and tidied away a few documents on his desk. He felt restless, and that was always when he worked best. As though the Lord had given him the gift of restlessness so that he would not fall for the temptations of passive self-satisfaction but make use of the abilities he had been blessed with. He began work on the lecture he was going to give at Saturday’s instructions seminar. It had started to rain, and a fierce wind rattled the house. He liked the sensation, how vulnerable it made him feel as a human being. And with it that sense of being held tight.

After he had been working for a while, he heard a knock on the door, and for a moment he struggled against a feeling of irritation at the interruption.

– Miriam, he exclaimed when he saw who it was standing there. Her hair hung down over her eyes. – But you’re soaking wet.

He found a towel in the cupboard and she dried her face.

– I forgot my umbrella, she explained. – Not that it would have been much help in this wind.

She was not just wet, he noticed. There were shadows below her eyes, and her hair was unkempt. Beneath her coat she wore a thin blouse with the top button undone. He couldn’t see the cross she usually wore on a gold chain around her neck.

– I rang at the sub-prior’s office, she burst out. – He said I would find you here.

Father Raymond had often thought of her after her last visit. What she had told him of the relationship with this man who was married with children had worried him. Most of all because she seemed to have got so deeply involved. She had been so tormented, and now obviously things had got even worse.

– What can I do for you, Miriam?

She looked as though she was struggling to find the words.

– That business you were talking about last time, he said to encourage her. – Have you managed to get any closer to making a decision?

She looked down at the floor.

– I haven’t seen him for a couple of days.

He gave her time to continue.

– I’m afraid, Father.

The priest coughed. He felt a powerful desire to sit down beside her.

– My neighbour has been murdered … She was lying outside my door … She has a little daughter.

She burst into tears. Father Raymond got up and went over to her. He touched the collar of her coat with two fingers. Miriam bent her neck; it looked so slender and vulnerable.

– This is a terrible story, he comforted her. – And for you to be mixed up in it. It’s so meaningless.

She turned her face up to him.

– It’s as if it’s had something to do with me the whole time, Father.

She was pale, and her mascara had run. Now, seeing this face so naked and helpless, he felt even more powerfully than before this sensation for which there were no words. The trace of Him
in another’s face.

Miriam picked up the towel and dried around her swollen eyes.

– Something happened, she snuffled. – Just before I came here.

He began to rock back and forth on his feet, almost imperceptibly. It helped focus his attention.

– Can you tell me about it?

She hesitated.

– I don’t know. I don’t want to get you in trouble.

– Dearest Miriam, you know you can tell me everything. There is not a single thing you could tell me that I could not bear to hear.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it quickly. He closed his eyes.

– Dearest Miriam, he said again.

– There was something in the letter box. An envelope with some … really hideous pictures.

– What kind of pictures?

She began to shake, and he put his arm round her shoulders.

– If it is something criminal, you must go to the police.

– Not until I know, she said in a low voice. – If I’m wrong, it would destroy him.

– Him?

He held her gaze.

– Is this the man you have a … have had a relationship with?

She swallowed twice.

– Is he threatening you, Miriam? Because you refuse to see him any more? You must not take any chances.

She straightened up. A firmness had appeared in her eyes.

– It always helps to come here, Father. When I talk to you, I know what the right thing to do is. I must be completely certain first. I can’t bear the thought of going through the rest of my life ashamed. I’ve already hurt him so much. If I’m wrong, it could destroy everything for him … First I have to hear what he says. I must give him the chance to explain. Can I come to see you again tomorrow? Or Friday?

– Dearest Miriam, come whenever you want to.

Again she took hold of his hand, and this time she kept hold of it.

– I don’t know what I would have done without you.

Father Raymond felt a warmth spreading through his whole body.

– But you must promise not to say a word about this to anyone, she said.

He was taken aback.

– I have a duty of confidentiality, Miriam, as you well know. But if you believe yourself to be in danger, in any way …

She released his hand.

– I don’t know if I can let you go, he protested. – Not until I know what this is about, what you’re telling me.

She attempted a smile.

– Dear Father, will you have me cloistered? Lock me up with the nuns in Karina priory?

Father Raymond had to abandon his attempt to finish writing the lecture that evening. After Miriam had gone, he sat there listening to the rain lashing against the window. He had no doubt that she meant what she said. He was bound by his oath of silence, but not where life and limb were in danger. He made up his mind to visit the prior to discuss the matter.

V
IKEN RESTED HIS
gaze on Jarle Frøen, the police prosecutor. Beneath Frøen’s thin red hair an irregular array of freckles was scattered across his scalp. It looked as though he might have stood beneath the ladder where a particularly clumsy painter was at work. The little splashes continued down on to a pale face that had a rather doughy consistency. As though it would never quite stop collapsing.

Viken enjoyed the feeling of being in control of the situation and did not let himself be provoked by Frøen’s surprising obstinacy. On the contrary, he found it stimulating. He didn’t even have to look at Finckenhagen to know where he had her, and that the result of the meeting was a foregone conclusion.

– We must keep our nerve, Frøen objected, and Viken smiled a friendly and obliging smile. It was, after all, the prosecutor’s job to sit there and cast doubt on whether they had enough evidence to make an arrest. – I note that this Glenne has a connection to all the victims, a distant one to be sure, but in and of itself striking. I note that he disappeared from the scene where Elvestrand’s body was found. Perhaps not surprising that he didn’t want to be caught with his trousers down, so to speak.

Frøen chuckled at his own little joke.

– I note also that he has not reported to us, despite our efforts to get in touch with him. I note that he has not been home since Monday. All more than a little suspicious, I grant you, Viken. But do you honestly think it’s enough to warrant holding him in custody? I’ll tell you what the court will want to know. One: is there the least bit of technical evidence that actually links the accused to the case? Two: where the bloody hell is the motive?

Viken let him ramble on and didn’t waste time with interruptions that would only have encouraged him. When Frøen did finally stop, he even permitted himself a question: – Any further objections? He was careful to sound encouraging rather than sarcastic, and cast a glance in Finckenhagen’s direction, though she wasn’t the one he had asked.

– I’m certainly not going to lecture you about the due processes of law, he said to Frøen, once the prosecutor had declined the invitation to continue. And thinking that a touch of flattery never did any harm, he added: – It’s good to have you on the team, Jarle. A relief to have people around who really know their stuff. Who can separate the wheat from the chaff. If we put enough effort into it and find Glenne in the course of the evening, that gives us effectively twenty-four hours before we need to make a formal application for remand. Plenty of time to go over every inch of his office, both the cars, the villa with garage and outhouses, the summer place down in Larkollen, and anywhere else you like. As for technical evidence, you can bet your boots we’ll have some by this time tomorrow. As you know, we have DNA traces from the victims. The most interesting were those found under Anita Elvestrand’s fingernails. I’ve just been talking to the pathologists. They had a preliminary DNA analysis of this material. Dr Plåterud said it was
very
interesting.

– In what way? Frøen wanted to know.

– Some peculiarity or other they need to take a closer look at … Viken prised a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and put his glasses on. – She called it
translocation
. People with such genes need not necessarily be visibly different, but it is not unlikely that someone in the immediate family might in some way deviate from the norm. It would be absolutely
spiffing
to get a little peek at this Dr Glenne’s molecules.

From the corner of his eye he could see Finckenhagen smiling.

– And I’ll use stronger language if we haven’t got something out of this chap before we get that far. I’ll use the time well, you can rely on it. We’ll drive him as hard as we can the whole night. You asked about motive. Well, as you know, I am of the considered opinion that the whole concept of motive is too narrow to encompass murders of this kind.

He left a short pause before continuing.

– This won’t be so much about motive as about a psyche so twisted that we have difficulty in comprehending it.

– Do you have any reason to believe that Glenne is so deranged? I mean, to all intents and purposes the chap seems completely functional.

Viken leaned across the table and gave a detailed account of the story of the twin brother whom no one had ever seen. Frøen did not look impressed.

– Someone born in the middle of Oslo in the sixties must be registered.

Viken couldn’t agree more.

– I’ve got Jebsen trying to trace him. But if she’d found him in births, marriages and deaths then she would have let us know long ago. Anyway, whether he exists or not, this whole business with the twin is so odd that the shrinks are going to be on it like vultures.

– What about the claw marks on the victims? Do you have anything connecting Glenne to that? I mean, apart from the fact that the man obviously likes riding his bike out in the woods?

This latter was said with what Viken would call a sly look, but he didn’t let it put him off his stride.

– I’ve had Plåterud look at these marks again, he answered, and pointed to a document on the table in front of him. – The slashes on the victims aren’t particularly deep; they could well have been made using claws from a severed bear’s paw. Even the rip on the cheek, if the claws had been sharpened. I have a theory as to why the killer does this. Apart from that, you’re probably also aware of the fact that Glenne doesn’t have a watertight alibi for any of the relevant periods of time.

Still in the same acid tone Frøen said: – I see you suggest that he may even have risen in the middle of the night, driven to a premises in Lillestrøm, stolen a stuffed bear and then returned to his bed before his wife woke up.

– That may be what happened, Viken confirmed stoically. – He might also have got hold of a bear’s paw in some other way. And I’ll bet my bottom dollar that several pieces of this puzzle fall into place when we interview him. If we don’t get started now, I’m afraid these pieces may elude us for good.

Frøen shrugged his shoulders.

– We can still bring him in on a voluntary basis and get a DNA sample, he protested, addressing Finckenhagen.

– In principle, she observed.

Viken nodded, as though again giving the idea serious consideration.

– Always supposing that we get hold of the bloke, and he says don’t mind if I do when we politely ask him to accompany us. On the other hand, he’s been playing hide-and-seek with us for two and half days now. Even so, Jarle, this is not the thing we’ve really got to worry about. He disliked addressing the prosecutor by his first name, but the situation required it.

– No?

Frøen was clearly feeling ill at ease, despite his uncharacteristically tough tone. A large oval patch of sweat had formed between his prominent nipples. His whole fat, doughy body would slump to the floor if the chair wasn’t there to keep it up, thought Viken as he played the card he had been saving till last, even though everyone knew he held it.