Sohlberg and the Gift (14 page)

“Nice. Quite a set-up you have here.”

“You should see the rooms for scanning. We’ve got incredible equipment.”

Atle grinned and ushered Sohlberg into his office where they took off their coats and gloves and hats and mufflers. From there they passed through a set of double doors that led to an enormous conference room. Atle paused before a wall safe. He spun the combination lock while Sohlberg sat down in front of the 40-foot conference table.

“Here’s the Holy Grail,” said Atle as he pushed a stainless steel cart up to Sohlberg.

The cart had a top and a bottom shelf and each shelf held two large cardboard boxes and each box sat on the middle of a tray and each side of the cart had a small built-in LED screen for each tray and each screen had a tiny red-light scanner immediately above.

Atle pointed at the angry red eye. “You can only take one box at a time. Each box has its own scanner. You must wave your I.D. badge in front of the scanner every time that you pick up a box from the cart and every time that put a box back on the cart. Got it?”

“Yes. But four boxes? . . . That’s it?”

“Actually it’s three boxes for the bank robbery case and one box for the murder case . . . that’s the one with the J.E. initials on the sides of the box.”

“Wait—”

“Sorry but I delivered what you wanted . . . what you asked for. Now . . . excuse me but I have work to do.”

“What if I finish early?”

“You’ll have to wait here. There’s a restroom down the hall and a café with pretty good food and beverages. There’s also a rec-room with sofas that you can sleep on. I’m going to be here for seven or eight hours because I have to prepare a presentation for my bosses on Monday.”

“Eight hours? . . . Can’t you take me back—”

“Into town? No. Absolutely not. I’m not taking you back to town . . . least of all during my lunch hour.”

“Alright. What if I need to get hold of you?”

“Dial seven-five-four on any phone and it’ll page me.”

Sohlberg promptly went to get himself something hot to drink at the café. He was pleasantly surprised that they had free pastries and fruits and coffee and hot chocolate and all sorts of herbal teas. He grabbed a large mug and brewed himself a peppermint tea. After savoring the intense and refreshing flavor he headed back to the conference room.

As instructed Sohlberg waved his badge in front of the Janne Eide box. A bell chimed as soon as Sohlberg lifted the box off the cart. He got an even bigger surprise when he heard a pleasant female voice come from a speaker on the cart’s handle and say:

“Please return the material to this tray for weighing when you are finished.”

“Well!” said Sohlberg who was amazed at the sensitive and complicated nature of the sensors in the cart.

Sohlberg stood by the conference table when he opened the box. He stared at four anorexic files. Two files belonged to the lead detectives on the case: Bjørn Nygård and his successor Ivar Thorsen. The other two files belonged to the department head Magnus Ellingsen and his boss Ingeborg Myklebust.

Nygård’s file insulted Sohlberg.

Missing were Nygård’s notes on what had been done and ordered and discovered during the first 48 hours. The notes would also have contained critical information such as the first impressions of the lead detective as well as his or his assistant’s interviews with first responders on the crime scene.

Missing were all the other important documents that should’ve been in the box. The crime scene forensic reports—missing. The autopsy report— gone. Interviews with witnesses—not there. Lists of things to do and people to interview—gone. Case Status Reports to Elligsen—none. Report to Prosecutors—absent.

The only document in the file: a one-page memo.

Sohlberg’s blood pressure rose quickly as he read the document.

FROM:
      
MAGNUS ELLINGSEN

TO:
            
BJØRN NYGÅRD

Two weeks ago at our Tuesday status update meeting, I verbally ordered you to limit costs and expenses in the Janne Eide investigation. There is no need to incur further costs and expenses because there is only one obvious culprit. Her husband is clearly guilty, and he is the only suspect that any rational detective would investigate and focus on.

Accordingly, I expressly sent you a memo last month instructing you to obtain my prior written authorization before you incurred any more expenses. And yet, you have intentionally and knowingly disobeyed my command.

Pursuant to the on-going audit that I ordered from Accounting they found unauthorized use of your Autopass account for $ 30 in tollway fees with respect to the unmarked car that you requested for this investigation. Attached is a copy of the 98-page audit.

Your written explanation that you needed to drive about to different sources to confirm “certain facts” about the husband is wholly unsatisfactory and irrelevant. Your offer to personally reimburse the department for the $ 30 is also unsatisfactory and irrelevant.

Under Rule 35A.02.(C) which governs financial impropriety and irregularity, I am therefore putting you on an immediate three (3) day suspension, unpaid. As required by labor contract 12-34/A, I am informing you that your union can help you appeal my decision.

Further disobedience will result in disciplinary action that includes dismissal/termination and a criminal referral if necessary for any financial impropriety and irregularity.

cc: Ingeborg Myklebust; Kasper Berge; Ivar Thorsen

The Ellingsen Memo churned Sohlberg’s stomach. The threatening tone of the memo was obscene enough. But including an insignificant flea of a junior detective like Ivar Thorsen in the “
cc
” list was a grotesque insult purposefully designed to humiliate a lead homicide detective—like Bjørn Nygård—who was thoroughly experienced and well-regarded.

Thorsen’s file was another perverse joke: it only held a copy of the repulsive memo from Ellingsen.

Sohlberg’s heart skipped a beat when he flipped through the two remaining files and saw to his horror that the files for Magnus Ellingsen and Ingeborg Myklebust also held the same notorious memo.

“Well . . . well . . . look here,” shouted Sohlberg who reached out with his left hand to catch a second page that slipped out of the Myklebust file when Sohlberg threw it on the table with the Ellingsen file.

The second page in the Myklebust file was a CONFIDENTIAL MEMO on elegant stationary from the Ministry of Justice that made Sohlberg just as upset as the first memo:

FROM:
      
KASPER BERGE

TO:
            
INGEBORG MYKLEBUST

Yesterday, after finding Ludvik Helland criminally insane, the court remanded him to the care of a psychiatric institution.

According to the experts, Ludvik Helland’s psychosis will never be cured. Therefore, I never expect the court to order his release.

The Janne Eide case is closed.

Thanks to your department’s excellent work I was able to tell the Minister herself that the case is OVER AND DONE WITH.

Please thank Ellingsen and Thorsen for their superb assistance in the matter.

Sohlberg knew he was on to something and it was big. Very big.

Why were the Janne Eide files so thoroughly scrubbed?

Who sanitized them?

~ ~ ~

Seven hours. Seven hours deep inside a mountain. Seven hours until Atle drove him back to the train station. And yet that was still not enough time for Sohlberg to fully understand the mysterious visit of Astrid Isaksen and her baffling words.

“I want justice.”

Those words had gotten his undivided attention. But before she made such an outrageous request of him just how did she ever get inside the Zoo?

How did she get inside my office?

The guards downstairs later told Sohlberg that they let her in because they thought she was someone’s relative:

“She looked so sweet and nice . . . gave us two cookies each from the little food basket she was carrying.”

Basket. She had no basket when she met me.

What had she done with the basket after she got inside the Politihuset?

Did she throw it away? Or did she leave it with someone inside the Zoo . . . someone who had put her up to visiting me . . . to baiting me?

How much of Astrid Isaksen is a clever ruse?

Sohlberg considered every word from Astrid Isaksen’s mouth and yet one phrase dominated his thoughts:

“Then tell me this . . . why was Chief Inspector Nygård kicked off the Janne Eide case? That’s a mighty peculiar turn of events.”

Sohlberg wondered why she had not come out and told him exactly what she wanted done in the Janne Eide case.

Why did she throw me a hook that I was sure to bite into . . . Nygård getting kicked off the Eide case?

He replayed more parts of their conversation in his mind.

A great detective is a great listener. Every word and every pause and every phrase from a witness or a victim or a suspect means something. Silence also means a lot. Fortunately Sohlberg had been a good listener ever since he had been a child. He had a knack for endlessly repeating his own conversations and other people’s conversations
verbatim
in his mind. This blessing was also a curse: the remembered conversations would plague him for hours or days and wreck his mental tranquility.

Sohlberg’s mind focused on one part of his conversation with Astrid Isaksen.

“Why should I care if a Chief Inspector gets kicked off a case?”

“Because you care.”

“How do you know I care?”

“I saw you . . . I saw you in True Crime. They said you’re the inspector who cares. They said—”