Faithless, page 20
‘The padlock,’ Lena said. ‘How did they open it?’
‘They maintained the place was unlocked, and we can’t prove the opposite because we never found the padlock key on them.’
Exactly, Lena thought, she thanked them for their help and hung up. Everyone knew the three of them were lying, but there is no legal penalty for fabrication. The three Estonians were released after a night in custody. There was nothing they could charge them with. Now none of them answered their phones. Most probably they were back in Estonia.
She made neat holes in the papers, archived them in ring files and put them on the shelf. The working day was over.
Lena went home.
She had to prepare herself mentally and physically for her session with the psychologist.
*
The locksmith was sitting on the steps waiting when Frølich drove in and parked in front of the old display windows. Short-haired with a curl over his brow; angular head and a goatee around his chin. He looked like Abraham Lincoln.
Frølich signed the invoice and watched the man go before entering.
At first sight Veronika Undset’s messy office looked the same as it had done the previous time: the low desk was still covered with papers and old newspapers. The mops in the corner, the piles of plastic buckets, cardboard boxes full of detergents…
He scanned the office. Something was missing.
There was no telephone.
He walked over to the desk, opened drawers and looked underneath to see if it had fallen on the floor.
It wasn’t there either. He went over what had happened on the Monday afternoon. He had found the door locked and waited for some minutes. Then a taxi had pulled up by the pavement. Veronika got out of the car. They said hello, she unlocked the door, they went in…
He had been nervous to speak. Nervous because she was engaged to Karl Anders, because…
He remembered it as though it had happened a few minutes ago. Veronika went to the telephone and fiddled with it, and he had wondered if she was checking the display to see if anyone had phoned while she had been out.
Now the telephone was gone. There was no doubt. There was even a clear square in the layer of dust on the desk.
Whoever had taken the telephone must have had a key. There was surely only one place the keys could have come from – Veronika’s bag.
Frank Frølich’s eyes wandered across the walls. Kim’s Game, he thought, walking around the confined office, careful not to touch anything. If any other objects apart from the telephone had been removed, he had no idea what they could be.
He used his mobile to ring Gunnarstranda.
There were three rings before he answered.
‘It’s seven o’clock, Frølich and I’m on my way home.’
‘We need some assistance from Telenor,’ Frølich said.
‘Why?’
‘Veronika Undset’s work phone has been taken. Telenor can see who she phoned before she was killed.’
‘Taken? As in stolen? Taken intentionally?’
‘Yep. As I wrote in my report. She rang someone after I left her. All the time I’ve thought she used her mobile.’
‘Me too.’
‘Anyway, I’m here now. I came to check. The telephone’s gone.’
‘Telenor … have them run a trace … that could take time,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘I’ll see to it tomorrow.’
39
It was eight o’clock in the morning and Gunnarstranda was pouring himself his second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door. In came Lena Stigersand.
‘Hi,’ she said.
‘What are you doing?’ She eyed him and the coffee cup with despair. ‘The coffee in the machine costs just one krone.’
Gunnarstranda screwed the top on his worn steel Thermos. ‘Without this energy drink I’d have applied for a job elsewhere long ago. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ Lena couldn’t suppress a smile and was shifting from one foot to the other like a girl on the way to her first day at school.
Gunnarstranda allowed himself to be infected by her good mood and smiled. ‘I can see there is something.’
‘Voilà,’ she said, holding up a little plastic bag. ‘Thought you might poss–i–bly be interested in this!’
She placed the bag on the edge of the desk.
He observed it, still with the Thermos in his hand, eyebrows arched.
‘Hair,’ she said. ‘Erik Valeur’s. It can be analysed. You can see if it matches DNA from the sample you took in Almeli’s wardrobe.’
Gunnarstranda was no longer smiling. He pushed the Thermos away.
She involuntarily straightened up.
Gunnarstranda rose to his full height, walked past her and closed the door. Locked onto her eyes. ‘Sit down,’ he said coldly.
She sat.
He lifted the plastic bag from the desk and weighed it in his hand. ‘How did you get hold of this?’
‘Therapy,’ she said. ‘Private,’ she added.
‘You heard what I told you yesterday, didn’t you?’
‘It’s private,’ Lena said. ‘I go to therapy, that’s all. I took the hairs from his jacket hanging over the chair. He didn’t see me doing it. I’ve also formed an impression of the man – interested?’
Gunnarstranda walked back to the desk and sat down. The silence was long and heavy.
At length he stretched out his hand and flicked the plastic bag with the few hairs inside. The bag sailed in an arc into the wastepaper basket.
Lena sat looking at the basket. Then she raised her gaze. Their eyes met.
‘That was not necessary,’ she said.
Gunnarstranda didn’t answer, just stared at her. She was one of the few people in the building he liked. He remembered her from right back when he had held a couple of short lectures at the Police College. Lena had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Almond-shaped, resting harmoniously above a gently sloping nose and protected by long, naturally curled eyelashes. She had also the reddest hair he could ever remember seeing. And beneath the unruly mane was a quick brain which equipped this woman with intelligence, humour, self-irony, a chameleon’s ability to adapt and a special skill for gaining perspective and drawing quick conclusions.
But now and then even the best go off the rails. He cleared his throat. ‘Lena.’
‘Yes?’ She blinked. Probably knowing what was coming.
‘I hope this investigation won’t end up in a legal case.’
She sighed like a teenager before the teacher’s reprimand comes.
He raised a hand to quell her reaction and continued:
‘If DNA is produced as evidence in a court case I, or another officer, have to explain where the sample came from and why it was taken. I have to take responsibility for the progress of an investigation which should be both professional and ethical. Private psychology sessions do not come under accepted conditions for this type of evidence, and I think you know that in your heart of hearts. Why do you want to drop out of this investigation?’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘I don’t and you know that.’
‘You’ve initiated a private relationship with a witness whose status might become that of a suspect.’
Her cheeks reddened and he could literally see the anger boiling behind her ice-blue eyes.
‘Frølich’s still working with us on the case,’ she countered.
Gunnarstranda took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, waiting for more to come.
‘Frølich knew Veronika Undset,’ Lena went on. ‘He not only knew her, he—’
‘That’s absolutely correct,’ Gunnarstranda broke in. ‘But there’s an essential difference, Lena. Frølich doesn’t start a new relationship. He knows he’s compromised with regard to some of the witnesses involved. He’s told us which ones he knows and he’s talked about the resulting problems. Can you do the same? Can you tell me why you booked a session with this psychologist?’
‘I wanted to kill two birds with one stone. By using Valeur I wanted to get an impression of him. I had planned to write a report, but I can see you’re not interested. Relax, I won’t do it.’
‘Why the psychologist, Lena?’
She stared into the air.
He waited.
‘It’s private,’ she said.
‘You have one more chance,’ he said, noting the fury continuing to build up in her ice-blue eyes. It wasn’t difficult to understand. He would have been livid himself. ‘Both you and I know about Frølich and his childhood friend, and we know why he finds parts of his job problematic. We had to know that to decide whether he’s compromised or not. You have to go through the same mill. What is it about you that makes—?’
She cut in: ‘It’s private!’ The last word was pronounced with such force and volume that it resounded against the wall behind them.
He met her angry glare and regretted what he had to say, but said it anyway:
‘I’ll take this up with Rindal. I’ll ask for you to be transferred.’
She rose to her feet, her back ramrod straight.
Seeing her like this sent a pain through his stomach. Her eyes were shiny and she was clearly fighting with herself, but said nothing. She went to the door.
‘Lena,’ Gunnarstranda said.
She turned and looked him in the eye. She had regained her self-control.
‘Was that why you started the therapy with the weirdo? To hear what I just said?’
‘Of course not!’
Then she was gone. Behind her, the door closed with a bang.
*
Gunnarstranda stared at the door. He swivelled to and fro in his chair. He glanced down at the wastepaper basket. Glanced at the door. The wastepaper basket. The door.
For ten long minutes he stared meditatively at the ceiling as he swung from side to side.
In the end he couldn’t restrain himself. He pulled the basket over, bent down and fished out the plastic bag. He dangled it pensively between thumb and forefinger for a few seconds.
He picked up the receiver and pressed Schwenke’s number. ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some hair. Can you or one of your minions prioritise an analysis?’
While he was talking he took a form from a drawer to accompany the sample.
40
She was furious and packed her things. While she was waiting at the bus stop her phone beeped.
Text from Ståle. There were six messages from him in her in-box. All unread.
She breathed in and paced to and fro, hands in pockets, impatient. Telling herself: Ståle’s on Crete. Walking hand in hand with his fragile wife on the beach. They’ll find a restaurant with muzak playing, Whitney Houston or REM, and then eat moussaka, drink retsina and ouzo and gaze deep into each other’s eyes before walking back and having sex, curtains fluttering in the wind.
Wasn’t that the life she longed for?
It was irrelevant. She had been treated like shit by Ståle and now she was being treated like shit at work. She snatched up her phone and deleted all his messages unread.
The bus came. She got on. Found a seat and leaned her head against the window. Idly gazing at the cars and houses along Trondheimsveien. Fell into a sun-soaked bus-induced trance.
Aker Hospital. Changed buses. She stood at the head of the queue for a seat. The bus was packed, hot and soporific. She fell asleep. Dreaming about Ståle’s sweaty chest and imagining she had the taste of saltwater and semen in her mouth.
She woke with a start thinking that life was like a swing rocking back and forth and never stopping.
At home she logged onto the net, finished writing reports that should have been done ages ago and sent them. As she got up to make tea she looked outside.
There was a dark green car in the parking bay for guests.
She had seen the car before. On a hard disk belonging to Sivert Almeli.
The sight froze her, and slowly she turned away from the window. Stood still, looking at the noisy kettle. When the water had boiled she switched it off, fetched a cup, filled it and added a tea bag.
Her hands weren’t shaking. She spooned some honey from the jar and put it in her tea. Went back to the window and looked down at the roof of the green car, slowly stirring in the honey.
Lena worked through the session she’d had with Valeur the day before. What she had said; what he had said. His eyes. Still she couldn’t fathom what had triggered this. Most probably it was something he did to many patients. He spied on them. Presumably this is what he did with Veronika. It must have been what Sivert Almeli had observed. An unfamiliar car outside. A stranger in the car. Something had happened. Something which caused Almeli to make a note of the registration plate, find the owner and photograph him.
What had happened?
There was only one way to find out; she had to go down. Lena was the patient being spied on.
She was Veronika Undset.
She moved away from the window and over to the mirror. But she wasn’t Veronika. She was prepared; she was trained to master men like him – both mentally and physically.
She looked herself in the eye and felt herself go cold and determined. She went into the bathroom and changed into a tracksuit and trainers. Stopped and looked at herself in the mirror once again. Some back-up might be necessary, but not yet.
Anyway she would need a way out – if anything were to happen. If.
She went into the bedroom, opened the wardrobe and searched for her bumbag. Strapped it around her waist and tightened it. Her mobile phone was in the kitchen. She checked the display – the battery was fully charged. She put the phone on silent mode, placed it in the bumbag and zipped it up. She was ready.
She jogged down the stairs. Continued along the pathway ignoring the car park, followed the bend around it and set off down the hills towards the main road. Running sprightly with purpose and focus.
She heard the car after running only a few hundred metres. It followed her at a snail’s pace.
Now was the time. She stopped.
The car stopped.
She turned. It was Valeur’s Mercedes. The window slid down.
She walked over.
‘Hi, Lena.’ Erik Valeur looked at her from the driver’s seat. His sunglasses made him resemble the baddie in a B-movie.
‘Hi,’ she said. And as much as she didn’t want to be the one who covers over the strangeness of a situation with idiotic chit-chat, she heard herself wittering away like an adolescent: ‘Oh, my God, is that you? That’s a bit of a surprise.’
He didn’t respond to her twaddle. The baddie black sunglasses were impenetrable. Eventually he nodded: ‘Jump in.’
‘I’m going for a little run and I’m quite sweaty,’ she answered, wondering to herself: why am I smiling stupidly like a schoolgirl? ‘Don’t think it would be right in your car.’
‘You’ve only been running for about a minute,’ he said. ‘I saw you.’ His lips were dry. He licked around his mouth. Something nasty was going on in that head right now.
He leaned further forward and pointed through the open window. ‘You live there, in the block on the right, second floor, third balcony from the right. The one with the spiraea in the window box.’
A car came down the hill. Braked and passed them. Lena waved.
‘Who was that?’
‘A neighbour,’ she lied. She didn’t know the driver from Adam.
‘Jump in,’ he repeated.
She waited, not moving.
He moistened his lips with his tongue again. Pulled a smile that wasn’t a smile but a grimace. ‘I only want to talk to you.’
The silence lingered for more long seconds.
‘Why?’ she asked.
The skin on his thin lips was cracked and flaked. ‘Lena, do what I tell you.’
She looked at the black sunglasses, searching for his eyes without success. Then he leaned over the passenger seat and opened the door. She got in.
41
It was getting on for six in the evening. Gunnarstranda sat with his feet on the table opening another packet of Nicotinell chewing gum when the telephone rang. It was Schwenke.
‘Congratulations, Gunnarstranda.’
The policeman popped some gum in his mouth. He placed it under his lip like a snus pouch. He did this instinctively, deliberating what these words actually meant. The investigation was going into a new and intensive phase.
‘The sample,’ Schwenke elucidated,’ the sample of hair you sent has a match.’
‘Almeli?’
‘No. Almeli’s killer is still unknown. The hair sample has a match in the Senja case. The man whose hair this is pumped his seed between Signe Strand’s white thighs before killing her. What sort of person is he?’
‘He’s a psychologist,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘The girl was his patient. Something about the treatment must have turned him on.’
‘What about Veronika Undset?’
‘She was also one of his patients,’ Gunnarstranda answered stiffly.
Schwenke whistled.
Gunnarstranda was thinking about who had delivered the hair sample and quickly brought the conversation to a close.
‘I’d have a look at Signe Strand’s treatment history if I were you,’ Schwenke said. ‘At the interview you should go into the man’s past. There must have been a trigger for how he acted.’
Struggling to retain his composure, Gunnarstranda answered: ‘Thank you, thank you so much, especially because you prioritised it and were so quick.’
‘Now you owe me a favour,’ Schwenke replied with a laugh.
‘Add it to the list,’ Gunnarstranda said, and put down the receiver.
He immediately lifted it again. Rang Lena at home.
No answer.
He took out his phone where he had saved her mobile number. It rang. But she didn’t answer.
