Killing Moon

21 Wednesday

The thrill begins

Katrine had to pull hard on the steering wheel of the fifty-year-old Volvo Amazon as she swung up in front of the entrance to the Radium Hospital.

She drew up beside the tall man with the beard.

Saw Harry hesitate before opening the door and sitting down in the passenger seat.

‘You kept the car,’ he said.

‘Bjørn loved it so much,’ she said, patting the dashboard. ‘And he took good care of it. Runs like clockwork.’

‘It’s a classic car,’ Harry said. ‘It’s also dangerous.’

She smiled. ‘You’re thinking of Gert? Relax, I only use it in the city. My father-in-law comes by and tinkers on it, and... it smells of Bjørn.’

She could tell what he was thinking. This is the car Bjørn shot himself in. Yes, it was. The car Bjørn had loved, and had driven out of the city, to a straight stretch of road alongside a field in Toten. A place he had fond memories of perhaps. It was night and he had moved to the back seat. Some believed it was because his idol, Hank Williams, had died in the back seat of a car, but she suspected it was because he didn’t want to mess up the driver’s seat. So that she could continue using it. So that she had to continue using it. Yes, she knew it was crazy. But if this was her self-imposed punishment for fooling a good man into believing that their child was his, a man who had always been good, way too good, then so what? He loved her to bits and always doubted that she really loved him, he had even gone as far as asking her straight out why she hadn’t chosen a man in her own league. No, this was a punishment she gladly accepted.

‘Good you could get here so quick,’ he said.

‘I was just up the road at the Forensic Medical Institute. So, what’s up?’

‘I just realised my usual driver isn’t quite sober, and I need to go to a place where you can get me in.’

‘Doesn’t sound very promising. Where were you thinking?’

‘The crime scenes,’ he said. ‘I want to see them.’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Come on. We found Bertine for you.’

‘I realise that, but I made it clear we don’t reward tip-offs.’

‘Yes, you did. Is it still cordoned off?’

‘Yes, so no, you can’t go there on your own either.’

Harry looked at her with something like quiet desperation. She recognised that look, recognised those damned pale blue eyes, now a little wider than usual, the body he wasn’t able to keep quite still in the seat. It was ants under his skin, it was the mania. Or was it something more? She had never seen him so worked up before, as though this case were a matter of life or death. Which of course it was, but not his life or death. Or? No, of course it was just the mania. Meaning he must — must — hunt.

‘Mm. Drive me to Schrøder’s then.’

Or drink.

She sighed. Checked the time. ‘Suit yourself. All right if I collect Gert from kindergarten on the way?’

He raised an eyebrow. Gave her a look as if to say he suspected her of having an agenda. Which of course she might have, it was never wrong to remind a man he had a child. She put the car in gear and was letting the temperamental clutch out when her phone rang. She looked at the display and put the car back into neutral.

‘Sorry, I have to take this, Harry. Yes, Bratt speaking.’

‘Have you read what Dagbladet have written now?’ Compared to most people the Chief Superintendent didn’t even sound annoyed. But Katrine was using the Bodil Melling yardstick and knew her boss was furious.

‘If by now you mean—’

‘It went up on their website six minutes ago, it’s this Våge again. He’s written that forensic examination has revealed that both girls had sex just prior to or after they were killed, and that a condom was used, probably so as not to leave any DNA behind. How does he know that, Bratt?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, then let me tell you. We have someone leaking information to Våge.’

‘Sorry,’ Katrine said. ‘I was imprecise. How is obvious. What I mean is I don’t know who the leak is.’

‘And when are you planning on finding out?’

‘Hard to say, boss. At the moment my priority is finding a killer who, for all we know, may be looking for his next victim.’

There was silence at the other end. Katrine closed her eyes and cursed herself. She would never learn.

‘I’ve just had Winter on the phone, and he rules out anyone at Kripos. I’d be inclined to agree with him. So, you’re the one who needs to find the person concerned and shut their mouth, Bratt. You hear me? This makes us all look like idiots. I’m calling the Police Chief now before he calls me to ask about it. Keep me informed.’

Melling hung up. Katrine shifted her gaze to Harry’s phone, which he was holding up for her. It was Dagbladet’s website. She skimmed Våge’s comments.

‘The guy really has it in for Røed,’ she said.

‘Have you?’ Harry asked.

‘Have we what?’

‘Speculated if the murders were arranged so as to look like they were a sexually motivated murder?’

She shrugged. ‘Not that I’ve heard. I bet it’s Våge’s own speculation, and he’s attributing it to a source because he knows it can never be checked.’

‘Mm.’

They drove down towards the motorway.

‘What do you lot think?’ she asked.

‘Well. Most of the team think it’s a rapist and serial killer, and that the link between the two victims is coincidental.’

‘Because?’

‘Because Markus Røed has an alibi and contract killers don’t have sex with their victims. What do your lot think?’

Katrine checked the traffic in the mirror. ‘OK, Harry, I’ll give you something. What Våge didn’t write is that one of the post-mortem technicians found the same type of condom powder in both girls. So it’s the same perpetrator.’

‘Interesting.’

‘What he also didn’t write is that the medical examiners aren’t ruling out that the girls were raped, even though they didn’t find any clear physical indicators. They only do in one in three cases. Minor injuries in just half the rapes. The remainder they find nothing.’

‘Do you think that’s what’s happened here?’

‘No. I think it’s because the victims were dead before intercourse took place.’

‘Mm. The thrill begins with death.’

‘What?’

‘Something Aune says. With sadists, their sexual excitement begins with the suffering and ceases when the victim dies. With necrophiliacs their excitement begins when the victim is dead.’

‘OK, but then you were rewarded a little all the same.’

‘Thanks. What do you make of the boot prints at the scenes?’

‘Who said there were boot prints?’

Harry shrugged. ‘The crime scenes are in the forest, so I presume the ground is soft. It’s hardly rained over the past few weeks, so obviously there’ll be boot prints.’

‘They have the same pattern,’ Katrine said, after some hesitation. ‘The victim’s and the suspected perpetrator’s footprints are close to one another, as if he was holding her or was threatening her with a weapon.’

‘Mm. Or just the opposite.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe they walked with their arms around each other. Like a couple. Or two people about to engage in mutual, consensual sex.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘If I was threatening someone, I’d walk behind them.’

‘You believe the girls knew their killer?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. What I don’t believe in are coincidences. Susanne went missing four days after the party at Røed’s building, and Bertine one week after that. They met the perpetrator there. There was a man at the party I’m guessing you don’t have on that guest list.’

‘Oh?’

‘A guy in a face mask and sunglasses selling cocaine?’

‘No one’s mentioned anyone like that to us, no. Not so strange, perhaps, if he was selling cocaine to the guests.’

‘Or because you soon forget faceless people. He wasn’t selling to the guests, rather handing out samples of something we think was close to pure cocaine to a few guests.’

‘How do you know?’

‘That’s not important. What is important is that he was in contact with both Susanne and Bertine. Do you know of anyone else at the party who talked to both girls?’

‘Just Markus Røed.’ Katrine put the indicator on and checked the mirror again. ‘You think this guy chatted up both of them at the party and arranged to go for a walk in the woods with them?’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know, but I can’t see how it makes sense. It’s one thing Susanne heading off with a guy she’s just met at a party for an adventure in the forest. One who’s been dealing coke into the bargain. But that Bertine a week later voluntarily accompanies a man like that, one she barely knows, into the forest at Skullerud when it’s been in the newspapers that Susanne was last seen in Skullerud? At that stage Bertine would also have been aware that the three of them had been at the same party. No, Harry, I don’t buy it.’

‘OK. So what do you think?’

‘I think we’re looking at a serial rapist.’

‘Serial killer.’

‘Absolutely. Quick murders, necrophilia. A brain cut out, a head cut off, a body hung up like a slaughtered animal. That’s what I’d call a ritual murder carried out by a serial killer.’

‘Mm.’ Harry said. ‘Why condom powder?’

‘What?’

‘In these kinds of sexual offence cases you look for lubricant, not powder, when you’re trying to identify the condom, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes, but there wasn’t any lubricant used here.’

‘Exactly. You’ve worked in Vice. Don’t serial rapists — those of them smart enough to use a condom — use lubricant?’

‘Yes, but these are criminal maniacs, Harry, they don’t have a set script, and you’re just splitting hairs.’

‘You’re right,’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve yet to see or hear anything that means we can rule out that Bertine and Susanne had consensual sex with the perpetrator right before he killed them.’

‘Apart from it being... highly unusual. No? You’re the expert on serial killers here.’

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, it’s unusual. Murder after rape isn’t so unusual, either as part of the killer’s sexual fantasy or to avoid being identified. But murder after consensual sex only occurs in exceptional cases. A narcissist could kill if he’s been humiliated in relation to the act, if he’s unable to perform, for instance.’

‘The traces of a condom indicate that he managed to perform, Harry. I’ll be right back.’

Harry nodded. They had stopped on lower Hegdehaugsveien, and he watched Katrine as she walked quickly towards the gate where children in snowsuits hung over the fence waiting to be collected.

She disappeared beyond the gate, but after a few minutes she and Gert appeared, walking hand in hand. He heard the sound of an eager child’s voice. He had been a quiet child himself, apparently.

The car door opened.

‘Hi Hawny.’ Gert leaned forward from the back seat and gave Harry a hug from behind before Katrine pulled him back into the child seat.

‘Hello, old chap,’ Harry said.

‘Old chap?’ Gert said, looking at his mother.

‘He’s messing with you,’ Katrine said.

‘You messing, Hawny!’ Gert laughed heartily, and glancing in the mirror Harry gave a start as he glimpsed something familiar. Not himself. Not his father. But his mother. He had Harry’s mother’s smile.

Katrine got in behind the wheel.

‘Schrøder’s?’ she said.

Harry shook his head. ‘I’ll get out at your place, then walk.’

‘To Schrøder’s?’

Harry didn’t answer.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘I want to ask you for a favour.’

‘OK?’

‘You know these cross-country skiers and people who walk to the South Pole and charge a ton of money to give talks and inspire people?’

A wave caused the Nesodden ferry to rock slightly.

Harry looked around. The passengers in the seats nearby were gazing at their phones, wearing headsets, reading books or looking out at the Oslo Fjord. On their way home from work, college, a shopping trip in town. No one looked like they were on an outing with their partner.

Harry looked down at his own phone, at the latest forensic report Truls had taken a screenshot of and mailed to all of them. He had read it while eating in the canteen at the Radium Hospital, after texting Katrine to ask if she could come and pick him up. Had he felt guilty pretending not to know about it when she told him about her visit to the Forensic Medical Institute? Not really. Besides, he hadn’t needed to act like he wasn’t aware of the information about the condom powder and necrophilia, it hadn’t been in the report. Neither had it appeared in Våge’s article. In other words, Våge’s informant was not one of those who had been present at the institute, otherwise he would have had what wasn’t in the report in his story too. But Våge had included that some of the investigators believed the murder was made to look like the work of a serial killer to hide what it actually was.

Condom powder.

Harry thought about it.

Then tapped T.

‘Yeah?’

‘Hi, Truls, it’s Harry.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I won’t take up much of your time. I’ve spoken to Katrine Bratt, and it turns out that not everything the Forensic Medical Institute has found is winding up in the reports.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. She shared one detail with me which the investigative team at Police HQ are sure to be discussing but we don’t have.’

‘Which is?’

Harry hesitated. Condom powder.

‘The tattoo,’ he said. ‘The killer cut off the Louis Vuitton tattoo Bertine had on her ankle and sewed it back on again.’

‘Like Susanne Andersen’s scalp?’

‘Yep,’ Harry said. ‘But that’s not important. What is important is whether you have some way we can get hold of that kind of thing in the future.’

‘Stuff not in the reports? I’ll have to talk to people then.’

‘Mm. We don’t want to chance that. I wasn’t expecting any suggestions off the top of your head but have a think about it and we’ll talk tomorrow.’

Truls grunted. ‘All right.’

They hung up.

When the boat docked, Harry remained seated, watching the other passengers stream out and go ashore.

‘Not getting off?’ asked a ticket inspector, making a sweep of the empty lounge.

‘Not today,’ Harry said.

‘Same again,’ Harry said, pointing at the glass.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but took down the Jim Beam bottle and poured.

Harry knocked that one back too. ‘And another.’

‘Rough day?’ the bartender asked.

‘Not yet,’ Harry said, before picking up the glass and walking towards the same table where he had seen the Turbonegro vocalist sitting. Noticed he was already slightly unsteady on his feet. On his way he passed a man sitting with his back to him and smelled a perfume that reminded him of Lucille. He slid into the sofa. It was early in the evening, not many guests yet. Lucille, where was she right now? Instead of drinking more he could go to his room and reread the reports, search for the mistake, the lead. He looked at the glass. The hourglass. Five days plus a few hours until he let someone down again. Yes, that was the story of his life. What the hell, soon he’d have nobody left to let down anyway. He raised the glass.

A man had entered the bar and was looking around. Caught sight of Harry. They exchanged brief nods before the man headed in Harry’s direction, and sat down in the chair on the other side of the low glass table.

‘Evening, Krohn.’

‘Good evening, Harry. How’s it going?’

‘With the investigation? Going well.’

‘Good. Does that mean you have a lead?’

‘No. What brings you here?’

The lawyer looked like he had planned on asking a follow-up question but dropped it. ‘I heard you called Helene Røed today. That the two of you are going to talk.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I just wanted to draw your attention to a couple of things prior to you having that conversation. First of all, her and Markus’s relationship isn’t the best at the moment. There could be several reasons for that. Like—’

‘Markus’s cocaine addiction?’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘I was thinking about the fact they’ve drifted apart over time. And that all the public attention Markus has received regarding this case, especially in Dagbladet, hasn’t improved matters.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Helene is under a lot of stress, and I wouldn’t rule out that she might say things which put her husband in a bad light. Both with regard to his person in general and his involvement with Miss Andersen and Miss Bertilsen in particular. Not something that changes the facts of the case, but should the press, Dagbladet, get hold of it then it would be unfortunate for my... or rather our client.’

‘So you came to tell me not to leak possible gossip?’

Krohn smiled briefly. ‘I’m just saying that this Terry Våge will use everything he can get his hands on to smear Markus.’

‘Because?’

Krohn shrugged. ‘It’s ancient history. It was in the days Markus was just investing a little here and there for fun. At the time he was also chairman of the board for the free newspaper Våge wrote for. When the Press Complaints Commission found the newspaper had broken the code of practice for the stories Våge had made up, the board sacked him. That had big repercussions on his life and career thereafter, and he’s obviously never forgiven Markus.’

‘Mm. I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘Good.’

Krohn remained sitting.

‘Yes?’ Harry said.

‘I understand if it’s something you don’t want to dredge up, but we do have a secret binding us together.’

‘You’re right,’ Harry said, taking a swig of his drink. ‘I don’t want to dredge it up.’

‘Of course. I just wanted to say that I still believe we did the right thing.’

Harry looked at him.

‘We made sure the world was rid of an evil, evil man,’ Krohn said. ‘He was, admittedly, my client—’

‘And innocent,’ Harry slurred.

‘Of your wife’s murder, perhaps. But he was guilty of ruining the lives of many others. Far too many. Young people. Innocent people.’

Harry studied Krohn. The two of them had seen to it that Svein Finne, a man with multiple convictions for rape, was killed and that Rakel’s murder was pinned on him. Krohn’s motive had been the threats Finne had made against him and his family, while Harry’s had been the desire for who had actually killed Rakel, and their reason for doing it, never coming to light.

‘While Bjørn Holm,’ Johan Krohn said, ‘he had only been a good man. A good friend, a good husband. Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said, feeling his throat tighten. He signalled to the bar by raising the empty glass.

Krohn took a deep breath. ‘The reason Bjørn Holm killed the woman you loved instead of you was because it was the only way he could make you suffer like he was suffering.’

‘That’s enough now, Krohn.’

‘What I’m trying to say, Harry, is that this is the same thing. Terry Våge wants to disgrace Markus Røed, just like he was disgraced. Let him feel the social condemnation. It can break people, you know? They take their own lives. I myself have had clients who have done that.’

‘Markus Røed is no Bjørn Holm, he’s not a good man.’

‘Maybe not. But he is innocent. In this case anyway.’

Harry closed his eyes. In this case anyway.

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

When Harry opened his eyes, Johan Krohn was gone from the chair, and the drink had arrived on the table.

He tried to drink slowly, but that felt meaningless, so he threw it back. He was soon there, just one more.

A woman came in. Slim, red dress, dark hair, her back was even willowy. There was a time when he saw Rakel everywhere. Not any longer. Yes, he missed it, even the nightmares. As though she felt his eyes on the bare small of her back, the woman at the bar turned and glanced in his direction. Only for the briefest moment, before turning back round. But he had seen it. A look devoid of interest, only slight pity. A look registering that the occupant of the sofa was a very lonely soul. The sort you didn’t want rubbing off on you.

Harry couldn’t remember how he had got to his room as he crawled into bed. As soon as he shut his eyes the same two sentences began churning round in his head.

The phone buzzed and lit up in the darkness. He turned over and picked it up from the nightstand. It was an MMS from a number prefixed with +52. He didn’t need to guess that was Mexico, because the picture showed Lucille’s face against a background of a wall with peeling paint. She looked older without make-up. She had turned one side of her face to the camera, the one she claimed was prettier. Although pale, she was smiling, as if to comfort the person she knew would receive the picture. And it occurred to him that it was the same kindly regret as in his mother’s face that time she had stood in the classroom doorway with his lunch box.

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