Killing Moon

47 Friday

Blueman

‘Blueman, blueman, my buck, think of your small boy.’

Katrine sang the last note almost soundlessly as she tried to gauge from Gert’s breathing if he had fallen asleep. Yes, it was deep and even. She pulled the duvet a little higher up and made ready to leave.

‘Whew is Uncle Hawny?’

She looked down into his blue, wide-open eyes. How had Bjørn not seen that they were Harry’s? Or had he, had he known right from day one in the delivery room?

‘Uncle Harry is at the hospital with a friend who’s sick. But Granny is here.’

‘Whew aw you going?’

‘To a place called Frognerseteren. It’s almost in the forest, high up in the hills. Maybe you and I can take a trip up there one day.’

‘And Uncle Hawny.’

She smiled at the same time as she felt a prick in her heart. ‘And maybe Uncle Harry,’ she said, and hoped she wasn’t lying.

‘Is de beaws deh?’

She shook her head. ‘No bears.’

Gert closed his eyes and moments later was asleep.

Katrine looked at him, could hardly tear herself away. Looked at the clock. Half eight. She had to get going. She kissed Gert on the forehead and left the room. Heard the faint clink of her mother-in-law’s knitting needles from the living room and stuck her head in.

‘He’s asleep,’ she whispered. ‘I’m off.’

Her mother-in-law nodded and smiled. ‘Katrine.’

Katrine stopped. ‘Yeah?’

‘Can you promise me something?’

‘What?’

‘That you’ll have a nice time.’

Katrine met the older woman’s gaze. And understood what she was saying. That her son was long dead and buried, that life had to go on. That she, Katrine, had to go on. Katrine felt a lump in her throat.

‘Thanks, Gran,’ she whispered. It was the first time she had called her Gran, and she could see the other woman’s eyes filling with tears.

Katrine walked quickly towards the metro station by the National Theatre. She hadn’t dressed up too much. A warm jacket and practical shoes, as per Arne’s recommendation. Did that mean they would be dining in the outdoor part of the restaurant, under patio heaters and with the view all around? With only the sky above? She glanced up at the moon.

Her phone rang. It was Harry again.

‘Johan Krohn called,’ he said. ‘Just so you know, Markus Røed has given his bodyguards the slip.’

‘Not exactly a shock,’ she said. ‘He’s a drug addict.’

‘The security company sent people to Jernbanetorget. No sign of him there. He hasn’t come back, nor is he answering his phone. Of course he might have headed somewhere else to score and then gone on to celebrate his release. I just thought you should know.’

‘Thanks. I was planning on having a night where I don’t give Markus Røed a thought but concentrate on the people I like. How’s Ståle?’

‘Astonishingly well for a man so close to death.’

‘Really?’

‘He thinks it’s the Grim Reaper’s way of welcoming him. Have him step voluntarily over the threshold of the underworld.’

Katrine couldn’t help smiling. ‘Sounds like Ståle. How are his wife and daughter doing?’

‘They’re bearing up well. Coping.’

‘OK. Give him my love.’

‘Will do. Is Gert asleep?’

‘Yeah. He mentions you a little too often, I feel.’

‘Mm. A new uncle you never knew about is always exciting. Enjoy your restaurant date. Bit late to be eating now, isn’t it?’

‘Was inevitable, they’re having trouble getting through the workload at Krimteknisk. Sung-min was supposed to be going out to dinner with his partner. Does he know—’

‘Yeah, I called about Røed.’

‘Thanks.’

They hung up as Katrine made her way down into the underground.

Harry looked down at his phone. He had received one missed call while talking to Katrine. Ben’s number. He rang back.

‘Good morning, Harry. Me and a friend went down to Doheny. No Lucille there, I’m afraid. I called the police. They may wanna talk to you.’

‘I see. Give them my number.’

‘I did.’

‘OK. Thank you.’

They broke the connection. Harry shut his eyes and swore silently. Should he call the police himself? No, if the scorpion guys still had Lucille he’d be running the risk of them killing her. He couldn’t do anything but wait. So he had to put Lucille out of his mind for the moment, because he was encumbered with the brain of a man and could only concentrate on one thing at a time, and sometimes not even that, and right now he required it to stop a killer.

When Harry returned to room 618, Jibran had got out of bed and was sitting with Øystein and Truls by Aune’s bed. A phone was lying on the middle of the duvet.

‘Hole just came in,’ Aune said to the phone before turning to Harry. ‘Jibran thinks that if the killer has bred a new parasite, then he must have done some sort of research in microbiology.’

‘Helge at the Forensic Medical Institute thought the same,’ Harry said.

‘And there aren’t too many with a background in that,’ Aune said. ‘We’ve got Professor Løken on the line, he’s the head of research at the Department of Microbiology at Oslo University Hospital. He says he only knows of one person who has been involved in researching mutated Toxoplasma gondii parasites. Professor Løken, what did you say his name was?’

‘Steiner,’ a voice from the duvet crackled. ‘Fredric Steiner, parasitologist. He came a long way in developing a variant that could use humans as a primary host. Although there was a relative of his who tried to continue the research, but he lost financial support and a research place here.’

‘Can you say why?’ Aune asked.

‘As far as I can recall there was mention of unethical research methods.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I don’t know, but in this case I believe it concerned experimentation on living subjects.’

‘Harry Hole here, Professor. Do you mean he infected people?’

‘Nothing was ever proved but there were rumours, yes.’

‘What was the name of this person?’

‘I don’t remember, it was a long time ago, and the project was simply stopped. That’s not an uncommon occurrence, nothing needs to have gone wrong necessarily, sometimes projects don’t demonstrate sufficient progress. While we’ve been talking I’ve done a search for Steiner in the historical overview of research personnel, not just at our hospital but for the whole of Scandinavia. Unfortunately, I can only find Fredric. If it’s important, I can speak to someone who worked with parasitology at the time.’

‘We’d really appreciate that,’ Harry said. ‘How far did this relative get in their research?’

‘Not far, I would have heard about it otherwise.’

‘Do you have the time for a question from an idiot?’ Øystein asked.

‘They’re generally the best kind of questions,’ Løken said. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Why on earth would you finance research on breeding or retraining parasites so that they can use people as hosts? Isn’t that just destructive?’

‘What did I say about the best questions?’ Løken chuckled. ‘People often recoil when they hear the word parasite. And that’s understandable, since many parasites are dangerous and detrimental to the hosts. But many parasites also serve a medically valuable function for the host as it’s in their interest to keep the host alive and as healthy as possible. Seeing as they serve this function for animals, it’s not inconceivable they can also do so for people. Although Steiner was one of the few in Scandinavia engaged in the research of breeding beneficial parasites, internationally it’s been a large field for years. It’s only a question of time before someone in the field wins a Nobel Prize.’

‘Or provides us with the ultimate biological weapon?’ Øystein asked.

‘I thought you said you were an idiot,’ Løken replied. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘We’ll have to save the world another day,’ Harry said. ‘Right now we’re interested in saving the next person on the list of a murderer. We’re aware that it’s Friday evening but you did ask if it was important...’

‘Which I now understand it is. I’ve read about you in the newspapers, Hole. I’ll make a few calls straight away, then I’ll get back to you.’

They hung up.

Looked at one another.

‘Anyone hungry?’ Aune asked.

The four others shook their heads.

‘None of you have eaten in a while,’ he said. ‘Is it the smell causing people to lose their appetite?’

‘What smell?’ Øystein asked.

‘The smell from my intestines. I can’t do anything about it.’

‘Dr Ståle,’ Øystein said, patting Aune’s hand on the duvet, ‘if there’s any smell then it’s coming from me.’

Aune smiled. Whether his tears were of pain or he was touched was impossible to say. Harry looked at his friend while the thoughts raced through his mind. Or rather: as though he was racing through his mind searching for a thought. He knew he was missing something and needed to ferret it out. And all he knew and was aware of was that it was urgent.

‘Jibran,’ he said slowly.

Perhaps hearing something in his tone, the others turned to him as though he was going to say something important.

‘What do intestinal juices smell like?’

‘Intestinal juices? I don’t know. Judging by the breath of people with acid reflux, it would perhaps smell rather like rotten eggs.’

‘Mm. So not like musk, then?’

Jibran shook his head. ‘Not in humans, I know that.’

‘What do you mean, not in humans?’

‘I’ve opened the stomachs of cats with a distinct odour of musk. It comes from the anal glands. Various animals use musk to mark their territory or to attract partners in the mating season. In ancient Islamic tradition they said that the smell of musk was the smell of paradise. Or of death, depending on how you look at it.’

Harry stared at him. But it was Lucille’s voice he heard in his head. We think the author is thinking in the same sequence as he writes. Little wonder really; after all, people are inclined to believe that what is happening is a result of what’s gone before, and not the other way around.

The skimming, suspicion and disclosure about the shipment being diluted. That was the sequence of events they had automatically accepted. But someone, the author, had changed the order around. Harry understood that now, that they had been fooled, and that perhaps he had — literally — sniffed out the author.

‘Truls, can we have a word outside?’

The other three watched Harry and Truls as they stepped out into the corridor.

Harry turned to him.

‘Truls, I know you’ve told me it wasn’t you who skimmed the cocaine. I also know you have every reason in the world to lie about it. I don’t give a shit what you’ve done, and I think you trust me. So that’s why I’m going to ask you one more time. Was it you or someone you know of? Take five seconds to think about it before you answer.’

Truls had lowered his forehead like a surly bull. But nodded. Said nothing. Drew five deep breaths. Opened his mouth. Closed it again as if he had thought of something. Then he spoke.

‘You know why Bellman didn’t shut down our group?’

Harry shook his head.

‘Because I went to his house and told him that if he did, I’d make it known he killed a drug dealer from a motorcycle club in Alnabru, whose body I hid by pouring cement on it in the terrace of that new house of his in Høyenhall. All you’ve got to do is dig it up if you don’t believe me.’

Harry looked at Truls for a long time. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

Truls snorted, his forehead still reddish. ‘Because it should prove that I trust you, shouldn’t it? I’ve just given you enough ammo to put me away for years. Why would I admit to that and not admit to skimming some cocaine that would put me behind bars for a couple of years at most?’

Harry nodded. ‘I understand.’

‘Good.’

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘What about the two others with you when the dope was collected?’

‘Impossible,’ Truls said. ‘I was the one who carried the dope all the way to the car from Customs at the airport, and from the car into Seizures.’

‘Good,’ Harry said. ‘I already said I think it was one of the customs officers or someone in Seizures who skimmed. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘No, but what do you think?’

Truls shrugged. ‘I know the people who handled it in Seizures and none of them are dirty. I think they just got the weight wrong.’

‘And I think you’re right. Because there’s a third possibility that I — idiot that I am — hadn’t considered. Go on back inside, I’ll join you in a second.’

Harry tried to call Katrine but got no answer.

‘Well?’ Øystein said when Harry came back in and sat down by the bed again. ‘Something the three of us couldn’t hear after all we’ve been through together?’

Jibran smiled.

‘We’ve been fooled by the sequence,’ Harry said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When the cocaine seizure arrived at Krimteknisk, no one had skimmed it. It’s like Truls said, they were just a little inaccurate when they weighed it, so that was a small anomaly. The skimming took place afterwards. By the person at Krimteknisk who analysed the cocaine.’

The others stared at him in disbelief.

‘Think about it,’ Harry said. ‘You work at Krimteknisk and are sent a batch of almost pure cocaine because Seizures suspect someone may have cut it with something and stolen the difference in weight. You see that no, it’s completely pure, no one has tampered with the batch. But seeing as Seizures already suspect someone else, you spot your chance. You take a little of the pure cocaine, add some levamisole and send the batch back with a conclusion confirming that, yes, someone diluted the dope before it arrived at Krimteknisk.’

‘Beautiful!’ Øystein sang in a fast vibrato. ‘If you’re right, then the guy has, like, serious bloody guile.’

‘Or she,’ Aune said.

‘He,’ Harry said.

‘How do you know?’ Øystein said. ‘Aren’t there women working at Krimteknisk?’

‘Yes, but remember that guy who came over to us at the Jealousy Bar and told us he’d applied to Police College, but skipped it because he wanted to study something else?’

‘Bratt’s boyfriend?’

‘Yeah. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but he said his chosen field meant he could maybe do investigative work after all. And earlier this evening Katrine let it slip that they were going to eat at a restaurant at Frognerseteren so late because there was so much to do at Krimtek-nisk. She’s not the one who has a lot to do, he is. Have you heard of someone called Arne at Forensics, Truls?’

‘There’re a lot of new people there now, and it’s not like I go around...’ He wobbled his head as if searching for the word.

‘...making new friends?’ Øystein suggested.

Truls shot him a warning glare but nodded.

‘I can see how it could be someone at Forensics,’ Aune said. ‘But what makes you so sure, and why this boyfriend of Katrine’s? Is it Kemper you’re thinking of?’

‘That too.’

‘Hello,’ Øystein interjected. ‘What are the two of you on about now?’

‘Edmund Kemper,’ Aune said. ‘A serial killer in the 1970s who liked to fraternise with police officers. Typical of several serial killers. They seek out cops they anticipate will investigate them, before and after the murders. Kemper had also applied to Police College.’

‘Those are the parallels,’ Harry said. ‘But most of all it’s that pungent odour. Musk. Like wet or warm leather. Helene Røed said she had smelled it at the party. I smelled it in the morgue when Helene Røed was lying there. I smelled it when we cut open Susanne Andersen’s eye. And I smelled it at the Jealousy Bar the night we met this Arne guy.’

‘I didn’t smell anything,’ Øystein said.

‘It was there,’ Harry said.

Aune raised an eyebrow. ‘You noticed this smell among a hundred other sweating men?’

‘It’s a specific fucking odour,’ Harry said.

‘Maybe you’ve got toxoplasmosis,’ Øystein said with feigned concern. ‘Were you horny?’

Truls grunted a laugh.

Harry experienced a sudden painful déjà vu. Bjørn Holm tidying so meticulously after the murder of Rakel. ‘That would also explain why we found no evidence at the crime scenes or on the bodies,’ he said. ‘It was a pro who’d cleaned up after himself.’

‘Of course!’ Truls said. ‘If we’d found any of his DNA...’

‘Everyone who works murder scenes and with corpses has their DNA profile on the database,’ Harry added. ‘So we can see if a hair that’s been found only comes from a forensics officer who hasn’t been careful enough.’

‘If it is this Arne,’ Aune said, ‘then he’s out with Katrine tonight. At Frognerseteren.’

‘Which is practically in the forest,’ Øystein said.

‘I know, and I’ve tried calling her,’ Harry said. ‘She’s not picking up. How worried should we be, Ståle?’

Aune shrugged. ‘As I understand it, he and Katrine have been dating for a while. If he intended to kill her, then he probably would have already done so. He must have changed his mind for some reason.’

‘Such as?’

‘The real danger would be if she did something that left him feeling humiliated. Rejecting him, for instance.’