Killing Moon

8 Sunday

Tetris

‘You look good,’ Harry said.

‘You look... tanned,’ Katrine replied.

Both of them laughed, she opened the door fully and they hugged. The smell of mutton and cabbage stew filled the apartment. He handed her the bouquet of flowers he had purchased at the Narvesen kiosk on the way.

‘Have you begun buying flowers now?’ Katrine asked, accepting them with a grimace.

‘Was mostly to impress your mother-in-law.’

‘Well, the suit certainly will.’

Katrine went into the kitchen to put the flowers in water, and Harry walked towards the living room. He saw the toys on the parquet floor and heard the child’s voice before he saw the boy. He was sitting with his back to Harry, talking sternly to a teddy bear.

‘You have to do wike me, you know. You have to go aweep.’

Harry tiptoed in and crouched down. The boy began to sing in a low voice while tilting his head with airy, fair curls from side to side. ‘Bueman, Bueman, my buck...’

He must have heard something, perhaps a creaking in the floor, because the boy suddenly turned round, a smile already on his face. A child who still thinks all surprises are good surprises, Harry thought.

‘Hi!’ the boy said loudly and warmly, seemingly unalarmed that a large man with a grey beard, who was a complete stranger, had snuck up on him from behind.

‘Hi,’ Harry said, reaching into his suit pocket. Pulled out a teddy bear. ‘This is for you.’

He held it out, but the boy took no notice of the teddy, just stared wide-eyed at Harry.

‘Aw you Santa Cwaus?’

Harry had to laugh, but that didn’t faze the boy either, who happily laughed along with him. He took hold of the teddy bear. ‘What’s his name?’

‘He doesn’t have a name yet, so you need to give him one.’

‘Then I wi caw him... what’s you name?’

‘Harry.’

‘Hawny.’

‘No. Eh...’

‘Yeah, then he’s cawed Hawny.’

Harry turned and saw Katrine standing with her arms folded in the doorway looking at them.

Perhaps it was her Toten dialect, perhaps it was the red hair and the slightly bulging eyes. In any case, every time Harry glanced up from his plate on the kitchen table and looked at Bjørn’s mother, he also saw his late colleague, Forensics Officer Bjørn Holm.

‘Not so strange that he likes you, Harry,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the boy, who had been allowed to leave the table and was now pulling at Harry’s hand to take him into the living room and play some more with the teddy bears. ‘You and Bjørn were such good friends. That’s kindred chemistry, you know. But you need to eat more, Harry, you’re skinny as a needle.’

After a dessert of prune compote, Katrine’s mother-in-law left them to put Gert to bed.

‘That’s a fine boy you’ve produced,’ Harry said.

‘Yes,’ Katrine said, resting her chin on her hands. ‘I didn’t know you had a way with children.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Didn’t you notice it with Oleg, when he was little?’

‘He was at the computer-game stage when I came into his life. Probably didn’t mind someone coming between him and his mother.’

‘But you did become good friends.’

‘Rakel maintained it was because we hated the same bands. And both loved Tetris. On the phone you said that things were going OK. Anything new?’

‘At work?’

‘Anything at all.’

‘Well, yes and no. I’ve actually started to go out and meet people again — I suppose it’s been a while since Bjørn died.’

‘Really? Anything serious?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say that. I have been out with one guy a few times lately, and it’s nice enough, but I don’t know. You and I were both weird to start off with, and neither of us is improving with the years. What about you?’

Harry shook his head.

‘No, I see you’re still wearing your wedding ring,’ Katrine said. ‘You had met the love of your life, so to speak. It was a bit different with Bjørn and me.’

‘Maybe it was.’

‘The nicest man in the world. Too nice.’ She raised her teacup. ‘And too vulnerable to be with a bitch like me.’

‘That’s not true, Katrine.’

‘No? What do you call a woman who sleeps with one of her husband’s best friends? OK, maybe whore is more precise.’

‘It just happened, Katrine. I was drunk and you...’

‘I what? I wish I could say I was in love with you at least, Harry. And once, in the first couple of years we worked together, maybe I was. But after that? After that you were just the guy I never got. The guy that brown-eyed beauty up in Holmenkollen snatched.’

‘Mm. I don’t think Rakel viewed it as her snatching me, exactly.’

‘You certainly weren’t the one who snatched her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Harry Hole! You don’t realise a woman is interested until they spell it out. And even then you sit on that skinny arse of yours and wait.’

Harry laughed quietly. He could ask now. Now would be a good time. There was no reason to put it off. It was so obvious. The blond curls. The eyes. The mouth. Of course, she didn’t know that he had found it out one night while with Alexandra Sturdza from the Forensic Medical Institute. That Alexandra, by dint of some unfortunate wording, had indirectly let it slip that Bjørn had checked the paternity of the child and her DNA analysis had revealed that it was Harry and not he who was Gert’s father.

Harry cleared his throat. ‘I know that...’

Katrine gave him a questioning look.

‘I know that Truls Berntsen got into some trouble. Has he been suspended?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes. He and two others are suspected of stealing from a drugs seizure at Gardermoen. You’re hardly surprised — Truls Berntsen is notoriously corrupt and has gambling debts, apparently. It was only a question of time.’

‘No, not surprised maybe. Still, I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘Thought you couldn’t stand the sight of each other.’

‘He may not be easy to like but he does have some qualities that are easy to overlook. Qualities he himself has overlooked, perhaps.’

‘If you say so. Why are you interested in him?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Bellman is still Minister of Justice, I read.’

‘God, yeah. Those power games suit him. Was always a better politician than a policeman, if you ask me. How are things with your people?’

‘Well, my sister’s still in Kristiansand, living with a guy, things are going well. Oleg is at the sheriff’s office in Lakselv. He’s living with his girlfriend. And Øystein Eikeland, if you remember him—’

‘The taxi driver?’

‘Yes, I spoke to him on the phone yesterday. He’s changed careers. Making more money, he says. And I’m paying Aune a visit tomorrow. And, yeah, that’s about it.’

‘You don’t have many people left, Harry.’

‘No.’ He was doing his best not to check the time. To see how long was left of this damn Sunday. Monday was a drinking day. Only three units, but a drinking day, and there were no rules governing when on the Monday the permitted amount could be consumed, it could take place right after midnight, all in one go. He hadn’t bought the bottle of whiskey at Gardermoen, had plumped for the teddy bear instead, but he had checked the minibar in his room, and it contained what he needed.

‘What about you?’ Harry said, lifting his coffee cup. ‘Who have you got left?’

Katrine thought about it. ‘Well. I don’t have any family left on my side, so the closest are Gert’s grandmother and grandfather. They’re incredibly helpful. Toten is two hours away, but they still come here as often as they’re able. And sometimes — when I ask — when they aren’t really able, I think. They’re so attached to the boy, he’s all they have now as well. So...’

She paused. Stared over her teacup at the wall next to Harry. He could see it, how she was readying herself to take the plunge, as it were.

‘I don’t want them to know. And I don’t want Gert to know. Understand, Harry?’

So she knew. And had realised that he knew.

He nodded. It wasn’t hard to understand why she wouldn’t want her son growing up knowing he was the product of infidelity, of his mother’s one-night stand with an alcoholic. That she didn’t want to break the hearts of two loving grandparents. Or lose the sorely needed support they could offer a single mother and her child.

‘His father’s name is Bjørn,’ Katrine whispered, shifting her gaze so her eyes fixed on Harry’s. ‘End of story.’

‘I understand,’ Harry said in a low voice, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘I think what you’re doing is right. All I ask is that you come to me if you need help. Whatever it might be. I won’t be looking for anything in return.’

He could see Katrine’s eyes were moist. ‘Thanks, Harry. That’s generous.’

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’m poor as a church mouse.’

She laughed, sniffled and pulled a sheet of kitchen paper from the roll on the table. ‘You’re a good man,’ she said.

The grandmother came in to say that Mummy’s presence was required as a song had been requested, and while Katrine disappeared into the child’s room, Harry told Bjørn’s mother about how Bjørn had taken charge the time he, Harry and Øystein had compiled playlists for the theme nights at the Jealousy Bar. There had been Hank Williams Thursdays, an Elvis week and — perhaps most memorably — Songs-at-least-forty-years-old-by-artists-and-bands-from-American-states-starting-with-M night. Even though the names of Bjørn’s preferred choice of bands and artists didn’t appear to ring any bells with his mother, her tear-glazed eyes expressed gratitude to Harry for recounting something, probably anything at all, about her son.

Katrine returned to the kitchen, and her mother-in-law withdrew to the living room and switched on the TV.

‘The guy you’re seeing?’ Harry said.

Katrine waved the subject aside.

‘Come on,’ Harry said.

‘He’s younger than me. And no, I didn’t hook up with him on Tinder. I met him out in the real world. It was right after everything opened up again, so there was a bit of a euphoric atmosphere in town. So... yeah, he’s kept in touch.’

‘He has, not you?’

‘He’s probably a little more serious than me. It’s not that he isn’t a nice, solid guy. He has a steady job, his own apartment and seems to have his life in order.’

Harry smiled.

‘All right, all right!’ she said, making to give him a slap. ‘When you’re a single mum, you automatically start taking these things into account, OK? But there has to be some passion there as well, and...’

‘And there isn’t?’

She paused. ‘He knows about the sort of stuff I don’t, and I really like that. He teaches me things, you know? He’s interested in music, like Bjørn. He’s no problem with me being a weirdo. And he—’ a broad smile spread across her face — ‘loves me. You know what? I’d nearly forgotten how good that feels. Being loved, like, to the core. Like Bjørn.’ She shook her head. ‘Maybe I’ve unconsciously been on the lookout for a new Bjørn. More than for passion, I’m afraid.’

‘Mm. Does Bjørn’s mother know?’

‘No, no!’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘No one knows. And I’m not planning on introducing him to anyone either.’

‘Not anyone?’

She shook her head. ‘When you know it’s likely to end and you’re probably going to have to see the guy around afterwards, then you involve as few people as possible, right? You don’t want people looking at you and, like, knowing, as it were. But I don’t want to tell you any more about him.’ She put her teacup down firmly. ‘Now you. Tell me about LA.’

Harry smiled. ‘Some other time, maybe, when I’m not in such a hurry. I should probably tell you why I called you instead.’

‘Oh? I thought it was...’ She tilted her head in the direction of the child’s room.

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘It had been on my mind of course. But figured it was your choice if you wanted to let me know.’

‘My choice? You’ve been impossible to get hold of.’

‘Mm. I had my phone turned off.’

‘For six months?’

‘Something like that. Anyway. I called to tell you that Markus Røed wants to hire me as a private investigator on the case of these two girls.’

Katrine stared at him in disbelief.

‘You’re kidding.’

Harry didn’t respond.

She cleared her throat. ‘You’re telling me that you, Harry Hole, have sold yourself like some whore to... whoremonger Markus Røed?’

Harry looked up at the ceiling as though considering the question. ‘That’s putting it pretty much exactly how it is, yeah.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Harry.’

‘Except that I haven’t agreed to it yet.’

‘Why not? Isn’t the whoremonger paying enough?’

‘Because I had to speak to you first. You have a veto.’

‘Veto?’ She snorted. ‘Why? You’re both free to do as you please. Especially Røed — after all, he has enough money to buy whatever he wants. Although, that said, I didn’t think he had enough money to buy your ass.’

‘Take a few seconds and think about the pros and cons,’ Harry said, lifting the coffee cup to his mouth.

He saw the fire in her eyes die down, saw her bite her lower lip like she usually did when her brain was at work. Expected it to draw some of the same conclusions as he had.

‘Are you going to work alone?’

He shook his head.

‘Are you planning on stealing someone working for us or Kripos?’

‘Nope.’

Katrine nodded thoughtfully. ‘You know I don’t give a shit about prestige and ego, Harry. I leave the pissing competitions to all you little boys. What I’m interested in, for example, is that girls can walk around in this city without fear of being raped or killed. And at the moment they can’t. Meaning it’s better that you’re on the case than not.’ She shook her head as though not liking the advantages she could see. ‘And as a private investigator you can also do certain things we can’t permit ourselves.’

‘Yep. How does the case stand, as you see it?’

Katrine looked down at her palms. ‘You know full well I can’t share any details from the investigation with you, but I presume you read the papers, so I’m not revealing too much when I tell you that we and Kripos have been working round the clock for three weeks on this case, and that prior to finding the body we had nada. And I mean nada. We had footage of Susanne at Skullerud metro station at nine on Tuesday night, not far from where she was found. We had Bertine’s car parked up by the hiking trails in Grefsenkollen. But no one knows what these women were doing in those places. Neither of them was a walker, and as far as we know they didn’t have any acquaintances in either Grefsen or Skullerud. We had search teams with dogs in both areas, but they didn’t find anything. And then a jogger and his dog stumbled over the body. Which makes us look like idiots. It’s the usual story. The chance occurrences that crop up outstrip what little we manage to cover by systematic searching. But people don’t understand that. Or journalists. Or—’ she groaned resignedly — ‘bosses.’

‘Mm. What about this party at Røed’s. Anything there?’

‘Nothing other than it seems to be the only time Susanne and Bertine met one another. We’ve tried to get an overview of who attended the party, as someone could have talked to both girls there. But it’s like contact tracing last year. We have most of the names, eighty-odd, but since it was a residents’ party with a fairly free flow of guests in and out, nobody knew everyone. In any case, none of the names we have stand out as suspects, neither based on criminal records nor opportunity-wise. So we went back to what you always repeated over and over, until you bored holes in our ears.’

‘Mm. Why.’

‘Yeah, why. Susanne and Bertine were I suppose what you’d call two normal girls. Similar in some ways, different in others. Both came from comfortable enough backgrounds, neither had any higher education — well, Susanne studied marketing but dropped out after six months. Both had had numerous jobs in shops, Bertine worked as an unqualified hairdresser. Both of them were interested in clothes, make-up, themselves and babes they competed with on the town or on Instagram, and yeah, I know I sound prejudiced — correction: am prejudiced. They spent a lot, were out a lot, friends characterise them as party girls. One difference was that Bertine pretty much paid her own way, while Susanne lived with and lived off her parents. Another difference is that while Bertine had a relatively high turnover of partners, Susanne was apparently more moderate in that regard.’

‘Because she lived with her parents?’

‘Not just that. Apart from some brief relationships she had a reputation for being a bit of a prude. With the possible exception of Markus Røed.’

‘Sugar daddy?’

‘We have lists of the girls’ phone calls and texts. They show extensive contact with Røed over the last three years.’

‘Messages of a sexual character?’

‘Not as much as you might think. A few risqué pictures from the girls but nothing obscene. It’s more along the lines of invitations to parties and things they want. Røed has regularly transferred money to them both on Venmo. Not large amounts, a couple of thousand, ten thousand in one go tops. But enough to render the term sugar daddy not wholly inappropriate. In one of the last messages Bertine wrote, she told Røed that she’d been contacted by a journalist looking to confirm a rumour and he’d asked her to do an interview for ten thousand kroner. She ended the message with something like Of course I said no. Even though ten thousand happens to be exactly what I owe the line man.’

‘Mm. Lines. Cocaine or amphetamines.’

‘And sending something that could be construed as a threat.’

‘And you’re thinking you’ve got your why right there?’

‘I know it sounds like we’re grasping at straws. But we’ve turned every stone without finding anyone in the girls’ social circles with an obvious motive, so now we’re only left with two. One is that Markus Røed may have wanted to rid himself of two girls threatening him with scandal. The other is that his wife, Helene Røed, was motivated by jealousy. The problem is the two of them give each other an alibi for both nights the girls disappeared.’

‘So I’ve gathered. What about the most obvious motive?’

‘As in?’

‘As in what you touched upon. A psychopath or a predator is at the party, happens to talk to both girls and gets their contact details.’

‘Like I said, none of the people we know were there fit the profile. And it’s highly possible that party is a dead end. Oslo is a small town, it’s not that unlikely for two girls the same age to both be at the same party.’

‘A little less likely that they both share the same sugar daddy.’

‘Maybe. According to the people we’ve spoken with, Susanne and Bertine weren’t the only ones.’

‘Mm. Have you checked that?’

‘Checked what?’

‘Who else apart from Røed’s wife could have had motive for getting rid of the competition.’

Katrine smiled wearily. ‘You and your why. I’ve missed you. Crime Squad has missed you.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘Yeah, there are a couple of other girls Røed has had sporadic contact with, but they’ve been eliminated from our inquiries. You see, Harry? Everyone we have a name for has been ruled out. So that just leaves the remainder of the world’s population.’ She rested her head against her fingertips as she massaged her temples. ‘Anyway, now we’ve got the newspapers and the rest of the media on our back. The Chief of Police and the Chief Superintendent are on our back. Even Bellman has got in touch telling us to pull out all the stops. So in my book you’re welcome to try, Harry. Just remember that we never had this conversation. Naturally, we can’t cooperate, not even unofficially, and I can’t give you any information other than what I’m also going public with. Apart from what I’ve already told you.’

‘Understood.’

‘I’m sure you understand too that there are those at Police HQ who won’t look kindly on competition from the private sector. Especially when the competition has been bought and paid for by a potential suspect. You can imagine what a defeat it would be for the Chief Superintendent and Kripos if you solve the case before us. For all I know there may be legal grounds for stopping you, and if there are my guess is they’ll use them.’

‘I presume Johan Krohn has examined that angle.’

‘Oh yeah, Røed has him on the team, I’d forgotten that.’

‘Anything you can tell me about the crime scene?’

‘Two sets of footprints on the way in, one on the way out. I think he cleaned up after himself.’

‘Has a post-mortem been conducted on Susanne Andersen?’

‘Just a forensic one yesterday.’

‘They find anything?’

‘A slit throat.’

Harry nodded. ‘Rape?’

‘No visible signs.’

‘Anything else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You look like you found out something more.’

Katrine didn’t answer.

‘I get it,’ Harry said. ‘Information you can’t go public with.’

‘I’ve told you too much already, Harry.’

‘I hear you. But I assume you won’t turn your nose up at information flowing in the opposite direction should we uncover something?’

She shrugged. ‘The police can’t very well deny the public calling with any information they might have. But there’s no reward being offered.’

‘Understood.’ Harry checked the time. Three and a half hours to midnight.

As though by tacit agreement they dropped the topic. Harry asked about Gert. Katrine talked about him, but Harry still had the sense she was holding something back. Eventually there was a lull in the conversation. It was ten o’clock when Katrine accompanied him down the steps to the back garden to throw two bags into the bin. When he opened the gate and stepped out onto the street she followed, giving him a long hug. He felt her warmth. Like he had that night. But knew that would be the one and only time. There had once been an attraction, physical chemistry neither of them had been in denial about, but which they both knew would be a foolish reason to destroy what they had with their respective partners. But now, even though those relationships were destroyed, so was this destroyed. And there was no way back to that sweet, forbidden excitement.

Katrine flinched, letting go of Harry. He saw her stare down the street.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Oh, nah.’

She folded her arms, looked like she shuddered, even though it was a mild evening.

‘Listen, Harry.’

‘Yeah?’

‘If you want...’ She paused, drew a breath. ‘You can babysit Gert one day.’

Harry looked at her. Nodded slowly. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said, and closed the gate hastily behind her.

Harry took the long way home. Through Bislett and Sofies gate, where he had once lived. Past Schrøder’s, the brown cafe which at one time had been his place of refuge. Up to the top of St Hanshaugen, where he could see out over the city and the Oslo Fjord. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. There was no way back. And there was no way that didn’t lead back.

He thought about the conversation he’d had with Røed and Krohn. Where he had told them not to inform the media about the deal they had signed before he had spoken to Katrine Bratt. Explained to them that the chances of a good climate of cooperation would be increased if Bratt was under the impression she had the power of veto on whether Harry would work for Røed. Harry had described how he envisioned the conversation with Katrine was likely to go, how she would be the one to find the good arguments for him taking the case prior to agreeing. They had nodded, and he had signed. Harry heard a church bell in the distance chime the time. Tasted the lie in his mouth. He knew already it would not be the last.

Prim checked the time. Soon midnight. He brushed his teeth while tapping one foot along to the beat of ‘Oh! You Pretty Things’ and looking at the two photos he had taped to the mirror.

One was of the Woman, beautiful, even though she was out of focus, but it was still only a pale imitation. Because her beauty was not such that a frozen moment could capture it. There was something she radiated, in the very movement of her body, in the sum of how one facial expression, word or laugh followed the next. A picture was like extracting one single note from a work by Bach or Bowie, it made no sense. Nevertheless it was better than nothing. But loving a woman, no matter how much, did not mean that you owned her. He had therefore made a promise to himself to stop watching her, stop surveying her private life as though she were his property. He had to learn to trust her, without trust there would be too much pain.

The other photo was of the woman he would fuck before the weekend. Or to be more precise, the woman who would get to fuck him. After that he would kill her. Not because he wanted to, but because he must.

He rinsed his mouth out and sang along with Bowie, about how all the nightmares came today and it looks as though they’re here to stay.

Then he went into the living room and opened the fridge. He saw the bag with the thiabendazole. He knew he had taken too little today, but that if he took too much in one go, he would get stomach pains and throw up, possibly on account of it inhibiting the citric acid cycle. The trick was to take small doses at regular intervals. He decided not to take any now, offered himself the excuse that he had already brushed his teeth. Instead he took out the open tin with ‘Bloodworms’ written on it and went over to the aquarium. Sprinkled half a teaspoon of the contents — mosquito larvae for the most part — into it, where it lay on the surface of the water like dandruff before beginning to sink.

With a couple of rapid beats of his tailfin Boss swiftly arrived. Prim switched on the torch and bent down so he could shine the light right into Boss’s mouth as he opened wide. And he could see it in there. It looked like a little cockroach or a shrimp. He shuddered at the same time as he took delight. Boss and Lisa. It was probably how men — and women too perhaps — often felt when faced with the ultimate marriage. A certain... ambivalence. But he knew that once you found your intended, there was no way back. Because to the extent humans and animals had a moral duty, it was to follow their nature, the role appointed to them in order to maintain harmony, uphold the delicate balance. That was why everything in nature — even what at first glance seemed grotesque, hideous and cruel — was beautiful in all its perfect functionality. Sin entered the world on the day mankind partook of the tree of knowledge and achieved a level of reflection that enabled him not to choose what was intended by nature. Yes, that was how it was.

Prim switched off the stereo and the lights.