The Son

30

Dawn was starting to break over Enerhaugen, but the press hadn’t finished taking pictures and interviewing the girls who had been given woollen blankets and tea which Kari had made in the kitchen. Three of the reporters were crowding around Simon in an attempt to milk him for even more details.

‘No, we don’t know if there are more people behind this than those we arrested here tonight,’ Simon repeated. ‘And, yes, it’s correct that we raided this address following an anonymous tip-off.’

‘Did you really have to kill an innocent animal?’ asked a female journalist, nodding towards the dead dog which Kari had covered with a blanket from the house.

‘It attacked us,’ Simon said.

‘Attacked you?’ She snorted. ‘Two adults against one small dog? Surely you could have found a way to restrain it.’

‘The loss of life is always sad,’ Simon said and knew that he shouldn’t, but couldn’t help himself and continued, ‘but given that the life expectancy of a dog is in inverse proportion to its size, you will — if you take a look under the blanket — realise that this dog didn’t have long to live, anyway.’

Stalsberg, a senior crime reporter who was the first person Simon had called, grinned.

A police SUV had appeared over the hill and parked behind the patrol car, which — to Simon’s irritation — still had its blue light flashing on its roof.

‘But rather than ask me any more questions, I suggest that you speak to the boss himself.’

Simon nodded towards the SUV and the journalists turned round. The man who emerged from the car was tall and slender with thin hair swept back and rectangular, frameless glasses. He straightened up and looked astonished as the journalists raced towards him.

‘Congratulations on the arrests, Commissioner Parr,’ Stalsberg said. ‘Would you like to comment on how it looks as if you’re finally making progress with the trafficking problem? Would you call this a breakthrough?’

Simon folded his arms across his chest and met Pontius Parr’s icy stare. The Commissioner nodded almost imperceptibly, then he looked at the reporter who had asked the question. ‘It’s certainly an important step in the police’s fight against trafficking. Before this current incident we’ve stressed that this issue must be given priority, and this prioritising has — as you can see — borne fruit. So we would like to congratulate Chief Inspector Kefas and his colleagues.’

Parr grabbed Simon as he headed back to his car.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Simon?’

It was one of the things Simon had never understood about his old friend; how his voice never changed character or pitch. He could be exhilarated or furious, but his voice stayed exactly the same.

‘My job. Catching villains.’ Simon stopped, stuffed a piece of snus under his upper lip and offered the tin to Parr, who rolled his eyes. It was an old joke of which Simon never tired; Parr had never used snus or smoked a cigarette in his life.

‘I mean this performance,’ Parr said. ‘You defy a direct order not to enter and then you invite every member of the media to come here. Why?’

Simon shrugged. ‘I thought we could do with some favourable press coverage for once. Incidentally, it’s not everyone, only those who were working the night shift. And I’m delighted that we agree that the assessment of the officer at the scene should be the decisive factor. If we hadn’t, I don’t think we would have found these girls — they were about to be moved on.’

‘What I’m wondering is how you knew about this place.’

‘As I told you before, a text message.’

‘From?’

‘Anonymous. It’s a pay-as-you-go phone.’

‘Get the phone companies to trace it. Find whoever it is as soon as possible so we can interview them for more information. Because unless I’m very much mistaken, we won’t get a word out of the people we arrested here.’

‘Oh?’

‘They’re just small fry, Simon. They know that the big fish will eat them up unless they keep their mouths shut. And it’s the big ones we want, isn’t it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Listen, Simon, you know me, and you know that I can be too certain of my own brilliance at times, and. .’

‘And?’

Parr cleared his throat. Rocked back and forth on his heels as if to take off. ‘And your assessment of the situation here tonight was better than mine. Plain and simple. It won’t be forgotten at your next review.’

‘Thank you, Pontius, but I’ll be retired long before my next review.’

‘That’s true,’ Parr smiled. ‘But you’re a fine policeman, Simon, you always were.’

‘That’s also true,’ Simon said.

‘How’s Else?’

‘Good, thank you. Or. .’

‘Yes?’

Simon took a breath. ‘Good enough. We’ll talk about it some other time. Bed?’

Parr nodded. ‘Bed.’ He patted Simon on the shoulder, turned round and walked towards the SUV. Simon looked after him. Hooked his index finger and pulled out the snus. It didn’t taste right.