The Writing on the Wall

Forty-five

‘LET ME TELL MUUS,’ said Vidar Waagenes, as we made our way back upstairs. ‘I mean, that my client’s willing to make a full confession of complicity after the victim was killed, but that he insists he had nothing whatever to do with the killing.’

‘I think he’s going to be over the moon – Muus, I mean.’

‘But tell me, Veum, what was that about – Friday?’

‘Friday was the day Judge Brandt died, at a hotel in the centre of town, after being with a young woman. It was a false trail.’

He paused on the stairs. ‘Maybe not.’

‘No? Why not?’

He tapped me on the chest with the brown envelope from the Institute of Forensic Medicine. ‘If Judge Brandt was in the habit of going with prostitutes… If I’m not much mistaken, he was part of an exchange trip to Central Africa last year. An initiative aimed at trying to promote our Western legal systems down there.’

‘You mean, that he… That we’re talking about a source of infection?’

‘If I’m not much mistaken, Scandinavian statistics show that there’s a remarkably high incidence of HIV-positives among heterosexual men who’ve had sex with prostitutes during trips to Africa, not least in the central regions.’

‘So he brought something back home with him, then?’

‘But whether this has anything to do with this case, I’ve really no idea.’

‘Everything or nothing, probably.’

In the Personal and Violent Crime Department Dankert Muus was waiting for us with a face like thunder. ‘So what in hell’s name have you two managed to dig up? Been keeping bad company, Waagenes? I mean, even worse company?’

‘Veum’s helped me get my client to talk. He’s ready to confess, Muus.’

A look of reluctant acknowledgement spread over the chief inspector’s normally grim face. ‘Well, I’ll be!’

‘But not to the actual murder,’ Vidar Waagenes quickly added. ‘Just complicity afterwards.’

His enthusiasm collapsed like a burst balloon. Muus eyed the lawyer with suspicion.

‘Does this mean that he knows who did the murder, then?’

‘A client,’ he claims.

‘Oh? But in that case, is there anyone who knows who the client was?’

‘There may well be,’ I interrupted. ‘As you know, I’ve already made a number of inquiries around Birger Bjelland & Co.’

‘Oh? And?’

‘If we get Helge Hagavik to repeat what he’s just told us, then all we need do is call in Birger Bjelland for a – what shall we say? – chat? And I may also be able to add something further.’

‘Such as?’

I recapped most of what I’d found out. About the Persen brothers and Jimmy’s as the intermediary. About the guy called Robert in the bar at the Pastel Hotel and what went on in the rooms there. About Astrid Nikolaisen and the safe list. And lastly, about Dr Evensen, whom I advised them to contact as soon as possible, with or without a lawyer present. The only thing I didn’t mention was what I’d found out about Birger Bjelland’s background in Stavanger. Those cases were long past their sell-by date, and anyway, it was not certain they could be investigated at all now and were perhaps better kept up my sleeve as evidence in a formal prosecution.

‘You’ve certainly not been dragging your feet, Veum, I must say. What about… I heard you’d had an accident?’ He nodded at my face. ‘D’you think it’s connected with all this?’

‘Only indirectly, if at all. I told you about it last time I was here. And I showed you the letter I received. Now I’ve seen all I need to in the person of Ole Hopsland, The Knife’s son. I can’t prove that The Knife was at the wheel, of course, but his fingerprints are the first thing you people should look for. If you find them, I’ll be happy to give you the threatening letter, with the envelope and the whole shooting match, and press charges right away.’

‘The truck was stolen anyway. We’ve established that much.’

‘When was that?’

‘Sometime after five o’clock yesterday, from a depot in Åsane.’

‘Any witnesses who saw it in Fløenbakken?’

‘No, not yet. Not that that necessarily means anything. At that time of day you could park in Fløenbakken without anybody noticing.’

‘Well… I’ve said my piece. I’m making a few discreet inquiries myself in connection with the case. To return to Birger Bjelland, something else cropped up as a result of the report from the Institute of Forensic Medicine.’

His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Vidar Waagenes. ‘Isn’t that confidential?’

‘I’ve, er, engaged Veum to investigate a few things for me. In my view, that makes him entitled to examine all the documents in the case.’

‘We might not have shared that view here.’

‘Can’t we forget that, Muus? I have seen it. Listen. Let’s say that Dr Evensen reported Torild Skagestøl’s positive HIV test to his bosses, and let’s say between ourselves that they’re Birger Bjelland & Co. The consequence is that they have to get rid of her, which they do.’

‘But – not by pretending it was a client who did it, surely? That would blow the whole set-up wide open?’

‘It was Helge Hagavik who claimed it was a client who did it. Don’t forget where he found her! On Fanafjell, with a Satanist emblem carved on her backside. They did their level best to distract attention from the game they were involved in. It was Helge Hagavik who cracked and who, in an almost touchingly naïve way, pretended to have “found” her while out jogging! They hadn’t reckoned with that. A guilty conscience doesn’t rate very highly with that lot.’

‘So you maintain she was got rid of because she was HIV-positive?’

‘I’m just saying it’s a possibility. They couldn’t let her carry on if she was a source of infection, given the risk of exposure. Remember, we’re not talking about some half-baked street prostitution racket here, Muus. We’re talking about a first-class service with judges and certainly many other prominent figures on the list of clients!’

He nodded: ‘We’ll have a word with that doctor. And if we feel we have enough good evidence, I think we’ll invite Birger Bjelland to come in for a little chat too.’ He rubbed his hands with glee. ‘I can’t say I’m not looking forward to it. That would be some way to bow out, getting that fish put away!’

‘Bow out?’ asked Vidar Waagenes.

I pointed at the red circle on the wall calendar. ‘Inspector Muus is retiring soon. Next time we call in he might give us a piece of his retirement cake.’