The Final Murder (35 page)

‘It doesn’t make sense any other way,’ Johanne said. ‘As I see it, the first murder happened more or less as we think it did. Fiona Helle destroyed Mats Bohus’ dreams. He killed her and cut out her tongue, split it in two as a symbol of how he felt. She had lied about the most important things in life. Outwardly she appeared

to be a fixer of dreams, a saviour for those with difficulties. When her own son needed her, he discovered it was all a show. A huge lie, how could he feel otherwise?’

Jack barked. At the same time, as if it were cause and effect, the kitchen window slid open. A cold draught blew out the

candle. Adam swore and got up.

‘We’ve got to get these windows replaced,’ he said, and bashed the frame into place before taking a match and relighting the candle.

‘So there has to be someone out there,’ Johanne said, as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were fixed somewhere on the wall.

‘Someone who’s heard Warren’s lecture on Proportional

Retribution. And who then decides to copy it. And is doing just that.’

An angel passed through the room.

The silence was prolonged.

The candle was still flickering in the draught. Jack had gone back to sleep. Sigmund was breathing through his mouth. A

pleasant smell of cognac swathed the three people round the

kitchen table.

‘That has to be the case,’ Johanne thought to herself. ‘Someone was… inspired. Someone seized the moment, when they read about a murder where the victim’s tongue had been cut out and wrapped up. The first piece was in place. Mats Bohus was an

ignorant, arbitrary trigger.’

Still no one said a word.

‘I’ve never heard anything like it,’ Adam was thinking. ‘In all my years on the job, with all my experience, and everything I’ve studied and read, I’ve never, never heard of a case like that. It can’t be right. It just can’t be true.’

The silence continued.

‘She’s a fantastic lady,’ Sigmund thought. ‘But she’s lost it this time.’

‘OK,’ Adam said, finally. ‘And what would the motive be for

doing something like that?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Johanne.

‘Try,’ Sigmund encouraged her.

‘I don’t know the motive.’

‘But what sort of…’

‘He has to be of more than average intelligence. With more

knowledge than most. He has …’ She moved imperceptibly

nearer to the table, closer to the others. ‘It has to be someone who has unusual insight into police work. Investigations, both technical and tactical, procedures and routines. So far you haven’t found a single biological trace of any significance. And my guess is that you won’t. Tactically you’re at a loss. This is obviously a man with no …’

She had a faraway look in her eyes when she took off her

glasses.

‘A man with no empathy,’ she concluded. ‘A damaged person,

in some way. Personality disorder. But probably well adjusted. He won’t necessarily have a criminal record. But I can’t help …’

The look she sent Adam, unclear and searching, was one of

growing desperation.

‘He has to be a policeman,’ she said, in despair. ‘Or at least someone who … How can he know so much? He must have heard

Warren’s lecture. It can’t be a coincidence that he’s using the same symbolism?’

She held her breath. Then slowly she let it out again through clamped teeth.

‘We’re looking for someone who works professionally with

crime,’ she said without expression or tone. ‘A twisted, clever and knowledgeable mind.’

‘So he hasn’t influenced others, made them kill?’ Sigmund ventured.

‘Have we dropped that theory now?’

‘He’s done it himself. Definitely.’

. Johanne held on to Adam’s eyes.

‘He doesn’t trust anyone,’ she continued. ‘He despises other people. He probably lives what we would call a lonely life, but without being a loner. People don’t interest him. His actions are in

themselves grotesque and copying the symbolism is so sick

that…’

She ran her hand slowly over the worktop and looked away.

‘He doesn’t necessarily have anything in particular against

Vibeke Heinerback or Vegard Krogh.’

‘That would make him the only one,’ muttered Adam, ‘regarding Vegard Krogh. If he has nothing against him, that is. But if you’re right, what would the motive be? What the hell would the motive be for someone to…’

‘Wait!’

Johanne gripped Adam’s hand and crushed it.

‘The motive doesn’t need to have anything to do with Vibeke

or Vegard,’ she said, with renewed enthusiasm and vigour, as if catching a thought that had slipped away. ‘They may have been chosen simply because they were famous. The killer wants the murders to attract attention, like the first one did, Fiona Helle’s murder. This case has—’

‘Vegard Krogh wasn’t famous,’ Sigmund cut in. ‘I, for one,

didn’t have a clue who the guy was before he was killed.’

Johanne let go of Adam’s hand. She put her glasses on again.

Raised her wine glass and took a sip.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘You’re absolutely right. I don’t quite know how …’

‘He was pretty well known in certain circles,’ Adam said. ‘He’d been on TV and…’

‘Sigmund has a point,’ Johanne insisted. ‘The fact that Vegard Krogh was not more well known weakens my theory. But on the

other hand…’

She broke off with a thoughtful expression on her face, as if trying to grasp some vague and undefined feeling, so she could share it with the others.

‘But the motive,’ Adam repeated. ‘If the primary purpose was not to harm Vibeke or Vegard per se, what was it? To play with us?’

‘Hush! Shhh!’ Johanne was completely awake and alert now.

‘Did you hear that? Is that coming from …?’

258

‘It’s only Kristiane,’ Adam said and got up. ‘I’ll go.’

‘No, let me.’

Johanne tried to be quiet when she got out into the hall.

Ragnhild might still sleep for another hour before she needed food. Johanne heard sounds from Kristiane’s room that she couldn’t make out.

‘What are you up to, sweetie?’ she whispered as she opened the door.

Kristiane was sitting up in bed. She had put on some tights and a thick sweater. She had a felt hat on her head, a green Tyrol hat with a feather in it that Isak had once brought back from Munich.

Four Barbie dolls lay strewn over the bed. The girl had a knife in her hand and was smiling at her mother.

‘What… Kristiane! What are you …?’

Johanne sat down on the bed and carefully loosened her daughter’s hand and took the knife.

‘You mustn’t… It’s dangerous …’

Only then did she notice the dolls’ heads. The Barbies had

been decapitated. Their hair had been cut off and lay like old golden Christmas decorations on the duvet.

‘What have you …’ Johanne stammered. ‘Why have you

ruined your dolls?’

Her voice was angrier than she intended. Kristiane burst out crying.

‘Don’t know, Mummy. I was bored.’

Johanne put the knife down on the floor. She hugged her

daughter to her, pulled her into her lap, pushed off the ridiculous hat, and held her tight. Rocked from side to side. Kissed her tousled hair.

‘You mustn’t do things like that, sweetie. You must never do things like that.’

‘But I was so bored, Mummy’

The window was open and the room was freezing. Johanne felt

she was shivering all over. She threw the remains of the dolls into a corner, pushed the knife far in under the bed and lifted the

II!

duvet. She lay down beside her daughter, with her stomach to her daughter’s back. Johanne lay like this, whispering tender words to her, until the crying child finally fell asleep.

Kari Mundal didn’t know the ins and outs of accounting, but she did have a sharp mind and robust common sense, and knew

roughly what she was looking for. Not because anyone had told her, but because in the weeks since Vibeke Heinerback’s death she had used her long morning walks to think, from exactly ten past six until she returned to her husband and freshly made coffee fifty minutes later.

Vibeke Heinerback had originally been Kari Mundal’s project.

It was the older woman who had discovered the girl’s talent, when Vibeke was only seventeen years old. Potential successors to the throne had come and gone over the past fifteen years, but none of them had delivered what they once promised. A couple of them had even stabbed the old king, Kjell Mundal, in the back. Out they went. Others had fallen victim to extreme liberalism, which did not sit comfortably with the party’s persistent efforts to become a new popular party, the people’s party, with stringent state regulation in crucial areas of society. Such as immigration.

Out went the liberals as well, and behind them all stood Vibeke Heinerback.

It was Kari Mundal who found her. The seventeen-year-old

from the suburbs, from Grorud, who chewed bubble gum and tied her bleached hair up in a ridiculous ponytail. But her eyes were blue and alert and she had a quick mind. And she was attractive once Kari Mundal persuaded her to get a new haircut and to ditch the pale-pink wardrobe.

And she was loyal to Kjell, unstintingly loyal. Always.

It wasn’t easy to get close to Vibeke. Even though they had

seen each other every day for years, Kari and Vibeke had never really been close. Not on a personal level. Maybe it was the age difference that made it difficult. On the other hand, Vibeke Heinerback was not open with anyone, as far as Kari Mundal

knew. Not even with that show-off she was engaged to. Mrs

Mundal thought the boy had no integrity, but was wise enough not to say it. They certainly looked good together. And that was something.

Politically, however, it was a different matter. Vibeke

Heinerback was not forthcoming with her views about her own and the party’s future, but when she did speak out, she always allied herself with Kjell and Kari Mundal. The three of them had long since laid down a long-term strategy for the party, aside from the manifesto and the other party members. The first milestone had been achieved when Vibeke had been elected by acclamation to succeed Kjell Mundal as party leader. The next would come after the parliamentary elections in 2005, when the party would, for the first time in history, be in a position where the old king could make a political comeback as a minister. Then by 2009, the country should be ready for another young female prime minister.

Rudolf Fjord might be a problem.

They had realized that already last summer during the leadership campaign, when the man was blessed with a wave of good

will from the party apparatus. He was popular in the regions. He travelled a lot and local government was his forte. It was easy to promise millions to local government as long as the party was in opposition, and Rudolf was a master of the art. For a while it looked as though the race between the two leadership candidates might be closer than the Mundals cared for. But Kari knew what to do. She whispered a few well-chosen words in selected ears about Rudolf’s relationships with women, and the desired results were achieved. The man seemed to be incapable of commitment.

There was something suspicious about the way he always turned up at premieres and A-list parties with a new woman on his arm. It just wasn’t appropriate for a man of his age.

Vibeke felt that Rudolf was necessary for the party and seemed to be quite happy to have him as deputy leader. But Kari Mundal, with her sharp nose, well trained and finely tuned from working as Kjell’s closest adviser for over a generation, knew that Vibeke was hiding something. She became very alert whenever Rudolf was

near. There was something in her eyes, a watchfulness that Kari never managed to grasp and that Vibeke avoided explaining the few times that she had mentioned it.

‘Rudolf should be grateful that everyone is so happy about the new building that no one takes a closer look,’ Vibeke had said the last time they spoke together. ‘He has done a good job as chairman of the works committee, but he should tread carefully!’

Vibeke had been furious when she said it. Rudolf Fjord had

taken part in a TV debate where he had openly broken a pact they had made. They had agreed to keep on a good footing with the government for a while, as it wasn’t long until the revised national budget was to be announced. They had a plan. An agreement. He broke it and her eyes were dark when she repeated:

‘That man should be careful. I could crush him. Like a louse, if I wanted to. He’s walking on thin ice. But he should watch out what’s coming from above, literally.’

And then she had to rush off to a meeting and Kari never found out what she meant. They never met again, as she was killed two weeks later. When she had confronted Rudolf about Vibeke’s outburst, during the memorial service at the house on Snar0ya, he

had claimed that he didn’t know what she was talking about. But the colour in his cheeks intensified, and he had been very uncomfortable when they met the policeman who was lost in the hall.

It was only three days ago, when she had gone to Rudolf’s flat in Frogner to drop off some papers from Kjell, that she had finally discovered one possible explanation for Vibeke’s outburst before she died. Rudolf was irritated by her being there, impatient for her to leave. She asked if she could use the toilet. He looked angrily at the clock, but couldn’t say no. And it was there, as she let the warm water run over her thin, sinewy and soapy hands, that she realized where she should look.

The accounts department was situated right above Rudolf

Fjord’s office. The name was a misnomer, as it wasn’t really a department, just a nice small room with cream wallpaper and

cherrywood filing cabinets. The light flooded in through a large window facing the back and over the desk where Hege Hansen

sat alone and kept the accounts for the party and the operations company, Kvadraturen Building Ltd.