Even though he hadn’t taken the heads, he should have taken something. A strand of hair. As it was, he had photos of two heads that even he — who had seen countless pictures of Bertine Bertilsen and also some of Helene Røed — couldn’t say for certain was them. Or if they were real human heads. Fuck! If it hadn’t been for him having to engage in a little artifice after Truls Berntsen had let him down and he had been found out, they would have believed in solid pictorial proof like this without question. Now he risked it being viewed as fresh deception and then he really was finished. Should he call the police right away? Would they get here before the murderer made off?
He was steering the car down Toppåsveien when he remembered what the guy had said.
The guy had been worried about Våge waiting for him. Why? Maybe this was the only road down from the forest.
He slowed down and tapped his phone. Kept an eye on the road while he brought up the window with the map he had used on the way there. After consulting it, he concluded that if the guy had come by car there were only two roads he could have parked on. Våge drove all the way down Toppåsveien and up the alternative road that ended where the forest trail began. No cars parked on either road. OK, then maybe he had walked all the way up from the main road. Walked beneath the street lamps through a quiet neighbourhood with the residents’ eyes on him as he carried a couple of heads and a tin of paint in his backpack. Maybe. Maybe not.
Våge studied the map a little more. Getting to the top of the mountain and to the main road around the back looked like a steep and arduous hike, and he couldn’t see any trails shown on the map. But the climbing wall was shown, with a path along the base. And there, towards the west, a path led down to a residential area and a football pitch. From there, you could drive down past Kolsås Shopping Centre to the main road without going close to Toppåsveien.
Våge thought for a moment.
If the guy was up in the forest, and if he were in his shoes, Våge had no doubt which retreat route he would have chosen.
Harry woke with a start. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Was it a sound that woke him? Something blown over by a gust of wind in the courtyard perhaps? Or a dream, a nightmare he had struggled his way out of? He turned, and in the semi-darkness he made out the head lying turned away from him, the black hair cascading over the white pillow. Rakel. She stirred. Maybe the same sound had woken her, maybe she sensed he had woken, she usually did.
‘Harry,’ she mumbled drowsily.
‘Mm.’
She turned to him.
He stroked her hair.
She reached towards the bedside light.
‘Leave it,’ he whispered.
‘OK. Shall I—’
‘Shush. Just... shush for a moment. A few seconds.’
They lay silent in the darkness, and he ran a hand over her neck, shoulder and hair.
‘You’re pretending I’m Rakel,’ she said.
He didn’t answer.
‘You know what?’ she said, caressing his cheek. ‘It’s fine.’
He smiled. Kissed her on the forehead. ‘Thank you. Thanks, Alexandra. But I’m done with all that. Cigarette?’
She reached across to the bedside table. She usually smoked another brand but had bought a pack of Camel today because they were what he used to smoke and she didn’t have any strong preference. Something lit up on the bedside table. She handed him the phone and he looked at the display.
‘Sorry. I need to take this.’
She smiled wearily and flicked the lighter into a flame. ‘You never get calls you don’t need to take, Harry. You should try it now and then, it’s pretty nice.’
‘Krohn?’
‘Um... good evening, Harry. It’s about Røed. He wants to revise his statement.’
‘OK?’
‘He now claims to have met Susanne Andersen in secret earlier in the day at his other apartment, the one in Thomas Heftyes gate. And that they had sex and he kissed her breast. He says he didn’t want to say anything before, first and foremost because he was afraid it would tie him to the murder, but also so as to keep it hidden from his wife. He says that seeing how he had given a false statement and been found out, he was worried it would only seem even more suspicious were he to change it. Furthermore, he had neither witnesses nor other supportive evidence to confirm he had a visit from Susanne. He foolishly maintained, therefore, that he had not met her in anticipation of you or the police finding the guilty party or other evidence which would clear his name. He says.’
‘Mm. Was it stewing in the slammer that softened him up?’
‘If you ask me I’d say it was you. I think being grabbed by the throat was a wake-up call. He realises there’s such a thing as punishment. And he can see there’s no headway being made on the case and that he can’t endure four weeks in custody.’
‘Four weeks without cocaine, you mean?’
Krohn didn’t answer.
‘What’s he say about Villa Dante?’
‘He’s still denying that.’
