Sung-min was puzzled. No one at Beckstrøm’s office knew where the defence lawyer was either. Beckstrøm was a key witness given that he was the last person who had seen the detainee alive. This was urgent. True, the media hadn’t linked the arrest on Jernbanetorget to anything in particular so far; after all, it wasn’t unusual for the police to apprehend pushers there. But it might only be a matter of minutes or hours before a journalist got wind of a death in the Custody Unit, and then they’d all be on the warpath.
‘Groth,’ Sung-min called out to the shift commander, leaning on the other side of the counter, ‘how did Beckstrøm seem when he came out?’
‘Different,’ Groth said sourly.
‘Different how?’
Groth shrugged. ‘He’d put on a face mask, maybe that was it. Or he was distressed by seeing the prisoner so sick. Wild-eyed, anyway, completely different from when he arrived. Maybe he’s the sensitive type, what do I know?’
‘Maybe,’ Larsen said, his gaze lingering on the theatre ticket while he ransacked his brain for the reason why this alarm clock was going off in his head.
It was almost nine o’clock in the evening when Johan Krohn tapped in the number of the apartment and looked up at the video camera above the entrance. After a few moments he heard a deep voice not belonging to Markus Røed. ‘Who are you?’
‘Johan Krohn. The lawyer who was in the car earlier today.’
‘Right. Come in.’
Krohn took the lift up and was let into the apartment by one of the bull-necked security men. Røed seemed irritable and was restlessly pacing the living room, back and forth, like one of the mangy old lions Krohn had seen as a little boy in Copenhagen Zoo. His white shirt was open and was ringed with sweat under the arms.
‘I come bearing good news,’ Krohn said. And added drily when he saw his client’s face light up: ‘News, not coke.’
As Krohn saw the anger flare up in the other man’s face he hurried to extinguish it: ‘The suspected killer has been caught.’
‘Really?’ Røed blinked in disbelief. Then he laughed. ‘Who is it?’
‘His name is Kevin Selmer.’ Krohn saw the name didn’t ring a bell with Røed. ‘Harry says he’s one of your cocaine suppliers.’
Krohn was half expecting Røed to dispute the allegation he had anyone who supplied him with cocaine, but instead it looked as though he was trying to recall the name.
‘He’s the guy who was here at the party,’ Krohn said.
‘Ah! I didn’t know his name, he never told me. Said I should just call him K. I just figured he couldn’t spell and thought it stood for... well, you can probably guess.’
‘That I can.’
‘So K killed them? That’s baffling. He must be mad.’
‘I think that’s a safe assumption, yes.’
Røed stared out at the roof terrace. A neighbour was leaning with his back against the wall beside the fire escape smoking a cigarette. ‘I should buy his apartment, and the other two as well,’ Røed said. ‘I can’t bear them standing out there looking like they own...’ He didn’t finish the sentence. ‘Well, I can get out of this prison, at least.’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, then I know where I’m going.’ Røed strode towards the bedroom. Krohn followed.
‘Not out to party, Markus.’
‘Why not?’ Røed walked past the big double bed and opened one of the built-in closets.
‘Because it’s only been a few days since your wife was killed. Think how people will react.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Røed said as he browsed the suits. ‘They’ll understand that I’m celebrating the fact her killer has been caught. Hello, long time since I’ve worn this.’ He took out a navy-blue double-breasted blazer with gold buttons and put it on. Felt in the pockets and pulled something out that he tossed on the bed. ‘Whoa, has it been
Krohn saw it was a black masquerade mask shaped like a butterfly.
Røed did up the blazer while he looked in a gold-framed mirror.
‘Sure you don’t want to come on a bender, Johan?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘Maybe I can take my bodyguards instead. How long have we paid them for?’
‘They’re not allowed to drink on the job.’
‘Right, that would make for boring company.’ Røed went out to the living room and, with laughter in his voice, shouted: ‘Have you heard, lads? You’re discharged!’
Krohn and Røed took the lift down together.
‘Ring Hole,’ Røed said. ‘He likes to drink. Tell him I’m going on a bar crawl on Dronning Eufemias gate, from east to west. And the drinks are on me. Then I can congratulate him right away.’
Krohn nodded as he posed himself that perennial question: if he’d known that as a lawyer he would have to spend such a large portion of his life with people he disliked so much, would he still have chosen the same career?
‘Creatures.’
‘Hi. Is that Ben?’
‘Yeah, who’s this?’
‘Harry. The tall, blond—’
‘Hi, Harry, long time. What’s up?’
Harry looked down from Ekeberg, out over the city that lay like an inverse starry sky below him.
‘It’s about Lucille. I’m in Norway and I can’t get hold of her on the phone. Have you seen her?’
‘Not for... about a month?’
‘Mm. She lives on her own, as you know, and I was worried something might have happened to her.’
‘OK?’
