Mona Daa nodded. This was good. Good and dirty. But whatever, she finally had something Våge didn’t have, and she couldn’t afford to be fussy. Not now.
Skarre was grinning. Like a customer in a whorehouse, Mona thought. And tried to block out what that made her.
Cocaine blues
The Aune group had gathered, but Aune himself had given word that his family were coming at three, so everyone needed to be gone by then. Harry had been filling them in on his visit to Helene Røed.
‘So now you’re walking around in your boss’s suit,’ Øystein said. ‘And your mate’s sunglasses.’
‘Plus, I have this,’ Harry said, holding up the cat mask. ‘And you still can’t find anything about Villa Dante online?’
Truls stared at his phone, grunted and shook his head. With the same minimal expression as when he had accepted the brown envelope of cash Harry had discreetly handed him when he arrived.
‘What I’m wondering, is where Våge has got this cannibalism stuff from,’ Aune said.
Harry saw Truls look up, meet his eyes and give him an imperceptible shake of his head.
‘Was wondering that myself,’ Øystein said. ‘Doesn’t say jackshit about eating human flesh in the reports.’
‘I have a feeling Våge has lost his source,’ Harry said. ‘And has begun making things up. Like that business about Bertine having had her tattoo cut off and sewn back on — that wasn’t true.’
‘Maybe,’ Aune said. ‘Våge did resort to fabrications previously in his career, and it is strange how consistent we humans are. Even though we’re punished for a pattern of behaviour and should learn, we still tend to employ the same poor solutions when problems arise. It’s not unlikely that Våge has found the attention he’s received of late so intoxicating that he’s unwilling to let go of it and is resorting to something that has worked in the past. Or worked for a while, at least. Although I’m not discounting the possibility Våge may be right about the cannibalism. But given the circumstances, it’s obvious he’s making things up and has been familiarising himself with the literature on serial killers.’
‘Isn’t he implying...’ Øystein began, as his eyes scanned down through Våge’s article on the screen of his phone again.
The others looked at him.
‘Isn’t he actually implying that the killer himself is the source?’
‘That’s a bold but interesting interpretation,’ Aune said. ‘But our work for the day is done and the weekend awaits, gentlemen. My wife and daughter will be here soon.’
‘What will we do over the weekend, boss?’ Øystein asked.
‘I don’t have any particular work for you,’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve borrowed Truls’s laptop and I’m going to go through police reports.’
‘Thought you’d already read them.’
‘Skimmed them. Now I’m going to study them. Come on, let’s go.’
Aune asked Harry to wait and he remained standing by the bed while the others went out.
‘Those reports,’ he said. ‘They’re the work of how many people? Forty, fifty? Who have all been on the case for over three weeks. How many pages? A thousand? Are you going to read all those pages because you think the solution is to be found in there?’
Harry shrugged. ‘It’s got to be found somewhere.’
‘The mind also needs rest, Harry. I’ve noticed from the get-go that you’re more stressed. You seem... can I use the word desperate?’
‘Apparently.’
‘Is there something you’re not saying?’
Harry lowered his head and rubbed his hand back and forth across the nape of his neck. ‘Yeah.’
‘You want to tell me what it is?’
‘Yeah.’ He lifted his head straight. ‘But I can’t.’
Aune and Harry held each other’s gaze. Then Aune closed his eyes and nodded.
‘Thanks,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll talk on Monday.’
Aune moistened his lips, and Harry could tell by the tired cheeriness in his eyes that he was about to formulate a witty response. But that he changed his mind and merely nodded.
Harry was on his way out of the Radium Hospital when he realised what Aune had considered replying.
Øystein drove in the bus lane towards the city centre with Harry in the passenger seat.
‘Pretty cool in rush-hour traffic on a Friday, eh?’ Øystein grinned in the mirror.
Truls grunted from the back seat.
Harry’s phone rang. It was Katrine.
‘Yeah?’
‘Hi, Harry, just a long shot here. Arne and I have a date tonight at that restaurant that he finally managed to get a table at. But my mother-in-law is sick and...’
‘Babysitting?’
‘Just say the word if it’s inconvenient, then I can drop going out, I am a little tired. But at least then I can tell him I tried to get someone.’
‘But I can. And I want to. When?’
‘Fuck you, Harry. Seven o’clock.’
‘OK. Make sure there’s a Grandiosa frozen pizza in the oven.’
Harry hung up, but the phone rang immediately afterwards.
‘Doesn’t have to be a Grandiosa,’ Harry said.
‘It’s Mona Daa from
‘Oops...’
Harry understood by the full presentation that it wasn’t Mona, Anders’ girlfriend, calling, but the journalist. Which meant everything he said could and would be used against him.
