Beyond the Truth: Hanne Wilhelmsen Book Seven (A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel) (35 page)

“Crisis with Hermine,” Hanne said.

“Crisis?”

“That we can’t find her, I mean.”

“We’re turning the city upside-down. She has to turn up sooner or later.”

Hanne nodded wordlessly and let her gaze follow Head of CID Puntvold and the Chief of Police, who came in through the main entrance. The Police Chief was in plain clothes, jeans and a bright-red sweater with a huge red-nosed Rudolph on his chest. He must have an evil-minded sister in America.

“Strange outfit to wear for a press conference,” Hanne said.

“He’ll probably change. He has an hour to spare. Just read the provisional printout of your interview. Thanks for handing in the tapes for typing up, one by one. It didn’t occur to Erik to do that, so I won’t get a sniff of his interview until tomorrow morning.”

“But it’ll be okay, I think. I read the report-writer’s notes. The boy can both think and write.”

Standing up straight, Hanne used both hands to rub the small of her back.

“It’s actually Billy T. you should thank.”

“To be honest, I’m a bit worried,” Annmari said, “about Billy T.’s methods. He really can’t believe he can shield a gun dealer who is a principal witness in a case like this?”

Hanne gave a hearty laugh.

“Don’t concern yourself about Billy T. He’s a pro. Of course he understands that. He just wants to do things at his own pace.”

Once again she leaned on the banister. Annmari studied her from the side. The Chief Inspector seemed different now. Less reserved. This case could be a kind of breakthrough for the two of them, as well. Annmari had no expectations that Hanne could ever become a friend, but if something of her ill-tempered tone could disappear, that unnerving indifference and eternal distance, it would be more than sufficient.

“It’s almost impressive how they lie,” Hanne said, a faint smile on her lips.

“Yes. Have you ever come across anything like it before?”

“Well, sometimes, I suppose. But on this scale, and from people with such a background? No. In fact, it’s quite fascinating. For instance, they must know that we’ll check phone records. It’s just so stupid to tell lies about when you spoke to people, so incredibly pointless!”

“Obviously.”

“The whole thing’s so absurd that I begin to wonder—”

“No, Hanne. Not that. Don’t say that you think they might be innocent
because
they’re lying so openly. That won’t do. It just won’t do. I like your frown. I’ve told you that once before. It’s healthy to be skeptical. But we know too much now. Far too much to have the remotest belief in the direction of the Stahlbergs’ innocence.”

“We should always hold that belief. Regardless.”

“Don’t split hairs, Hanne.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m pointing out a duty we have.”

Hanne turned to face her. Her smile was different. Resigned or friendly, Annmari could not really interpret it.

“You’ve had an unbelievably lucky hand in this case, Annmari. A week has gone by since the murders, and you’re going to court tomorrow with a rock-solid petition for remand in custody. You’re smart, I must say.”

Annmari searched for a hint of irony, a sarcastic undertone. It was not to be found.

“Thanks,” she said, discomfited.

“If only we can find Hermine. Do we know anything more?”

“No. She’s quite simply gone. We’ve initiated a full missing-persons report. In the course of that, it has emerged that the woman has, to put it mildly, a … complicated circle of friends. But no one has seen her, and no one has heard anything. She’s vanished into thin air.”

“ ‘A complicated circle of friends,’ ” Hanne reiterated. “They must have, of course.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” Hanne began, “to the extent that people from the top drawer have dealings with us, then it has to do with—”

She stopped mid-sentence and peered at Annmari with an eyebrow raised, as encouragement to complete the sentence.

“Well,” Annmari said, “financial crimes, traffic violations, some domestic violence.”

“Not much of the last,” Hanne said. “They hide themselves very securely behind their plush curtains. But otherwise, you’re right. If we for a second …”

She smiled, almost teasingly.

“… assume that Carl-Christian, Mabelle, or Hermine – one or several of them – is guilty of these killings, and at the same time assume that it is a premeditated crime, then it pretty automatically tells us something about what sort of background you have, what sort of circles you frequent.”

Annmari’s expression was incredulous and she blurted: “That sounds absolutely fascinating, Hanne! Do you mean that criminal tendencies are something we’re born with? Heavens, Hanne! It’s—”

“Not born with. Bred into.”

Hanne was curt now, as if she had already grown tired of her own argument. After a brief pause, she continued all the same.

“In the first place, you have to obtain a gun. An unregistered, illegal, and untraceable gun. Would you know who to contact?”

“No … I, of course I do know—”

“You’re in the police, Annmari. You know how, but you would never have succeeded. You’ve no idea how to maneuver in that environment. But Mabelle obviously does, from what I’ve picked up about her background. Hermine has got mixed up in all kinds of shit through her dependency on drugs. Those two women there …”

She suddenly fell silent, and shook her head.

“Premeditated homicide is rare, Annmari. You know that just as well as I do. At least the obviously premeditated, the ones planned over a long period of time. They’re virtually absent from our statistics. And we both know why.”

“Why?” Annmari asked.

“Because we humans step back from murder when we mull it over. We can do it in the heat of the moment. Good Lord, people kill in the heat of the moment every five days in this country of ours, nowadays. Every five days! Some people commit murder to cover another crime, of course, miserable pedophiles who stand with a withered cock in their hands and it dawns on them that the little girl they have defiled might tell her mummy what has happened.”

“Now you’re really a bit—”

“Vulgar? Disgusting? Absolutely. My point is not that an upper-class family with a sprinkling of drug-dependent members and doubtful in-laws are necessarily perpetrators of terrible crimes. I’m just saying that gruesome, premeditated crimes are difficult to perpetrate
without
that kind of family structure.”

“Do you mean that, Hanne? Do you really believe that?”

“Not entirely.”

Grinning broadly, Hanne looked at her watch.

“But I do mean it just a little, you know. I have to dash.”

“Wait—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Annmari. Go home. Get some sleep. You look bloody awful. You can’t go into court as exhausted as that.”

“I’ve to take part in the press conference,” Annmari said. “Thanks for the compliment. Beside that drop-dead-gorgeous Head of CID, I’m going to look like a toilet.”

“No, you won’t. He looks fairly wrecked as well. We all do. Bye!”

The heels of her boots clicked on the steps as Hanne rushed down the stairs. She left her scarf behind, like a sad little trail on the blue flooring. She paid no attention to Annmari’s shout, and merely waved as she launched herself at the massive steel exit doors. They closed heavily behind her.

“How … how did you get in here?”

Billy T. was surprised rather than angry, in fact. In recent years the security systems in police headquarters had been considerably reinforced. It was inconceivable that Sølvi Jotun, with her appearance, could manage to reach as far as his office without challenge or escort. She stood in the doorway, small, slight, and ravaged. First of all came her cough; Billy T. thought he had heard her before she came into sight. She seemed sicker than before. Her face was distinctly tear-stained, and she gasped for breath as she used the door frame for support. Her hair, thin and tangled, was glued to her skull. A herpes sore bloomed angrily on her top lip. Her fake fur was grimy.

“You shit! You bloody prick.”

There was no force in the abuse, other than in the words themselves. She was almost whispering, and Billy T. was scared she was about to kick the bucket. He approached her and tried to help her down into a chair.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, for fuck’s sake!”

With astonishing strength, she tore herself free from his grip. Then she tottered over to the chair under her own steam and collapsed like a sack. Every breath wheezed nastily, both inhaling and exhaling. Billy T. shut the door.

“That’s what I think. And I think you don’t want anybody else to know how big a shit you really are.”

She was properly sobbing now. Enormous tears ran down her cheeks.

“What … what is it, Sølvi?”

Billy T. remained on his feet a couple of meters away from her, totally thrown.

“You said nothing about Oddvar. You said nothing about Oddvar.”

Finally she looked up directly at Billy T. It startled him.

“I haven’t been so unhappy in my whole life,” Sølvi said. “And so damned angry with anybody. Why did you say nothing?”

Billy T. suddenly understood what she meant. He breathed more easily now, but couldn’t quite bear to look in her direction. Instead he sat in his chair and began to sort the bundles of papers scattered chaotically across the entire surface of his desk.

“You think you don’t need to give a fuck about people like me,” Sølvi said.

“No,” Billy T. replied.

“Yes, you do. You and all these folk in here. You think that people like us don’t have feelings. And then you, Billy T. You, who’re actually okay. As I thought, anyway. Now I know better.”

He didn’t know what to say. Naturally it had struck him, when he had picked her up from the hospital. He should have told her that Kluten was dead. But he was after something. Something important. For him, and for the case he was working on. He didn’t know, either, whether they were still a couple. It wasn’t his business to tell her. She wasn’t really his concern. Sølvi Jotun was not his responsibility, and he had milked her for all she was worth, without telling her anything about Kluten.

“I didn’t know,” Billy T. ventured.

He did not get any further.

There was not much to fix your gaze on. Billy T.’s office was gray and lacked curtains. There had been many changes of office since he had had an almost homely room, with potted plants that Hanne had gifted him. The children’s drawings that had once hung all over the walls had been stowed away long ago.

“You didn’t know …?”

Sølvi spat out the words through her sobs.

“You knew fine well, Billy T. You knew that Oddvar and I have always been together. You should have said something. Instead I get … Here I am, trailing around the city, and all of a sudden I hear … by chance, from some down-and-out or other.”

Her sobs became increasingly bitter.

“And I can’t even work, either. I can’t go whining to my customers, can I?”

Billy T. had had an inkling. Sølvi must have some way of adding to her income from dealing in guns. She was too small-scale. Besides, she had crashed down to the lowest rung of a junkie’s existence. She supplemented her earnings with blowjobs and spread her skinny thighs to get a meal.

“I loved Oddvar, you know that! Loved!”

The word seemed strange coming from her mouth. Billy T. did not want to laugh. At any rate, he did not want to cry. He clutched his breast pocket, an impulse, sudden and unthinking.

“Here,” he said, handing her the betting slip. “Take this.”

“Eh?”

“Take this.”

“What is it?”

“Money,” Billy T. said.

“Money?”

“Yes, take it. A betting slip, Sølvi. You’ve seen ones like it before.”

“Horses …”

Her sobs changed to short gasps. Eventually she leaned forward slightly and squinted at the note.

“And what did you say it was?”

“This is a betting slip,” Billy T. said, losing his temper. “Take it!”

He stood up, skirted around the desk, crouched down beside her, and took hold of her hand. At last he managed to look her in the eye.

“I’m sorry, really sorry. It was fucking stupid of me not to tell you about Klu … about Oddvar. And I can well understand that you can’t work, the way things are just now. With the social-security offices closed over Christmas and suchlike, then it really must be fucking awful. Take this. It’s is more than a hundred and fifty thousand kroner, Sølvi. It should keep you away from walking the streets for a while. A bit of a holiday – what do you say?”

She glanced around. Her body shrank back into her seat. She pulled her hand away from his.

“Is this some kind of conspiracy or what? Hidden camera?”

“Who would be interested in tricking you on TV, eh?”

“I’ve been fucked up all my life,” Sølvi said. “Nothing surprises me any more. I just want to make that clear. And this here …”