Medusa (23 page)

Watch closely, Glenne
,
Viktor whispers in his ear.
Watch closely now, and you’ll see the Medusa’s face.

The camera moves forward again, zooming in. The man by the tarn turns. His face fills the screen. That evil grin, the laughter that can’t be heard.

He mustn’t look at the eyes. Tears himself away, heading out, shrieking like an animal as he tries to drown out Viktor’s voice:
Do you recognise yourself, Dr Glenne? Now, at last, do you recognise yourself?

A
GNES
F
INCKENHAGEN SAT
with a steaming mug of coffee in her hand and
VG
spread out on the table in front of her. The front page was covered with a single headline: POLICE SUSPECT GREEN TERROR. Inside, three pages were devoted to the raid on the barn in Åsnes county in Hedmark, which was presented as the police’s most important lead so far in the so-called bear murders. Finckenhagen had just come from a meeting with the Chief Constable and the Chief Superintendent. They wanted to know why they had to learn of important developments from the press. She couldn’t give a good answer and had to put up with a roasting that lasted for almost an hour. At the end of it she was given the remainder of the morning to deliver a report on the case.

She rang Viken and asked him to call in and see her. Get here at once, she ought to have said. But Viken was the type you made suggestions to, not gave orders. A man everyone had an opinion on, as she had soon discovered when she joined the section. She got on with him extremely well. To begin with she had had her doubts, not least because he had, after all, applied for the job she had been brought in to do. But he had never shown any opposition or rivalry. On the contrary, from the very first day she had found him loyal, supportive even. You had to respect that, she’d thought. A man whose concern for the job overrode any personal ambition he might have.

She had never heard anyone question Viken’s abilities as one of the best detectives in Oslo, and when he spoke, even the most experienced listened. He had led investigations into a number of cases of serial rape, almost all of which had been solved. Influenced by American profilers, he had developed a special understanding of the psychology of people involved in serial criminal activities. He gave lectures on the way technical finds at crime scenes could reveal something about the perpetrator’s inner world. Finckenhagen found it very interesting, but discovered that within the section generally, there was little enthusiasm for what he was doing. But she felt sure that developments in the techniques of investigation would presently show him to be right, and she was more than willing to stand up for him if need be. She had seen for herself the almost cruel efficiency with which Viken used his psychological insight to elicit a confession during questioning. As a leader, however, he would have been a disaster for the section, something the people up on the eighth floor had understood only too well. He was the lone-wolf type, someone who found it difficult to delegate responsibilities. What was worse was that he polarised opinion among those around him. People were either strongly for or strongly against him. His supporters
appeared willing to do anything for him, it seemed. But even amongst those he was more feared than loved.

Viken knocked twice on the half-open door and walked in. As usual he was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck to reveal a line of thick grey chest hair.

– Are we going to do this sitting down or standing up? he asked with that enigmatic smile Finckenhagen had long puzzled over but in the end found really quite sympathetic.

– Please, do sit down. Have you read
VG
?

– Never miss it.

– Well, what do you make of it?

– They’ve got hold of more information than we’d like. He didn’t appear to be worried in the slightest.

– Where did they get it from? she wanted to know.

He scratched beneath his chin, drew his fingers along his jawline, making the skin taut.

– Possibly from the forest deeps of Hedmark. Possibly from us.

– In which case we have a problem.

He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. The polished toecaps of his shoes glinted.

– I’ll take another look at it, Chief. If we find the source, you’ll be the first to know. But even so, it could’ve been worse.

– How d’you mean?

– Journalists are like a wolf pack. If they find a bone, they’re all over it. If they don’t, they’re all over us. That would have done a lot more damage to the investigation.

Finckenhagen wasn’t sure she liked the imagery he used.

– The Chief Superintendent is not quite of the same opinion as you. Nor is the Chief Constable.

Viken grinned a rather wolf-like grin himself.

– Let him growl away a bit. That’s his job. He doesn’t bite.

She had to smile. It was reassuring to have a guy like Viken in the team, someone she could lean on when things got tough.

– Is there anything at all in this story of
VG
’s?

He shook his head firmly.

– Environmental criminality, yes. Hunting and trapping of protected species, sales to foreign countries. But murder and terror? I don’t think so. Sure, the guy we’ve arrested was in possession of the same tranquillising agent as was used in the murders, but I’m inclined to believe him when he says he used it on animals, not people. And anyway, he has alibis for most of the times that interest us.

He added: – Who really believes that here in Norway we’ve got terrorists who are willing to kill to protest against the government’s wildlife conservation policies? We would have known about a group like that a long time ago. But it’s enough to keep the press going for a day or two. See how much they got out of that fantasy about a killer beast roaming the streets of the city. No one much above the age of five believes that those women were attacked by a bear, but as you know, people love to read that kind of stuff. If the papers had written that we were looking for a troll with nine heads, they would have sold even more copies.

Finckenhagen had to agree with him.

– I was thinking of suggesting to the Chief Superintendent the possibility of bringing in a psychologist who knows something about profiling. It would give you someone to talk things over with. This case is so special, I think he might go along with the idea. What do you think?

Viken mulled it over.

– In that case we would be saying loud and clear that we suspect a serial killer may be on the loose. It would probably cause as much hysteria as rumours about a killer bear.

– The papers are already speculating along those lines anyway, regardless of what we do. Do we have any use for one of these psychologists?

– We’ve got a couple up here in the frozen north who think they know something about psychological profiling. What you get from them is a large pile of platitudes and an even larger pile of bills. We’d need to go abroad if we’re looking for someone good.

– Think about it. I’m open to suggestions.

– Let’s make the most of what we’ve got for the time being, Viken concluded.

N
INA
J
EBSEN OPENED
the incident book to see if there was anything of possible significance for the two murder cases. Thirty-five calls had been registered over the weekend, and she gave some of them a closer look. She had lost count of the number of people reported missing after the newspapers began writing about the murders. In most cases they were women who turned up again a few hours later.

Of the three missing-persons reports that were still on file, one was considered interesting enough to send a patrol car to take a closer look. An address in Rodeløkka. A thirty-six-year-old woman who hadn’t been seen since Friday afternoon. Former drug addict, Nina saw, noting how this was reflected in the tone of the report. Tempting to suspect the woman had cracked up and gone back to the street; she would probably turn up in a hospital, or at best a hospice, at some point over the next few days. But the neighbour who had reported her missing seemed certain that this wasn’t the case. She had returned home Sunday evening to find the missing woman’s door half open and the television still on. Nina made a note of the name and continued through the rest of the book.

She was almost done when the phone rang. The switchboard had a caller on the line who insisted on talking to Viken, but Viken was in a meeting. Nina reminded the operator that no phone tips were to be passed on to Violent Crimes without filtering. After Viken had been in the newspapers and on the TV a few times, every Tom, Dick and Hilda who called in insisted it was him they had to talk to. What about those who refused to speak to anyone else? the switchboard operator wanted to know. People who claimed to have vital information about the murders? Nina gave up with a sigh and asked him to put the call through to her.

– Viken? a female voice shouted into her ear.

– Viken is in a meeting, Nina informed her. – Who is this?

– You’ve got to do something, the woman continued. Already Nina was regretting her indulgence.

– We’re always doing something, she said soothingly. – Don’t worry about that.

– You’re not doing your job, the woman insisted, and Nina glanced at her watch. She’d give this woman thirty seconds before hanging up.

– It’s going to happen again. And you’re not doing anything.

Suddenly the voice changed. It became deeper and slower:

– You
can’t
do anything. It’s going to happen anyway.

– Perhaps you’d explain yourself, Nina suggested.

– I will. Don’t you worry about that. He who has eyes to see, let him see. As far as I’m concerned, you can go to hell, the lot of you. That’s where you’re headed. You can’t save him.

– Who can’t we save?

– There is just one righteous man in this city, and almost no one knows who he really is. And his name shall be blessed for ever. Make a note of that, sweetie, a clearing in the forest, a glen in the wilderness. But he’s the one they’re after, the killers and the rapists and rope-makers, because if they get him then Sodom and Gomorrah and Jerusalem will fall, and if you understood anything at all inside your heads, you would protect him night and day and twenty-four-seven. The chosen ones will follow him. I’ve followed him before, all the way to the terminus, the
last
stop, and God knows I will go on following him. Glen in the forest. But his time will soon be up, that’s what you don’t understand.

The woman hung up. Nina Jebsen remained sitting there looking at the screen for a few moments before opening a document and entering a few lines about the conversation. She asked herself why it was that every lunatic in the world felt drawn towards unsolved murder cases. Like moths to the light.

A
XEL HURRIED UP
the twisting stairway. The yellowy-brown felt carpet was worn down the middle, and the way the stairs sloped to one side gave him a strange sensation of falling. She had sent him a text.
Must talk to you
. He had to talk to her too, one last time.

She opened the door and let him in. Stayed standing in the dimly lit hallway and looked up into his eyes.

– Thank you for coming, she said.

He had brought two bottles of wine with him. They chinked together as he put the plastic bag down.

– I’m afraid, Axel.

He pulled her close, doubting whether he could bring himself to say what he had come to say.

– I wish so much you could stay. Never leave here again.

– What is it you’re afraid of? he murmured in her ear.

– Anita’s gone missing.

– Anita?

– The woman who lives underneath.

– The one with the daughter who was taken into care?

Miriam nodded.

– When I came home yesterday, her door was wide open. The TV and all the lights were on. I knew straight away something was wrong. I called the police. They’ve been here.

She took him by the hand, led him into the living room.

– She was supposed to fetch Victoria yesterday afternoon, but she never turned up at the foster parents’ home.

– Might she not just have gone off somewhere?

– Without saying anything? When she was finally going to be allowed to have Victoria stay overnight with her? She was looking forward to it like mad.

Axel didn’t say what he was thinking. Former drug addict, suddenly disappears.

– I know something’s happened to her. All this that’s been going on …

Miriam sat on the sofa, wrapped a blanket around herself.

– You’re thinking of the two women who were murdered, said Axel. – All that stuff in the papers, warnings about not going out alone.

She bit her lip.

– It’s as if it’s got something to do with me.

– We always think that way when we’re afraid, he reassured her. – There’s not a single person in the whole city who isn’t affected.

– It’s something else …

She reached her hand out to him. He leaned over her.

– I want you to lie down beside me, she whispered. – I want you to hold me. As tight as you can.

Lying there on her sofa, in the tiny flat. The feeling of not having to say anything. I like the person she makes me into, he thought. I like the person I am when I’m with her, better than all the other versions of Axel Glenne. And I’m to let him go? Really?

He sent a text message saying he wouldn’t be home. No explanation. He couldn’t face the thought of making up another lie.

It was 7.30. One of the bottles of red wine was almost empty. Bie had tried to call; he’d put the phone on mute. She’d sent a text:
What is going on, Axel?
The question brought a sense of relief. Now there was no way round it; he would have to talk to her.
Will explain tomorrow
, he wrote back.