seconds.
‘How long was your workout?’
‘I was there until… ’ Holte looks away from Brogeland while he thinks. ‘Until eight or nine o’clock, I think.’
Brogeland nods. Preliminary examinations suggest that van Derksen was killed sometime between nine and ten.
‘What did you do after your workout?’
‘I went home.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you been here since?’
‘Yes, I… ’
Holte doesn’t complete the sentence. His eyes flicker.
‘What shoe size do you take?’
‘What size? What the hell do you want to know that for?’
His tone is instantly aggressive.
‘Just answer the question, will you.’
Holte lowers his head. ‘6?’ he mutters.
‘What did you say?’
‘6?.’
Hagen and Brogeland look at each other again. Then Brogeland says‚ ‘We would like you to accompany us to the station.’
Chapter 106
All the text message from Brogeland says is ‘ OK,’ but Henning needs nothing else to write his story, name the victim and highlight his link to Tore Pulli. Suddenly it’s no longer a straightforward murder. Henning even includes the arrest of Orjan Mjones, though he doesn’t mention him by name.
He notes with satisfaction that the story receives top billing on 123news ’s home page, and, not surprisingly, their competitors are quick to pick it up. In a way, this is unhelpful, Henning thinks, since it will lead to added pressure on the police. It could also make it considerably harder to cover the rest of the story. But he had no choice. News is news. And if he is lucky, the extra pressure from his competitors will result in more information coming to light.
Henning calls Brogeland to hear if there are any developments but gets no reply. Nor had he really expected one. Instead, he writes him a text asking the inspector to ring him when he has a moment. When Henning has sent it, he starts to think about the killing of Jocke Brolenius. Robert van Derksen looked like the prime suspect right from the start though Tore Pulli was quick to dismiss this possibility. And Henning agrees to some extent. A man with such a massive need for recognition wouldn’t be able to keep a secret for two years. But could he have known something all the same — without being aware of it?
The air is stuffy and clammy even though Bjarne Brogeland and Petter Holte have only just sat down in Interview Room 1. A thin white microphone hangs from the ceiling. A camera is pointing at them from its position above the door in the neutral grey room. Brogeland knows that Gjerstad and several of his colleagues are probably sitting in the CC following events via a screen. He could have talked to Petter Holte in his own office, but everything becomes more onerous in an interview room.
‘Do I need a lawyer?’ Holte asks.
‘Do you think you do?’
Holte doesn’t reply.
‘We can get you a lawyer if you want one.’
‘I haven’t done anything wrong so why would I need one?’ Holte replies defiantly. Brogeland looks at the compact body in front of him. As always, it is encased in a layer of aggression, but there is something more. He’s scared, Brogeland realises.
‘Do you own a gun?’ he asks.
‘I’ve a weapon, yes.’
‘What kind of weapon?’
‘A Sig 9.’
Nine millimetres, Brogeland thinks. With the type of barrel that takes a silencer.
‘Have you got a licence for that?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ Holte sneers.
‘How long since you last used it?’
‘A while,’ Holte replies and starts picking his nails. Tiny beads of moisture have found their way up through the brown and partly polished scalp.
‘Why did you argue with Robert van Derksen at Tore Pulli’s funeral yesterday?’
Holte looks down. His voice grows more outraged. ‘Robert nicked my girlfriend when I was inside. Besides, he was no friend of Tore’s any more. Him showing up was disrespectful.’
‘Did you go over to his flat after your workout yesterday?’
‘No.’
‘There was a lot of soil in your hallway.’
‘Yes, what about it?’
‘There was a lot of soil in Robert’s hallway, too.’
‘What’s so unusual about that?’
‘Nothing, possibly, but we found a shoe print outside his flat that matches the size of your feet.’
Holte looks up. His face takes on a frightened expression. ‘There’s no way that’s my shoe print,’ he says, getting angry now.
Brogeland doesn’t reply but watches Holte for a couple of seconds. The air becomes even more oppressive.
‘Okay,’ Brogeland says and gets up. ‘Wait here, please.’
He goes over to the workstation where he pauses the recording, steps out on to the red floor and goes to the CC. Gjerstad and Hagen turn around as he enters.
‘What do you think?’ he says.
‘There is enough to justify a search warrant,’ Gjerstad replies.
Chapter 107
Searching a suspect’s home has never been Bjarne Brogeland’s thing. Trawling through drawers and bookcases, wardrobes and bed linen, hunting the one piece of evidence that will crack open or close a case. He appreciates the importance of this work, of course he does, but he is pleased that it’s rarely something he has to undertake himself. It simply makes him irritable and impatient.
Being in the field was another matter. They had no other choice than to be patient if they were to catch criminals or, as they call them, villains. And this type of work offered a completely different level of tension. Observing the interaction between the villains from afar, reading their codes. Who delivered what to whom and where? Who was talking to whom and when? In this way patterns would emerge which the police could use as a starting point for further investigations, to eliminate who was worth following and who wasn’t. But evidence found in a flat, fibres on the body. It’s too fiddly for him. Too feminine.
However, he took part in the search of Petter Holte’s flat because Holte was his collar. It was his information
