'All the time in the world,' Harry said, leaning back in his chair. 'Weber had only bad news. No matching fingerprints. And Raskol tricked Ivarsson good and proper today.'
'Is that bad news?' It slipped out before Beate could stop herself. She covered her mouth in alarm. Harry and Halvorsen laughed.
'Nice to see you again, Beate,' Halvorsen said before she and Harry left. He didn't get an answer, just a searching look from Harry, and was left standing a little embarrassed in the middle of the floor.
Harry noticed a blanket rumpled up on the two-seater IKEA sofa in the House of Pain. 'Did you sleep here last night?'
'Just a nap,' she said and started the video player. 'Watch the Expeditor and Stine in this picture.'
She pointed to the screen where she had freeze-framed the robber with Stine leaning towards him. Harry could feel the hairs on his neck standing up.
'There's something about this, isn't there?' she said.
Harry scrutinised the robber. Then Stine. And he knew it was this still which had made him watch the video over and over again, searching all the time for something which was there but kept eluding him.
'What is it?' he asked. 'What is it you can see and I can't.'
'Try.'
'I've already tried.'
'Imprint the image on your retina, close your eyes and feel.'
'Honestly…'
'Come on, Harry.' She smiled. 'This is what investigating is, isn't it.'
He looked at her in mild surprise. Then he shrugged his shoulders and did as she said.
'What can you see, Harry?'
'The inside of my eyelids.'
'Concentrate. Tell me what jars.'
'There's something about him and her. Something…about the way they're standing.'
'Good. What about the way they're standing?'
'They're standing…I don't know. They're standing wrong somehow.'
'Wrong in what way?'
Harry had the same sinking feeling he'd had in Vigdis Albu's house. He saw Stine Grette sitting forward. As if to catch the robber's words. He was staring out of the holes of the balaclava and into the face of the person he was about to kill. What was he thinking? And what was she thinking? In this frozen moment in time, was she trying to discover who he was, this man under the balaclava?
'Wrong in what way?' Beate repeated.
'They…they…'
Gun in hand, finger on trigger. Everyone around turned to marble. She is opening her mouth. He can see her eyes over the sights. The barrel nudging her teeth.
'Wrong in what way?'
'They…they're too close.'
'Bravo, Harry!'
He opened his eyes. Amoeba-like specks sparkled and floated across his field of vision.
'Bravo?' he mumbled. 'What do you mean?'
'You've put words to what we've seen the whole time. You're absolutely correct, Harry. They're standing too close to each other.'
'Yes, I heard myself say that, but too close in relation to what?'
'In relation to how close two people who have never met should stand.'
'Eh?'
'Have you heard of Edward Hall?'
'Not exactly.'
'Anthropologist. He was the first to demonstrate the link between the distance people keep between each other and the relationship they have. It's fairly well documented.'
'Explain.'
'The social space between people who don't know each other is from one to three and a half metres. That's the distance you would keep if the situation allowed, but look at bus queues and toilets. In Tokyo people stand closer to each and feel comfortable, but variations from culture to culture are in fact relatively minor.'
'He can't whisper to her from more than a metre away, can he.'
'No, but he could easily have managed it within what is known as the personal space, which is from one metre to forty-five centimetres. That's the distance people keep with strangers and so-called acquaintances. But as you see, the Expeditor and Stine Grette break this boundary. I've measured the distance. It's twenty centimetres. That means they're well inside the intimate space. Then you're so close to the other person you can't keep the other person's face in focus or avoid their aroma and body heat. It's a space reserved for partners or close family.'
'Mm,' Harry said. 'I'm impressed by your knowledge, but these two people are involved in high drama.'
'Yes, but that's what's so fascinating!' Beate burst out, holding on to the arm of the chair so that she wouldn't take off. 'If they're not supposed to, people don't cross the boundaries that Edward Hall talks about. And the Expeditor and Stine Grette are not supposed to.'
Harry rubbed his chin. 'OK, let's follow that line of thought.'
'I think the Expeditor knew Stine Grette,' Beate said. 'Well.'
'Good, good.' Harry rested his face on his hands and spoke through his fingers. 'So Stine knew a professional bank robber who performs a perfect heist before shooting her. You know where this reasoning is taking us, don't you.'
Beate nodded. 'I'll see what we can find out about Stine Grette right away.'
'Great. And afterwards let's have a chat with someone who's frequently been inside her intimate space.'
18
A Wonderful Day
'This place gives me the creeps,' Beate said.
'They had a famous patient here called Arnold Juklerшd,' Harry said. 'He said this place was the brain of the sick beast known as psychiatry. So you didn't find anything about Stine Grette?'
'No. Unblemished record, and her bank accounts don't suggest financial irregularities. No shopping sprees in clothes shops or at restaurants. No payments to Bjerke trotting stadium or any other symptoms of gambling. The only extravagance I could turn up was a trip to Sгo Paulo this summer.'
'And her husband?'
'Exactly the same. Solid and sober.'
They passed under the gateway to Gaustad hospital and came into a square surrounded by large red-brick buildings.
'Reminiscent of a prison,' Beate said.
'Heinrich Schirmer,' Harry said. 'Nineteenth-century German architect. Also designed Botsen prison.'
A carer came to pick them up from reception. He had dyed black hair and looked as though he should be playing in a band or doing design work. Which, in fact, he did.
'Trond Grette has mostly been sitting and staring out of the window,' he said as they trotted down the corridor to section G2.
'Is he ready to speak?' Harry asked.
'Yes, he can talk alright…' The carer had paid six hundred kroner to have his black hair look unkempt, and
