ring in with missing person reports just like his, that almost all of them have a natural, unexceptional explanation, and then, after asking Barli to ring back later if she hadn’t turned up by bedtime, take his leave? Perhaps it was the minor detail about the bikini and the 50-kroner note. Or perhaps it was because Harry had been waiting all day for something to happen, and this was at least an opportunity to put off what was waiting for him in his own flat. But most of all it was Barli’s obvious and illogical terror. Harry had underrated intuition before, both other people’s and his own, and it had been to his cost every time without exception.
‘I have to make a couple of calls,’ Harry said.
At 6.45 p.m. Beate Lonn arrived at the flat of Wilhelm and Lisbeth Barli in Sannergata, and a quarter of an hour later a police dog handler arrived with a German shepherd. The man introduced both himself and his dog as Ivan.
‘It’s a coincidence,’ the man said. ‘It’s not my dog.’
Harry saw that Ivan was waiting for some witty comment, but Harry didn’t have one.
While Wilhelm Barli went to the bedroom to find some recent photos of Lisbeth and some clothes to give Ivan – the dog – a scent, Harry quickly spoke to the other two in a low voice:
‘OK, she could be absolutely anywhere. She could have left him, she could have had a funny turn, she could have said she was going somewhere else and he didn’t realise. There are a million possibilities, but she could also be lying in the back seat of a car at this very moment, doped up, being raped by four kids who freaked out at the sight of her bikini. I don’t want you to look for anything specific. Just search.’
Beate and Ivan nodded to show they had understood.
‘A patrol car will be on its way soon. Beate, you meet them and get them to check the neighbours out, talk to people, especially in the supermarket where she was supposed to be going. Then you talk to the people in this part of the building. I’ll just go over to the neighbours sitting on the balcony in the building over the way.’
‘Do you think they know anything?’ Beate asked.
‘They have a perfect view of this flat and, judging by the number of empty bottles, they’ve been sitting there for a while. According to the husband, Lisbeth has been at home all day. I want to know whether they’ve seen her on the terrace, and if so, when.’
‘Why’s that?’ the officer asked, jerking Ivan’s lead.
‘Because if a lady in a bikini in this oven of a flat has not been on the terrace, I’ll be damn suspicious.’
‘Naturally,’ Beate whispered. ‘Do you suspect the husband?’
‘I suspect the husband on principle,’ Harry said.
‘Why’s that?’ Ivan said again.
Beate gave the smile of the initiated.
‘It’s always the husband,’ Harry said.
‘Hole’s First Law,’ Beate said.
Ivan looked from Harry to Beate and back again.
‘But… wasn’t he the one who reported her missing?’
‘Yes, he was,’ Harry said. ‘And still it’s always the husband. That’s why you and Ivan are not starting the search outside on the street, but in here. You’ll have to find an excuse if you have to, but I want the flat and the storage areas in the loft and the cellar checked out first. Afterwards you can continue outside. OK?’
Officer Ivan shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his namesake, who returned his resigned look.
The two people on the opposite balcony did not turn out to be two young men, as Harry had assumed when he saw them from Barli’s terrace. Harry was aware that because a mature woman had pictures of Kylie Minogue on the wall, lived with a woman of the same age with a fringe and a T-shirt with Trondheim Eagles printed on it, this did not necessarily mean that she was a lesbian, but he drew this provisional conclusion anyway. He sat back in an armchair with the two women facing him, exactly as he had done with Vibeke Knutsen and Anders Nygard five days earlier.
‘Apologies for dragging you in from the balcony,’ Harry said.
The one who had introduced herself as Ruth put her hand to her mouth to suppress a belch.
‘That’s alright. We’ve had enough, haven’t we?’ she said
She slapped her partner on the knee. In a masculine way, Harry thought, and instantly recalled something Aune, the police psychologist, had said: that stereotypes were self-reinforcing because unconsciously you were looking for things to confirm them. That was why policemen thought – based on so-called experience – that all criminals were stupid, and criminals thought the same about all policemen.
Harry quickly put them in the picture. They stared at him in surprise.
‘This will undoubtedly be resolved quickly, but we are obliged to go through standard police procedures. For the moment we are simply trying to establish a timetable.’
They nodded with serious expressions on their faces.
‘Excellent,’ Harry said, trying out the Hole smile. That, at any rate, was what Ellen used to call the grimace he pulled whenever he tried to appear jolly and good-natured.
Ruth confirmed that they had spent the whole afternoon on their balcony. They had seen Lisbeth and Wilhelm Barli lying on the terrace until about 4.30 when Lisbeth went inside. Immediately afterwards Wilhelm had got the barbecue going. He had shouted something about potato salad and she had answered from indoors. Then he went in and came out again with the steaks (which Harry corrected to ‘chops’) about 20 minutes later. After a while – they agreed that it was at 5.15 – they saw Barli making a call on his mobile.
‘Sound carries over enclosed spaces like this,’ Ruth said. ‘We could hear another phone ringing inside the flat. Barli was obviously annoyed. At least, he slammed his phone down on the table.’
‘Apparently he was trying to ring his wife,’ Harry said.
He noted the immediate exchange of glances and regretted the ‘apparently’.
‘How long does it take to buy potato salad at the supermarket round the corner?’
‘At Kiwi? I can make it there and back in five minutes if there isn’t a queue.’
‘Lisbeth Barli doesn’t sprint,’ the partner said in a low voice.
‘So you know her?’
Ruth and the Trondheim Eagle exchanged looks as if to harmonise their responses.
‘No. But we certainly know who she is.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you must have seen the big spread in Verdens Gang about Wilhelm Barli directing a musical at the National Theatre this summer.’
‘That was just a five-liner, Ruth.’
‘Certainly was not,’ snapped Ruth. ‘Lisbeth is to play the main role. Big picture and all that. You must have seen it.’
‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘Haven’t got round to… much reading of the papers this summer.’
‘There was a big row, wasn’t there. All the cultural elite thought it was scandalous putting on a summer show at the National Theatre. What’s the play called again? My Fat Lady?’
‘ Fair Lady,’ the Trondheim Eagle mumbled.
‘So you follow the theatre then?’ Harry intervened.
‘Bit of this and that. Wilhelm Barli is the type to keep himself busy with all sorts of things. Revues, films, musicals…’
‘He’s a producer. And she sings.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’m sure you can remember Lisbeth from the time before they got married, when she was called Harang.’
Harry regretfully shook his head and Ruth released a deep sigh.
‘At that time she sang with her sister in Spinnin’ Wheel. Lisbeth was a real babe, a bit like Shania Twain. With a real belter of a voice on her.’
‘She wasn’t that well known, Ruth.’
‘Well, she sang on that programme of Vidar Lonn Arnesen’s. And they sold a stack of records.’
‘Cassettes, Ruth.’
‘I saw Spinnin’ Wheel at Momarkedet Country Festival. Pretty good stuff, you know. They should have recorded in Nashville and all that, but then she was discovered by Barli. He was going to make a musical star out of
