The detective inspector put the phone back in his inside pocket, but remained in a squat position. Harry noticed that his other hand was on the woman’s white skin, just below the edge of her underwear. To support himself, he supposed.
‘They’ll be good photos, won’t they,’ Waaler said as if he had been reading Harry’s thoughts.
‘Who is she?’
‘Barbara Svendsen, twenty-eight years old from Bestum. She was the receptionist here.’
Harry squatted down beside Waaler.
‘She was shot through the back of her head, as you can see,’ Waaler said. ‘Must have been with the gun under the basin over there. It still smells of cordite.’
Harry looked at the black gun on the floor in the corner of the room. There was a large, black lump of metal attached to the end of the barrel.
‘A Ceska Zbrojovka,’ Waaler said. ‘Czech, with a specially made silencer.’
Harry nodded. He was tempted to ask if the gun was one of the items that Waaler imported. Or if that was what he had been talking about on the phone.
‘Unusual position,’ Harry said.
‘Yes, it’s my guess that she was bending down or kneeling and fell forwards.’
‘Who found her?’
‘One of the solicitors, a woman. Control room got the call at eleven minutes past five.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘No-one we’ve talked to so far saw anything. Nothing untoward, no suspicious persons coming or going in the last hour. A visitor due to meet one of the solicitors says that Barbara left the reception desk to get a glass of water for him at five to five and never came back.’
‘And she came here?’
‘I suppose so. The kitchen’s quite a walk from reception.’
‘But no-one else saw her on her way over here from reception?’
‘The two people with offices between reception and the toilets had both gone home for the day. And those who were still here were either in their offices or in one of the conference rooms.’
‘What did this visitor do when she didn’t return?’
‘He had a meeting at five and when the receptionist didn’t return he became impatient and walked on through until he found the office of the solicitor he was due to meet.’
‘So he knew his way around?’
‘No, he said it was the first time he’d ever been here.’
‘Mm. And he’s the last person we know of to see her alive?’
‘Yup.’
Harry noticed that Waaler had not moved his hand.
‘So it must have happened somewhere between five to five and eleven minutes past.’
‘It seems so, yes.’
Harry looked down at his notepad.
‘Do you have to do that?’ he said in a low voice.
‘What?’
‘Touch her.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
Harry didn’t answer. Waaler leaned closer.
‘Are you implying that you’ve never touched them, Harry?’
Harry tried to write, but his pen didn’t work.
Waaler chuckled.
‘You don’t have to answer. I can see it in your face. There’s nothing wrong with being curious, Harry. That’s one of the reasons we joined the police force, isn’t it? Curiosity and excitement. Like finding out what skin feels like when they’ve just died, when they’re neither very warm nor very cold.’
‘I…’
Harry dropped his pen when Waaler grabbed his hand.
‘Feel.’
Waaler pressed Harry’s hand against the dead woman’s thigh. Harry was breathing hard through his nose. His first reaction had been to withdraw his hand, but he didn’t. Waaler’s hand on his was warm and dry, but his skin didn’t feel like human skin. It was like holding rubber. Lightly warm rubber.
‘Can you feel it? It’s the excitement, Harry. It’s got you too, hasn’t it. But how will you find it when this job’s over? Will you do the same as the other poor guys? Look for it in video shops or at the bottom of one of your bottles? Or do you want it in real life? Feel, Harry. This is what we’re offering you. A real life. Yes or no?’
Harry cleared his throat.
‘I’m just saying that forensics will want to examine the evidence before we touch anything.’
Waaler kept his eyes on Harry for a long time. Then he blinked cheerily and let go of Harry’s hand.
‘You’re right. My mistake.’
Waaler stood up and walked out.
Harry’s stomach pains continued to overpower him, but he tried to take deep breaths and stay calm. Beate would never forgive him if he threw up over her crime scene.
He rested his cheek against the cool floor tiles and lifted up Barbara’s jacket so that he could see what was underneath her. Between her knees and beneath the smooth curve of her upper body he saw a white beaker. What really caught his attention though was her hand.
‘Fuck,’ Harry whispered. ‘Fuck.’
At 6.20 Beate came rushing into the offices of Halle, Thune amp; Wetterlid. Harry was sitting on the floor and leaning up against the wall outside the ladies’ lavatory, drinking from a white plastic cup.
Beate pulled up in front of him, put down her metal cases and drew the back of her hand across her moist, bright red forehead.
‘Sorry. I was lying on the beach in Ingierstrand. Had to go home first and change and then drive to Kjolberggata to pick up the equipment. Some idiot gave orders to close off the lift, so I had to take the stairs up here.’
‘Hmm. The person in question probably did that to protect the evidence. Has the press stuck its snout in yet?’
‘There are a few reporters making themselves comfortable in the sun outside. Not many. Holidays.’
‘I’m afraid the holidays are over.’
Beate grimaced.
‘Do you mean…?’
‘Come here.’
Harry went into the lavatory ahead of her and crouched down.
‘Look underneath her, her left hand. Her ring finger has been cut off.’
Beate groaned.
‘Not much blood,’ Harry said. ‘So it happened after she was dead. And then we’ve got this.’
He lifted the hair up over Barbara’s left ear.
Beate screwed up her nose: ‘An earring?’
‘In the shape of a heart. Quite unlike the silver earring she has in her other ear. I found the other earring on the floor in one of the cubicles. So the killer put this earring in her ear. The funny thing is that you can open it. Like this. Unusual contents or what?’
Beate nodded.
‘A red diamond in the shape of a five-pointed star,’ she said.
‘And so what have we got?’
Beate looked at him.
‘Can we say the words aloud now?’ she asked.
‘Serial killer?’
Bjarne Moller was speaking in such a low whisper that Harry instinctively pressed his mobile phone harder
