on the computer here. Time of payment and everything. Krongli has used his card a lot, and the times give him an alibi. Unfortunately.’
‘I see. And they’ve got the computer in the same room as the race course?’
‘Eh? They’re in the final straight now, you’ll have to talk louder!’
‘They’ve… Forget it. I’m ringing to say we’ve got semen off the ski pants that Adele Vetlesen was wearing at Havass.’
‘What? You’re kidding? That means…’
‘We may soon have the DNA of the eighth guest. If it’s his semen. And the only way we can be sure is by excluding the other men at Havass.’
‘We need their DNA.’
‘Yes,’ said Bjorn Holm. ‘Elias Skog’s fine, of course, we’ve got his DNA. Not so good with Tony Leike. We’d have found it at his house, no problem, but for that we need a warrant. And after what happened last time it’s gonna be really tough.’
‘Leave it to me,’ Harry said. ‘We should also have Krongli’s DNA profile. Even though he didn’t kill either Charlotte or Borgny, he may have raped Adele.’
‘OK. How do we get it?’
‘As a policeman he must have been at a crime scene at some point or other,’ Harry said. It was unnecessary to conclude his reasoning. Bjorn Holm was already nodding. To avoid confusion and identity mistakes, fingerprints and DNA were routinely taken from all officers who had been present at a crime scene and had potentially contaminated it.
‘I’ll check the database.’
‘Well done, Bjorn.’
‘Wait, there’s more. You asked us to look harder for a nurse’s uniform and we did. We found one with PSG on it. And I’ve checked. There’s a disused PSG factory in Oslo, up in Nydalen. If it’s empty and the eighth guest had sex with Adele there, we may still be able to find semen there.’
‘Mm. Knobbed in Nydalen and humped in Havass. The eighth guest may just have fucked his bolt-hole. PSG, you said. Is that the Kadok factory?’
‘Yes, how…?’
‘Pal’s father worked there.’
‘Repeat, there’s a helluva racket now.’
‘They’re crossing the finishing line. See you.’
Harry put the phone in his jacket pocket, swivelled round in his chair, so he didn’t see the gloomy faces of the losers around the felt course, nor the croupier’s smile. ‘Conglatulations again, Hally!’
Harry got up, donned his jacket and looked at the note the Vietnamese man was holding out for him. With the portrait of Edvard Munch. A thousand kroner.
‘Mm, velly lucky,’ Harry said. ‘Put it on the green horse in the next race. I’ll pick up the cash another day, Duc.’
Lene Galtung was sitting in the living room staring at the double-glazed window, at the double-exposed reflection. Her iPod was playing Tracy Chapman. ‘Fast Car’. She could listen to the song again and again, never got tired of it. It was about a poor girl wanting to flee from everything, just get in her lover’s fast car and leave the life she had, working on the till at the supermarket, being responsible for her drunken father, burn all the bridges. This could not have been further from Lene’s own life, nevertheless the song was about her. The Lene she could have been. The Lene she actually was. One of the two she saw in the double reflection. The ordinary one, the grey one. In all her years at school she had been scared stiff that the classroom door would open, someone would come in, point a finger at her and say, we’re on to you now, take off those fine clothes. Then they would toss her a few rags and say, now everyone can see who you really are, the illegitimate child. She had been sitting there, year in, year out, hiding, as quiet as a mouse, glancing at the door, just waiting. Listening to friends, listening for the telltale signs that would give her away. The embarrassment, the fear, the defence she put up seemed like arrogance to others. And she knew she overplayed her role as rich, successful, spoilt and carefree. She was not at all good- looking and radiant, like the other girls in her circle, the ones who could chirrup with a selfassured smile ‘I don’t have a clue’, in the charming knowledge that whatever they didn’t know couldn’t possibly be important and that the world would never require any more from them than their beauty. So she had to pretend. That she was beautiful. Radiant. Superior to everything. But she was so tired of it. Had just wanted to sit in Tony’s car and ask him to leave everything behind. Drive to a place where she could be the real Lene and not these two false personae who hated each other. As the song said, together, she and Tony could find that place.
The reflection in the glass moved. Lene recoiled when she realised it was not her face after all. She hadn’t heard her come in. Lene straightened up and pulled out the earphones.
‘Put the coffee tray there, Nanna.’
The woman hesitated. ‘You should forget him, Lene.’
‘Stop it!’
‘I’m just saying. He won’t be a good man for you.’
‘Stop it, I told you!’
‘Shh!’ The woman smacked down the tray with a clatter on the table, and her turquoise eyes flashed. ‘You have to see common sense, Lene. We’ve all had to do that in this house when the situation demanded it. I’m just saying this as your-’
‘As my what?’ Lene snorted. ‘Look at you. What could you be to me?’
The woman ran her hands down the white apron, went to put one on Lene’s cheek, but Lene waved it away. The woman sighed, and it sounded like a drop of water falling in a well. Then she turned and left. As the door closed behind her, the black phone next to Lene rang. She felt her heart leap. Since Tony had disappeared, her phone had been constantly switched on and always within arm’s length. She grabbed it. ‘Lene Galtung.’
‘Harry Hole, Crime Squ- I mean, Kripos. I’m sorry to intrude, but I need to ask you for some help with a case. It’s about Tony.’
Lene could feel her voice careering out of control as she replied: ‘Has… has something happened?’
‘We’re looking for someone we suspect died from a fall in the mountains around Ustaoset.’
She felt herself going dizzy; the floor was rising and the ceiling falling.
‘We haven’t located the body yet. It’s been snowing and the search area is vast and extremely rugged. Can you hear me?’
‘Y-yes, I can.’
The policeman’s voice, a touch hoarse, continued. ‘When the body has been recovered, we’ll try to get it identified as soon as possible. But there may be extensive burns. Therefore we require DNA now from anyone who might conceivably be the deceased person. And while Tony is a missing person…’
Lene’s heart felt as if it was coming up her throat, ready to leap out of her mouth. The voice at the other end droned on.
‘That is why I was wondering if you could help one of our forensics officers to find DNA material in Tony’s home.’
‘S-such as what?’
‘A hair from a brush, saliva on a toothbrush, they know what they need. The important thing is that you, as his fiancee, give us permission and come to his house with a key.’
‘Of c-course.’
‘Thank you very much indeed. I’ll send an officer to Holmenveien right away.’
Lene rang off. Felt the tears coming. Put her iPod earphones back in.
Caught Tracy Chapman singing about taking a fast car and keeping on driving. Then the song finished. She pressed repeat.
65
Kadok
