He frowned without saying anything.
‘Look at what I’ve written underneath the names!’
‘
He still couldn’t see any connection.
‘What’s Sofienberg Park famous for?’ she asked.
‘Well… I know! Those ambulance drivers who-’
‘No. Well, that too, but what else? I’m not thinking about the area to the west of Sofienberg Church, but the part behind it. On the eastern side.’
‘Gay sex,’ he said immediately. ‘Buying and selling and mutual exchanges. Not a place I’d want to go in the dark.’
‘Exactly,’ said Silje with a wan smile. ‘That’s where Runar Hansen was found. He was murdered on a raw, wet November night at some point between midnight and half past. That’s about all we’ve managed to accomplish in his case. Establishing when he was killed, I mean.’
‘Was he gay?’
‘No idea. But for the time being, just focus on the reputation of the place. Do you see where I’m going with this?’
She looked at him. A shadow of surprise passed over his eyes as he suddenly got the point.
‘Bloody hell,’ he said, running a hand over his fair stubble. ‘It’s strange that LHH haven’t started shouting the odds!’
For a long time, LHH – the gay and lesbian movement – had been trying to get the justice department to take violence against homosexuals seriously. The problem, Silje Sorensen had always thought, was that attacks on homosexuals rarely differed significantly from all the other attacks that happened when people had been drinking. Attacks on women. On men. On heterosexuals and homosexuals. People drank. Became aggressive. Fought, stabbed, raped and murdered. For every homosexual victim, Silje could come up with a hundred heterosexuals. She couldn’t understand why they made such a fuss about it.
But this was striking.
‘Runar Hansen is in a park where it’s well known that homosexual services are bought, sold and exchanged,’ she said slowly. ‘Hawre Ghani disappears with a male punter. Marianne Kleive is married to a woman. They were all murdered in different ways, in different places, and none of them had any connection with each other while they were alive. As far as we know, that is. But…’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘I’m responsible for three completely independent murder investigations, and each one has a possible link to homosexuality. What are the odds on that?’
‘Bloody long,’ said Knut Bork, starting to chew on a thumbnail. ‘What the fuck is going on? And seriously, Silje, why hasn’t anybody noticed a possible link before?’
She didn’t reply. They stood in silence gazing at the noticeboard. For a long time.
‘Nobody cares about the first case,’ she said suddenly. ‘Nobody knows anything about the second case. People might have read in the paper about a body being found in the harbour, and there might have been a few lines saying that the dead man turned out to be a young asylum seeker. But that’s all. As far as Marianne Kleive is concerned, that case is…’
She hesitated for such a long time that he carried on for her: ‘That case is so unusual and absurd that nobody has actually made a connection with the fact that the victim is a lesbian.’
Silje went over to the board, took down the sheets of paper and the newspaper article, screwed them up and threw them in the waste-paper basket. Knut Bork remained standing there with his arms folded as she walked around the desk and sat down.
‘You and I,’ she said firmly, ‘are going to keep this to ourselves. For the time being. It could all be a coincidence, just as every connection can be pure chance; on the other hand it could be…’
‘Something very nasty indeed,’ Knut Bork supplied; his thumb had started to bleed.
For the second time in three weeks Johanne was at home alone, and it felt almost frightening. The apartment always seemed so different without the familiar sounds of the children. She noticed that she was moving cautiously across the floor, so as not to make any noise.
‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered to herself, putting on a CD that Lina Skytter had compiled, burned and given to her for Christmas. Kristiane was at Isak’s until Friday, and every other Wednesday Ragnhild went to visit her maternal grandparents and stayed over.
She had been trying to get hold of Adam for several hours, but her calls went straight to voicemail. Presumably, he was in a meeting. When the day had finally dawned after the restless, fearful night, she had realized she had to talk to him. There was no more room for doubt – unlike last night when she kept changing her mind. She had made her decision now, and that very fact made her a little more optimistic about the whole thing.
If only she knew what Kristiane had actually seen.
Even though she realized there must be something, she was still unsure what it was. It didn’t feel right to press her daughter any further. Later, perhaps, she thought, as she tiptoed around in her stocking feet, not really knowing what to do.
The music Lina had put together wasn’t entirely to Johanne’s taste. She went over to the CD player and turned down Kurt Nilsen’s voice right in the middle of the chorus of one of his ballads.
She ought to eat something, but she wasn’t hungry.
Adam’s meeting must be taking a long time; it was three hours since she left the first message asking him to call her.
She could sit down and do some work, of course.
Or read.
Watch a film, perhaps.
She reached for the phone and keyed in Isak’s number without even thinking about it. He answered right away.
‘Hi, it’s Johanne.’
‘Hi.’ She could hear him smiling on the other end of the line.
‘I just rang to…’
‘To ask how Kristiane is,’ he supplied. ‘She’s absolutely fine. We’ve been to the pool at Bislett, even though children aren’t really allowed in except at weekends. She’s so quiet that the lady in the ticket office lets her in.’
‘Do you let her go into the women’s changing room on her own?’
‘Of course. She’s too big to come into the men’s with me! She’s starting to develop breasts, in case you haven’t noticed! And she’s got a little bit of hair down below too! Our little girl is growing up, Johanne, and, of course, I let her go into the women’s changing room on her own.’
She didn’t reply.
‘Johanne,’ he said wearily. ‘She’s fine! We’re making tacos, and she’s fried the mince all on her own. She’s chopping vegetables and doing a great job. When she’s with me we always cook dinner together. She’ll be fourteen this year, Johanne. You can’t treat her like a child all her life.’
‘Hello?’
‘Yes, yes,’ Johanne mumbled. ‘I’m here. I’m glad you’re having a good time. I just wanted to check if-’
‘Would you like to speak to her? She’s standing right here.’
There was a terrible clatter in the background.
‘Oops,’ said Isak. ‘Something just fell on the floor. Can I ask her to call you later on?’
‘No, no. There’s no need. Have a good time. See you Friday.’
