moustache along his upper lip.
‘I haven’t actually touched the file since last Monday,’ she replied calmly. ‘And that was when I gave it to you. In this room.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Kristen Faber. ‘How difficult can it be to find a big envelope?’
‘I haven’t looked in your drawers, of course,’ she said, equally unperturbed. ‘You can check those yourself.’
Crossly, he started yanking out one drawer after another.
‘I put the envelope on that pile on the corner of my desk,’ he mumbled. ‘You must have lost it.’
She didn’t bother to reply; she simply picked up the plate and left.
‘Hang on!’ he shouted before she reached the door. ‘This drawer’s stuck! Have you been messing with my desk?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘As I told you, I haven’t touched your drawers. But I can try to help you.’
She put down the plate and tried to help him. Instead of tugging at the drawer as he had done, she attempted to work it free. When that didn’t work, she suggested they should pick the lock.
‘With a letter opener,’ she said, thinking for a moment. ‘Or a screwdriver. We’ve got a toolbox in the filing cabinet.’
‘Are you mad?’
He pushed her aside and tried once again to open the uncooperative drawer.
‘Have you any idea how much this desk cost? Get hold of a carpenter. Or a locksmith. I’ve no idea who we need to call to sort this out, but I want it fixed by the time I get back this afternoon, OK?’
Without looking at her he started stuffing files into his briefcase. He grabbed his winter coat and barrister’s gown from a hook by the door.
‘I don’t suppose we’ll finish today, but the judge might want to go on a bit longer, so it might get late. You’ll still be here, won’t you? I’ll have a lot of things for you to check after today’s proceedings, and you should have plenty to get on with until then.’
His secretary smiled and gave a brief nod.
The door closed, and she settled down to take her time over her morning coffee and the day’s newspapers. When she had finished she logged on to the Internet version of
You’re never too old for anything, she thought, and she had oceans of time.
Johanne was waiting impatiently for eight o’clock. The last half-hour had crawled by, and she couldn’t settle to read the papers. But she couldn’t ring any earlier. She had been wide awake at five, after seven hours of deep, continuous sleep. On a sudden whim she had taken out her skis and driven to Grinda for a little early morning skiing. She turned back after 500 metres. The illuminated track was snowed in, and the narrow super-skis Adam had given her for Christmas were useless on that kind of surface. She had asked for cross-country skis, but the shop assistant had convinced Adam that skating was the in-thing in Nordmarka right now. When Johanne finally got back to the car she was wondering if it was possible to take these bloody chopsticks back and exchange them. Not to mention the trousers; they felt tight around her ankles, and seemed more like slalom pants. She had never learned how to skate and had no desire to do so.
But at least the adventure had done her good.
She had eggs and bacon when she got back, and couldn’t remember a breakfast ever tasting better. With a cup of coffee in her hand she went over to the sofa. The telephone was on the floor, on charge. She reached down and pulled out the cable, then scrolled through her address book until she found the number.
The call was answered after just one ring.
‘Wilhelmsen,’ said an expressionless voice.
‘Hi Hanne. It’s Johanne. How are you?’
Of all the ridiculous ways to start a conversation with Hanne Wilhelmsen, asking how she was had to be top of the list.
‘Fine,’ the voice said, and Johanne almost choked on her coffee.
‘What?’ she coughed.
‘I’m absolutely fine. And thank you for Ida’s Christmas present – much appreciated. And how about you? How are you?’
Hanne Wilhelmsen must have been given a crash course in normal good manners for Christmas, Johanne thought.
‘OK, more or less. But you know how it is. I’ve got my hands full. Adam’s in Bergen practically all week at the moment, so most of the stuff involving the kids lands on my shoulders.’
There was complete silence at the other end of the line. Hanne evidently hadn’t got very far in her course.
‘I won’t take up too much of your time,’ Johanne said quickly. ‘I just wondered if you could help me with something.’
‘Like what?’
‘I need… I need to talk to a reliable person in the Oslo police. Preferably someone who works in violent crime and vice. Someone with a bit of authority.’
‘Me six years ago, in other words.’
‘You could say that, but I-’
‘Why are you asking me? Surely Adam can help you?’
Johanne gained some time by taking a sip of coffee.
‘As I mentioned, he’s in Bergen,’ she said eventually.
‘There are telephones.’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Is it something to do with Kristiane?’
Hanne laughed. She actually laughed, Johanne thought with increasing amazement.
‘Not really, but…’
Yes, she thought.
‘He just has this tendency to assume I’m…’
‘Moderately hysterical?’
Once again that same light, unaccustomed laugh.
‘A bit too quick to assume that something’s wrong,’ Hanne clarified. ‘Is that the problem?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Silje Sorensen.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Talk to Silje Sorensen. If anyone can help you, it’s Silje. I have to go now. I’ve got a lot to do.’
‘A lot to do?’
The thought that Hanne Wilhelmsen had a lot to do in her self-imposed exile in her luxury apartment was absurd.
‘I’ve started doing a bit of work,’ she explained.
‘Work?’
‘You have a very odd way of speaking on the telephone, Johanne. You keep coming out with individual words followed by a question mark. Yes, I’ve started working. For myself. On a small scale.’
‘Doing… doing what?’
‘Call round one day and we’ll have a chat. But now I really do have to go. Ring Silje Sorensen. Bye.’
Silence. Johanne couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard.
