‘No. But do you want to put her through an interview?’
She placed one hand on his thigh and picked up his wine glass with the other.
‘Not yet. Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary.’
‘Then we’re agreed.’
She felt a wave of tenderness for him that was unusual these days, a deep gratitude for the fact that his immediate instinct was to protect his stepdaughter, even though she might have vital information in an ongoing murder enquiry.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
‘Why are they here?’ Adam said, so quietly that she almost didn’t hear.
‘What?’
‘Why are they here?’ he repeated. ‘The 25’ers. Here. In Norway.’
She swirled the wine around the glass. The beat of
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘But of course, they could be in other places as well.’
‘No.’
He took the glass from her and had a sip.
‘Interpol has no information on similar cases anywhere else in Europe. In the US, however, the FBI is working on a case where-’
‘Six gay men have been murdered and it turns out there’s a connection between all of them,’ she finished off for him. ‘And that particular case is a hard nut to crack.’
He laughed.
‘Do you know everything that’s going on in that bloody country?’
‘America is not a bloody country. It’s a wonderful, wonderful country, the USA.’
His laughter grew louder, positively hearty. He pulled her close. She was smiling, too. It was a long time since she’d heard him laugh like that.
‘It could be just a coincidence, of course,’ she said.
When he didn’t reply, she added: ‘But I don’t believe that for a second.’
‘Why not?’ Adam asked. ‘If they’ve decided to… export their hatred, I suppose we’re as good a country to start in as any. In fact, if you think about it…’
He tried to get more comfortable.
‘… perhaps we’re better than any other country. We’ve got the most liberal laws in the world when it comes to gay rights, we’ve got-’
‘Along with several other countries,’ she broke in. ‘And a number of states in the US. So they’ve got no real reason to come here, in fact. I just don’t believe…’
Adam was shifting about so much that she sat up and undid his belt.
‘I love you however much you weigh,’ she said. ‘But it does look a little bit ridiculous when you start literally tightening your belt. Couldn’t you perhaps buy yourself some bigger clothes, sweetheart?’
She could have sworn he was blushing. But he left the belt hanging open.
‘I think they’re here for a very definite reason,’ she said.
‘Which is?’
‘If only we knew. But there’s something.’
‘Shit,’ said Adam, lumbering to his feet.
‘What are you going to do?’
He mumbled something she didn’t catch and headed towards the hallway. She could hear
‘Look at this,’ she said, tapping the paper with her pen.
‘I can’t make head or tail of it,’ he said, wrinkling his nose at her incomprehensible scrawl.
‘The methods,’ she said succinctly.
‘Yes?’
‘Sophie Eklund was killed after someone sabotaged her car. So there was an attempt to cover up a murder.’
‘Yes…’
‘Niclas Winter was written off as the victim of an overdose. Which he was – to be fair – but all the indications are that he was killed with curacit. In other words, another attempt to cover up a murder.’
‘How do you actually inject curacit into an adult, relatively healthy man?’ Adam muttered, still trying to decipher what she had written down. ‘I would have fought like the devil.’
‘The first thing that occurs to me is that he might have been fooled into thinking it was something else. Heroin, for example.’
‘Yes…’
‘Or he was taken by surprise. Curacit works incredibly fast. If you inject into the mouth where there are a lot of blood vessels, it’s only a matter of seconds before the effect kicks in.’
‘Into the mouth? But you can’t force someone to open wide so you can inject a little curacit, surely?’
‘I’m afraid we’ll never know the answer to that. He’s been cremated. But listen to me, Adam. Pay attention. The point is there was an attempt to cover up the next two murders, exactly like the ones I’ve just mentioned.’
She chewed her pen.
‘Runar Hansen, poor soul – nobody really bothered too much about him. Drug addicts who get beaten up and die as a result of their injuries don’t attract much attention these days. And as far as Hawre Ghani is concerned, he was thrown in the water and was virtually unrecognizable by the time they pulled him out. To be perfectly honest, I think his case would have ended up well down the pile at police headquarters if Silje Sorensen hadn’t… felt something for the boy.’
‘Where are you going with this, Johanne?’
‘I want my own wine. Can’t you go and get me a glass?’
He got up without a word.
Johanne stared at her scribbles. Six murders. Two covered up, two almost ignored, simply because the victims were right at the bottom of the scale of humanity in every way. She suddenly drew a thick ring around the last two names.
‘There you go,’ said Adam, handing her a half-full glass. ‘Not exactly the usual Friday night. Apart from the wine, I mean.’
‘What we can almost definitely say,’ said Johanne, taking the glass without looking up, ‘is that something unforeseen happened when Marianne Kleive was murdered. The killer was surprised by Kristiane. In other words, we can’t actually be certain whether this murder would also have been covered up. As an accident. An illness. Something. To make sure the alarm wasn’t sounded straight away, the murderer sent text messages from her mobile. That gave him a whole week.’
‘Does this just mean they don’t want to get caught, that they just want to buy themselves time, or that they want-?’
‘But let’s look at the Bishop,’ said Johanne, suddenly realizing that the page she was writing on had a picture of Eva Karin in the right-hand column.
She turned the old paper ninety degrees and drew a square around the small portrait on the front page.
‘There was no attempt to disguise this murder,’ she said, mostly to herself.
Adam was sensible enough to keep quiet.
‘Quite the reverse,’ she went on. ‘Stabbed out in the street. True, it happened on the only day of the year when you can be fairly sure nobody is out and about, but still… The intention was that she should be found quickly. The intention was that the murder of…’
