must be a bit boring after a while, going to all that bother just to annoy us. He was probably hoping for something more. If the theory about it being a prankster is true, that is.”
“Maybe he’s quite simply run out of blood . . .”
“Yes, maybe so.”
The soccer ball soared toward them in an arc. Hanne leaped up and caught it with a smile, then turned to face her colleague.
“Fancy a game?”
An energetic, dismissive gesture extinguished any hope of seeing Håkon Sand play football with the Pakistani boys. Hanne kicked the ball back and groaned. She sat down, rubbing her tender instep.
“Out of practice.”
“What do you really think about that case?” Håkon Sand asked.
“Truth to tell, I don’t know. Hopefully, it’s just nonsense. But there’s something or other about it I don’t like. Despite everything, the guy must have gone to a lot of bother.”
“Or lady.”
“I don’t honestly believe a woman would do something like that. It’s kind of . . . a bit too masculine. All that blood.”
“But what if it wasn’t a prank? What if those three places were scenes of actual crimes? What if . . . ?”
“Don’t you have enough to do, Håkon? Is it necessary to spend time on what-if crimes? In that case, you’ll get plenty to keep you busy in the future, that’s for sure.”
Slightly peeved, she donned her socks and shoes and rolled her trousers down.
“Game over. We need to get back to work,” she insisted.
They ambled into the station. Some gilded monstrosity hanging from the ceiling in a feeble attempt at decorating the enormous foyer seemed about to collapse from the heat. The sunshine was reflected so brilliantly it was painful to look at.
No great loss if the whole piece of junk takes a dive, Hanne Wilhelmsen thought.
Then she took the elevator to the second floor.
* * *
Håkon’s speculations concerning the Saturday night massacres consumed her thoughts, which was immensely annoying. She now had five rape cases, seven assaults, and a suspected case of incest to work on. It was more than enough. It was true they had a special group to deal with child abuse, but during this absurd spring it seemed that little children were becoming increasingly valuable as sexual objects. They all had to take a share of the load. The case assigned to her was of the kind that would typically be dropped. Clinically, there was no sign of anything untoward. It did not matter that the child had changed character completely, to the total despair of both mother and kindergarten, and a psychologist had established with a great degree of certainty that something or other had happened. Regardless, this was as far distant from securing a conviction as from here to the moon.“Something or other” was not exactly specific, seen from a legal point of view. All the same, it conflicted with her innermost instincts as a police officer not to try a bit harder. During the judicial examination, the youngster had said quite a lot but had gone completely silent when Hanne had carefully tried to coax out the name of the person with “weird pee, like milk.” Another judicial review would be her last-ditch effort, but it would have to wait. At least for a couple of weeks.
What if . . .
Hanne Wilhelmsen was sitting with feet on the desk, hands folded behind her head, and eyes half closed.
What if something really had happened in the woodshed in Tøyen, in the workmen’s hut beside the River Lo, and in the parking lot at Vaterland? In that case, it was grotesque. The blood couldn’t possibly come from a single person. Three or four people meeting their cruel fates in each of these places was so totally improbable that—at least for the moment—she had to exclude the possibility.
She jumped when Chief Inspector Kaldbakken entered the room and jerked her feet off the desk.
“Not enough to do, Wilhelmsen?” he grumbled. “All you need to do is come to me, then you’ll have more than
“Maybe he’s quite simply run out of blood . . .”
“Yes, maybe so.”
The soccer ball soared toward them in an arc. Hanne leaped up and caught it with a smile, then turned to face her colleague.
“Fancy a game?”
An energetic, dismissive gesture extinguished any hope of seeing Håkon Sand play football with the Pakistani boys. Hanne kicked the ball back and groaned. She sat down, rubbing her tender instep.
“Out of practice.”
“What do you really think about that case?” Håkon Sand asked.
“Truth to tell, I don’t know. Hopefully, it’s just nonsense. But there’s something or other about it I don’t like. Despite everything, the guy must have gone to a lot of bother.”
“Or lady.”
“I don’t honestly believe a woman would do something like that. It’s kind of . . . a bit too masculine. All that blood.”
“But what if it wasn’t a prank? What if those three places were scenes of actual crimes? What if . . . ?”
“Don’t you have enough to do, Håkon? Is it necessary to spend time on what-if crimes? In that case, you’ll get plenty to keep you busy in the future, that’s for sure.”
Slightly peeved, she donned her socks and shoes and rolled her trousers down.
“Game over. We need to get back to work,” she insisted.
They ambled into the station. Some gilded monstrosity hanging from the ceiling in a feeble attempt at decorating the enormous foyer seemed about to collapse from the heat. The sunshine was reflected so brilliantly it was painful to look at.
No great loss if the whole piece of junk takes a dive, Hanne Wilhelmsen thought.
Then she took the elevator to the second floor.
* * *
Håkon’s speculations concerning the Saturday night massacres consumed her thoughts, which was immensely annoying. She now had five rape cases, seven assaults, and a suspected case of incest to work on. It was more than enough. It was true they had a special group to deal with child abuse, but during this absurd spring it seemed that little children were becoming increasingly valuable as sexual objects. They all had to take a share of the load. The case assigned to her was of the kind that would typically be dropped. Clinically, there was no sign of anything untoward. It did not matter that the child had changed character completely, to the total despair of both mother and kindergarten, and a psychologist had established with a great degree of certainty that something or other had happened. Regardless, this was as far distant from securing a conviction as from here to the moon.“Something or other” was not exactly specific, seen from a legal point of view. All the same, it conflicted with her innermost instincts as a police officer not to try a bit harder. During the judicial examination, the youngster had said quite a lot but had gone completely silent when Hanne had carefully tried to coax out the name of the person with “weird pee, like milk.” Another judicial review would be her last-ditch effort, but it would have to wait. At least for a couple of weeks.
What if . . .
Hanne Wilhelmsen was sitting with feet on the desk, hands folded behind her head, and eyes half closed.
What if something really had happened in the woodshed in Tøyen, in the workmen’s hut beside the River Lo, and in the parking lot at Vaterland? In that case, it was grotesque. The blood couldn’t possibly come from a single person. Three or four people meeting their cruel fates in each of these places was so totally improbable that—at least for the moment—she had to exclude the possibility.
She jumped when Chief Inspector Kaldbakken entered the room and jerked her feet off the desk.
“Not enough to do, Wilhelmsen?” he grumbled. “All you need to do is come to me, then you’ll have more than
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