Volter featured on them long before she took over the premiership.”
He stood up again and walked back and forth across the floor as he spoke. His voice was deep and pleasant, and his words flowed without pause.
“Neither can we disregard the possibility that the murder has a connection with recent events in the Middle East. The Oslo Agreement is in imminent danger of petering out altogether, and it is well known that Norway is working tenaciously behind the scenes to prevent the whole peace process from collapsing.”
“Now our guys in Security will get to cooperate with their old pals in Mossad again,” Billy T. muttered, almost inaudibly.
Tone-Marit pretended not to hear, and craned her neck to obtain a better view of the man at the front.
“We also have a couple of other possible theories that we are in the process of scrutinizing more closely. It’s not necessary to go into that in any detail here.”
The Security Service Chief stopped, nodding briefly to the Chief of Police as a signal that the meeting was over. The Chief tugged at his grimy collar, and appeared to be longing earnestly to go home.
“Do you still believe all that guff about a lone madman?” Tone-Marit asked as they left the parade room immediately afterward. “Must be an ingenious guy, in that case!”
Billy T. did not respond, but after staring at her for several seconds, shook his head lamely.
“Now I really must get some sleep,” he mumbled.
09.07, OSLO POLICE STATION
I t was impossible to guess the age of the lady in the black dress with a little scarlet scarf around her neck who sat sipping from a glass of Farris mineral water. Police Sergeant Tone-Marit Steen was impressed: the woman looked refreshed and immaculately turned out, despite having been interviewed until four o’clock that same morning. It was true that her eyes were ever so slightly bloodshot, but her makeup was perfect, and the small movements she continually made released a faint, pleasant waft of perfume into the room. Tone-Marit tucked her arms into her sides and hoped that she did not smell too rank.
“Really sorry to have to bother you again,” she said in a voice that sounded sincere. “But in the circumstances, I hope you appreciate that we regard you as a particularly important witness.”
Wenche Andersen, secretary in the Prime Minister’s office, nodded gently.
“It’s all the same to me. It’s impossible to sleep anyway. It’s the least I can do. Ask away.”
“In order to avoid going through what we covered last night all over again, we’ll do a short resumé of what you said. Stop me if anything is incorrect.”
Nodding, Wenche Andersen cradled her hands in her lap.
“Birgitte Volter had asked to be left in peace, is that right?”
The woman nodded.
“And you don’t know why. She was to have an absolutely routine meeting with Supreme Court Judge Grinde, a meeting that had been arranged a week in advance. No one else came to the office after you last saw Volter alive. But you say here …”
Tone-Marit leafed through the papers, and finally found what she was looking for. “You say that she had seemed troubled recently. Stressed, you say. What do you make of that?”
The woman in black gazed at her, obviously searching for the right words.
“It’s difficult to say, really. I hadn’t got to know her very well yet, you see. She was … dismissive? Irritable? A bit of both. Slightly abrupt, in a sense. More so than she had been before. I can’t say any more than that.”
“Could you … Could you give some examples? About the sort of thing that caused her to become irritable?”
Something resembling a smile crossed Wenche Andersen’s face.
“The newspapers are usually delivered by messenger at quarter past eight. On Thursday there was a delay of some kind, so they did not arrive until almost half past nine. The Prime Minister was so annoyed that she … Well, she swore, not to put too fine a point on it.”
The
He stood up again and walked back and forth across the floor as he spoke. His voice was deep and pleasant, and his words flowed without pause.
“Neither can we disregard the possibility that the murder has a connection with recent events in the Middle East. The Oslo Agreement is in imminent danger of petering out altogether, and it is well known that Norway is working tenaciously behind the scenes to prevent the whole peace process from collapsing.”
“Now our guys in Security will get to cooperate with their old pals in Mossad again,” Billy T. muttered, almost inaudibly.
Tone-Marit pretended not to hear, and craned her neck to obtain a better view of the man at the front.
“We also have a couple of other possible theories that we are in the process of scrutinizing more closely. It’s not necessary to go into that in any detail here.”
The Security Service Chief stopped, nodding briefly to the Chief of Police as a signal that the meeting was over. The Chief tugged at his grimy collar, and appeared to be longing earnestly to go home.
“Do you still believe all that guff about a lone madman?” Tone-Marit asked as they left the parade room immediately afterward. “Must be an ingenious guy, in that case!”
Billy T. did not respond, but after staring at her for several seconds, shook his head lamely.
“Now I really must get some sleep,” he mumbled.
09.07, OSLO POLICE STATION
I t was impossible to guess the age of the lady in the black dress with a little scarlet scarf around her neck who sat sipping from a glass of Farris mineral water. Police Sergeant Tone-Marit Steen was impressed: the woman looked refreshed and immaculately turned out, despite having been interviewed until four o’clock that same morning. It was true that her eyes were ever so slightly bloodshot, but her makeup was perfect, and the small movements she continually made released a faint, pleasant waft of perfume into the room. Tone-Marit tucked her arms into her sides and hoped that she did not smell too rank.
“Really sorry to have to bother you again,” she said in a voice that sounded sincere. “But in the circumstances, I hope you appreciate that we regard you as a particularly important witness.”
Wenche Andersen, secretary in the Prime Minister’s office, nodded gently.
“It’s all the same to me. It’s impossible to sleep anyway. It’s the least I can do. Ask away.”
“In order to avoid going through what we covered last night all over again, we’ll do a short resumé of what you said. Stop me if anything is incorrect.”
Nodding, Wenche Andersen cradled her hands in her lap.
“Birgitte Volter had asked to be left in peace, is that right?”
The woman nodded.
“And you don’t know why. She was to have an absolutely routine meeting with Supreme Court Judge Grinde, a meeting that had been arranged a week in advance. No one else came to the office after you last saw Volter alive. But you say here …”
Tone-Marit leafed through the papers, and finally found what she was looking for. “You say that she had seemed troubled recently. Stressed, you say. What do you make of that?”
The woman in black gazed at her, obviously searching for the right words.
“It’s difficult to say, really. I hadn’t got to know her very well yet, you see. She was … dismissive? Irritable? A bit of both. Slightly abrupt, in a sense. More so than she had been before. I can’t say any more than that.”
“Could you … Could you give some examples? About the sort of thing that caused her to become irritable?”
Something resembling a smile crossed Wenche Andersen’s face.
“The newspapers are usually delivered by messenger at quarter past eight. On Thursday there was a delay of some kind, so they did not arrive until almost half past nine. The Prime Minister was so annoyed that she … Well, she swore, not to put too fine a point on it.”
The
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