has an alibi for the time of the murder. A witness.’
‘He does have a witness,’ Harnes said, looking down at his silent client. ‘The prison officer who accompanied him on his day release. And he has said that Lofthus disappeared for—’
‘Another witness,’ Westad said.
‘And who might that be?’ Franck scoffed.
‘Lofthus says he met a man called Leif.’
‘Leif what?’
Everyone stared at the long-haired prisoner who looked like he was very far away and entirely oblivious to their presence.
‘He doesn’t know,’ Westad said. ‘He says they chatted briefly at a lay by. He says the witness drove a blue Volvo with an “I ♥ Drammen” sticker and he thinks the witness might have been ill or had heart trouble.’
Franck barked with laughter.
‘I think,’ Einar Harnes said with forced composure as he returned the papers to his briefcase, ‘that we should end it here so I can speak to my client to take his instructions.’
Franck had a habit of grinning when he got angry. And now the rage bubbled in his head like a boiling kettle and he had to pull himself together not to laugh out loud again. He glared at Harnes’s so-called client. Sonny Lofthus must be mad. First his attack on old Halden and now this. The heroin must finally have corroded his brain. But Sonny wouldn’t be allowed to upset this, it was much too big. Franck took a deep breath and heard an imaginary click like a boiling kettle switching itself off. It was just a question of keeping cool, giving it time. Giving withdrawal a little more time.
Simon was standing on Sannerbrua looking down at the water which flowed eight metres below them. It was six o’clock in the evening and Kari Adel had just asked about the rules for overtime in the Homicide Squad.
‘No idea,’ Simon said. ‘Talk to Human Resources.’
‘Can you see anything down there?’
Simon shook his head. Behind the foliage on the east side of the river he could make out the towpath which followed the water all the way down to the new Opera House by Oslo Fjord. A man was sitting on the bench feeding the pigeons. He’s retired, Simon thought. That’s what you do when you retire. On the west side was a modern apartment block with windows and balconies offering a view of both the river and the bridge.
‘So what are we doing here?’ Kari said, kicking the tarmac impatiently.
‘Is there somewhere you need to be?’ Simon said and looked around. A car drove past at a leisurely pace, a smiling beggar asked if they had change for a 200-kronor note, a couple in designer sunglasses with a disposable barbecue in the bottom tray of their pram laughed at something as they strolled by. He loved Oslo in the summer holidays when the city emptied of people and became his once more. When it returned to being the slightly overgrown village of his childhood where nothing much ever happened and anything that did happen meant something. A city he understood.
‘Some friends have invited Sam and me over for dinner.’
Friends, Simon thought. He used to have friends. What happened to them? Perhaps they were asking exactly the same question. What happened to him? He didn’t know if he could give them a proper answer.
The river couldn’t be more than a metre and a half deep. In some places rocks protruded from the water. The post-mortem report mentioned injuries consistent with a fall from a certain height, something which could fit with the broken neck which was the actual cause of death.
‘We’re here because we’ve walked up and down Aker River and this is the only place where the bridge is high enough and the water shallow enough for him to hit the rocks that hard. Besides, it’s the nearest bridge to the hostel.’
‘Residential centre,’ Kari corrected him.
‘Would you try to kill yourself here?’
‘No.’
‘I mean if you were going to kill yourself.’
Kari stopped shuffling her feet. Looked over the railing. ‘I suppose I would have chosen somewhere
‘He does have a witness,’ Harnes said, looking down at his silent client. ‘The prison officer who accompanied him on his day release. And he has said that Lofthus disappeared for—’
‘Another witness,’ Westad said.
‘And who might that be?’ Franck scoffed.
‘Lofthus says he met a man called Leif.’
‘Leif what?’
Everyone stared at the long-haired prisoner who looked like he was very far away and entirely oblivious to their presence.
‘He doesn’t know,’ Westad said. ‘He says they chatted briefly at a lay by. He says the witness drove a blue Volvo with an “I ♥ Drammen” sticker and he thinks the witness might have been ill or had heart trouble.’
Franck barked with laughter.
‘I think,’ Einar Harnes said with forced composure as he returned the papers to his briefcase, ‘that we should end it here so I can speak to my client to take his instructions.’
Franck had a habit of grinning when he got angry. And now the rage bubbled in his head like a boiling kettle and he had to pull himself together not to laugh out loud again. He glared at Harnes’s so-called client. Sonny Lofthus must be mad. First his attack on old Halden and now this. The heroin must finally have corroded his brain. But Sonny wouldn’t be allowed to upset this, it was much too big. Franck took a deep breath and heard an imaginary click like a boiling kettle switching itself off. It was just a question of keeping cool, giving it time. Giving withdrawal a little more time.
Simon was standing on Sannerbrua looking down at the water which flowed eight metres below them. It was six o’clock in the evening and Kari Adel had just asked about the rules for overtime in the Homicide Squad.
‘No idea,’ Simon said. ‘Talk to Human Resources.’
‘Can you see anything down there?’
Simon shook his head. Behind the foliage on the east side of the river he could make out the towpath which followed the water all the way down to the new Opera House by Oslo Fjord. A man was sitting on the bench feeding the pigeons. He’s retired, Simon thought. That’s what you do when you retire. On the west side was a modern apartment block with windows and balconies offering a view of both the river and the bridge.
‘So what are we doing here?’ Kari said, kicking the tarmac impatiently.
‘Is there somewhere you need to be?’ Simon said and looked around. A car drove past at a leisurely pace, a smiling beggar asked if they had change for a 200-kronor note, a couple in designer sunglasses with a disposable barbecue in the bottom tray of their pram laughed at something as they strolled by. He loved Oslo in the summer holidays when the city emptied of people and became his once more. When it returned to being the slightly overgrown village of his childhood where nothing much ever happened and anything that did happen meant something. A city he understood.
‘Some friends have invited Sam and me over for dinner.’
Friends, Simon thought. He used to have friends. What happened to them? Perhaps they were asking exactly the same question. What happened to him? He didn’t know if he could give them a proper answer.
The river couldn’t be more than a metre and a half deep. In some places rocks protruded from the water. The post-mortem report mentioned injuries consistent with a fall from a certain height, something which could fit with the broken neck which was the actual cause of death.
‘We’re here because we’ve walked up and down Aker River and this is the only place where the bridge is high enough and the water shallow enough for him to hit the rocks that hard. Besides, it’s the nearest bridge to the hostel.’
‘Residential centre,’ Kari corrected him.
‘Would you try to kill yourself here?’
‘No.’
‘I mean if you were going to kill yourself.’
Kari stopped shuffling her feet. Looked over the railing. ‘I suppose I would have chosen somewhere
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