‘Correct,’ Bellman said, sensing an incipient exultation in his heart.
‘I checked the calendar. At that time I was in Skien, in the Peer Gynt Room, Ibsen House, where I was talking about my coltan project. This can be confirmed by the person who hired the room and roughly one hundred and twenty potential investors who were present. I assume you know it takes about two hours to drive there. The next was Charlotte Lolles between … let’s see … it says between eleven o’clock and midnight on the 3rd of January. At that time I was having dinner with a few minor investors in Hamar. Two hours by car from Oslo. By the way, I took the train, and I tried to find the ticket, but sadly without any luck.’
He smiled in apology to Bellman, who had stopped breathing. And for a second Leike’s milestone teeth appeared between his lips as he concluded: ‘But I hope that at least some of the twelve witnesses present during the dinner may be regarded as reliable.’
‘Then he said there was a possibility he could be charged with the murder of Marit Olsen, because even though he had been at home with his fiancée he had, in fact, also been alone for two hours skiing on the floodlit course in Sørkedalen that evening.’
Mikael Bellman shook his head and stuffed his hands even deeper into his coat pockets as he examined The Sick Child.
‘At the time when Marit Olsen died?’ Kaja asked, inclining her head and looking at the mouth of the pale, presumably dying girl. She generally concentrated on one thing whenever they met at the Munch Museum. Sometimes it could be the eyes, another time the landscape in the background, the sun or simply Edvard Munch’s signature.
‘He said that neither he nor the Galtung woman—’
‘Lene,’ Kaja corrected.
‘—could remember exactly when, but it could have been quite late, it usually was because he liked to have the course to himself.’
‘So Tony Leike could have been in Frogner Park instead. If he was in Sørkedalen he would have passed through the toll stations twice, on the way out and back in. If he’s got an electronic pass on his windscreen the time is automatically recorded. And then—’
She had turned and stopped abruptly when she met his frigid eyes.
‘… But of course you’ve already checked that,’ she said.
‘We didn’t need to,’ Mikael said. ‘He hasn’t got an AutoPASS, he stops and pays cash. And so there is no record of the journey.’
She nodded. They strolled on to the next picture, stood behind a few Japanese tourists who were noisily pointing and gesticulating. The advantage of meeting at the Munch Museum in the week – apart from the fact that it lay between Kripos in Bryn and Police HQ in Grønland – was that it was one of those tourist destinations where you were guaranteed never to meet colleagues, neighbours or acquaintances.
‘What did Leike say about Elias Skog and Stavanger?’ Kaja asked.
Mikael shook his head again. ‘He said he could probably be charged with that one, too. Since he had slept alone that night, and thus had no alibi. So I asked him if he had gone to work the next day and he answered that he couldn’t remember, but he assumed he had turned up at seven as usual. And that I could check with the receptionist at the shared office block if I considered it important. I did, and it transpired that Leike had booked one of the meeting rooms for a quarter past nine. And talking with a few of the investor types in the office, I found out that two of them had been to the meeting with Leike. If he had left Elias Skog’s place at three in the morning he would have needed a plane to make it. And his name is not on any passenger lists.’
‘That doesn’t mean much. He may have been travelling under a false name and ID. And anyway, we still have his phone call to Skog. How did he explain that away?’
‘He didn’t even try, he just denied it,’ Bellman snorted. ‘What is it that people reckon is so good about The Dance of Life? They haven’t even got proper faces. Look like zombies, if you ask me.’
Kaja studied the dancers in the painting. ‘Perhaps they are,’ she said.
‘Zombies?’ Bellman chuckled. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘People who go around like dancers, but feel dead inside, buried, decomposing. No question.’
‘Interesting theory, Solness.’
She hated it when he used her surname, which he did as a rule when he was angry or simply found it appropriate to remind her of his intellectual superiority. Which she let him do because it was obviously important for him. And perhaps he was intellectually superior. Wasn’t it part of what had made her fall for him, his conspicuous intelligence? She didn’t have a clear recollection any more.