There were obviously very few secrets in this milieu, because all three remembered Mikael Bellman. Partly because he had been a bastard of a policeman at Stovner. But mostly because he had made a beeline for Julle’s woman while Julle was serving a twelve-month sentence for an earlier drugs conviction, which had been suspended but became custodial after someone had shopped him for pinching petrol from Mortensrud. The woman was Ulla Swart, Manglerud’s finest, and a year older than Bellman. When Julle’s sentence was up and he strolled out of prison having vowed to all and sundry that he was going to take care of Bellman, there had been two guys waiting in the garage when Julle went home to pick up his Kawasaki. They had been wearing balaclavas and beat him black and blue with iron bars and promised there would be more where that came from if he touched either Bellman or Ulla. Rumour had it that neither of the two had been Bellman. But one of them had been someone they called Beavis, Bellman’s eternal lackey. It was the only card Roger Gjendem had when he rang Truls ‘Beavis’ Berntsen. All the more reason to pretend he had four aces.
‘I just wanted to ask if there was any truth in the assertion that on instructions from Mikael Bellman you once beat up Stanislav Hesse, who was depping at the wages and personnel office of Stovner police station.’
Thunderous silence at the other end.
Roger cleared his throat. ‘Well?’
‘That’s a damned lie.’
‘Which part?’
‘I was never given any instructions by Mikael to do that. Everyone could see the bloody Pole was trying it on with his wife. Could have been anyone taking matters into their own hands.’
Roger Gjendem tended to believe the former, the bit about the instructions. But not the latter, the bit about ‘anyone’. None of Bellman’s other colleagues at Stovner that Roger had spoken to had anything directly bad to say about Bellman; however, it was evident that Bellman was not beloved, not a man for whom they would have answered a call to arms. Apart from one.
‘Thank you, that was all,’ Roger Gjendem said.
As Roger Gjendem put his mobile away, Harry rummaged in his jacket pocket and put his phone to his ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Bjørn Holm here.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Christ. Didn’t think you would have bothered to set up a phone book.’
‘I have indeed. You should feel honoured. You’re one of the four names in it.’
‘What’s the racket in the background? Where are you actually?’
‘Punters cheering because they think they’re going to win. I’m at a horse race.’
‘What?’
‘Bombay Garden.’
‘Isn’t that a … did they let you in?’
‘I’m a member. What do you want?’
‘Jesus, Harry, are you gambling on horses? Didn’t you learn anything in Hong Kong?’
‘Relax, I’m here checking up on Aslak Krongli. According to his office he was on police business in Oslo when both Charlotte and Borgny were killed. Not that unusual actually, because it turns out he’s quite often in Oslo. And I’ve just discovered the reason.’
‘Bombay Garden?’
‘Yup. Aslak Krongli has a not insubstantial gambling problem. Thing is, I’ve checked his credit card payments on the computer here. Time of payment and everything. Krongli has used his card a lot, and the times give him an alibi. Unfortunately.’
‘I see. And they’ve got the computer in the same room as the race course?’
‘Eh? They’re in the final straight now, you’ll have to talk louder!’
‘They’ve … Forget it. I’m ringing to say we’ve got semen off the ski pants that Adele Vetlesen was wearing at Håvass.’
‘What? You’re kidding? That means . . .’
‘We may soon have the DNA of the eighth guest. If it’s his semen. And the only way we can be sure is by excluding the other men at Håvass.’
‘We need their DNA.’
‘Yes,’ said Bjørn Holm. ‘Elias Skog’s fine, of course, we’ve got his DNA. Not so good with Tony Leike. We’d have found it at his house, no problem, but for that we need a warrant. And after what happened last time it’s gonna be really tough.’
‘Leave it to me,’ Harry said. ‘We should also have Krongli’s DNA profile. Even though he didn’t kill either Charlotte or Borgny, he may have raped Adele.’
‘OK. How do we get it?’
‘As a policeman he must have been at a crime scene at some point or other,’ Harry said. It was unnecessary to conclude his reasoning. Bjørn Holm was already nodding. To avoid confusion and identity mistakes, fingerprints and DNA were routinely taken from all officers who had been present at a crime scene and had potentially contaminated it.