The Leopard(182)

Sigurd Altman was sitting on a chair at one end of the table. Bellman sat at the other end so that he and Altman were at almost exactly the same height. Altman’s face was lean, his eyes deep-set, the mouth pronounced with protruding teeth, all of which reminded Bellman of photos of emaciated Jews in Auschwitz. And the monster in Alien.

‘Conversations like this don’t proceed by the book,’ Bellman said. ‘I therefore have to insist that no one takes notes and anything we say does not go beyond these walls.’

‘At the same time we have to have a guarantee that the conditions for a confession are fulfilled on the prosecuting authority’s side,’ Krohn said.

‘You have my word,’ Bellman said.

‘For which I humbly thank you. What else have you got?’

‘What else?’ Bellman gave a thin smile. ‘What else would you like? A signed written agreement?’ Arrogant bloody prick of a counsel.

‘Preferably,’ Krohn said, passing a sheet of paper across the table.

Bellman stared at the paper. He skimmed over it, his eyes jumping from sentence to sentence.

‘Won’t be shown to anyone, of course, if it doesn’t have to be,’ Krohn said. ‘And the document will be returned when the conditions have been fulfilled. And this –’ he passed a pen to Bellman – ‘is an S.T. Dupont, the best fountain pen you can find.’

Bellman took the pen and placed it on the table beside him.

‘If the story’s good enough, I’ll sign,’ he said.

‘If this is supposed to be a crime scene, the person concerned tidied up after themselves pretty well.’

Bjørn Holm put his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. They had searched high and low, in drawers and cupboards, shone a torch everywhere for blood and taken fingerprints. He had put his laptop on the desk, connected it to a fingerprint scanner the size of a matchbox, similar to those used at some airports now for passenger identification. So far all the prints had matched one person in the case: Tony Leike.

‘Keep going,’ Harry said, on his knees under the sink, dismantling the plastic pipes. ‘It’s here somewhere.’

‘What is?’

‘I don’t know. Something or other.’

‘If we keep going, we’ll certainly need a bit of heating.’

‘Fire her up then.’

Bjørn Holm crouched down by the wood burner, opened the door and began to tear up and twist the newspaper from the wood basket.

‘What did you offer Skai to get him to join your little game? He risks all sorts if the truth comes out.’

‘He’s not risking anything,’ Harry said. ‘He hasn’t said an untrue word. Look at his statements. It’s the media that have jumped to the wrong conclusions. And there are no police instructions stipulating who can and who cannot arrest a suspect. I didn’t need to offer anything for his help. He said he disliked me less than he disliked Bellman, and that was justification enough.’

‘That was all?’

‘Hm. He told me about his daughter, Mia. Things haven’t gone so well for her. In such cases parents always look for a cause, something concrete they can point to. And Skai reckons it was the night outside the dance hall that marked Mia for life. Local gossip is that Mia and Ole had been going out and it wasn’t just innocent kissing in the woods when Ole found Mia and Tony. In Skai’s eyes Ole and Tony carry the blame for the daughter’s problems.’

Bjørn shook his head. ‘Victims, victims, wherever you turn.’

Harry had come over to Bjørn, holding out his hand. In the palm lay bits of what looked like wire cut from a fence. ‘This was under the drainpipe. Any idea what it is?’

Bjørn took the pieces of wire and studied them.

‘Hey,’ Harry burst out. ‘What’s that?’

‘What’s what?’

‘The newspaper. Look, that’s the press conference where we launched the Iska Peller ruse.’

Bjørn Holm looked at the photo of Bellman which had been uncovered when he had torn off the page in front. ‘Well, I’ll be . . .’

‘The newspaper’s only a few days old. Someone’s been here recently.’

‘Well, I’ll be.’

‘There might be prints on the front pa—’ Harry looked in the woodburner where the first pages were just going up in flames.

‘Sorry,’ said Bjørn. ‘But I can check the other pages.’

‘OK. Actually, I was wondering about the wood.’

‘Oh?’

‘There isn’t a tree for a three-mile radius. You check the papers and I’ll have a walk around.’