Bjørn’s fair eyebrows rose a substantial way up his forehead.
‘Porous, black stone, basalt rock,’ Harry said. ‘I would reckon lava. I’ll be back from Bergen at fourish.’
‘Say hello to Baa-baargen Police HQ,’ Bjørn bleated and raised his coffee cup.
‘I won’t be going to the police station,’ Harry said.
‘Oh? Where then?’
‘Sandviken Hospital.’
‘Sand—’
The door slammed behind Harry. Kaja watched Bjørn Holm, who was staring at the closed door with a stunned expression on his face.
‘What’s he going to do there?’ she asked. ‘See a pathologist?’
Bjørn shook his head. ‘Sandviken Hospital is a mental hospital.’
‘Really? So he’s going to meet a psychologist with serial killings as a speciality, is he?’
‘I knew I should have said no,’ Bjørn whispered, still staring at the door. ‘He’s clean out of his mind.’
‘Who’s out of his mind?’
‘We’re working in a prison,’ Bjørn said. ‘We’re risking our jobs if the boss finds out what we’re up to, and the colleague in Bergen . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘She is seriously out of her mind.’
‘You mean she’s … ?’
‘Sectioned out of her mind.’
18
The Patient
FOR EVERY STEP THE TALL POLICEMAN TOOK, KJERSTI Rødsmoen had to take two. Even so, she was left behind as they walked along the corridor of Sandviken Hospital. The rain was pouring down outside the high, narrow windows facing the fjord where the trees were so green you would have thought spring had arrived before winter.
The day before, Kjersti Rødsmoen had recognised the policeman’s voice at once. As though she had been waiting for him to ring. And to make the very request he did: to talk to the Patient. The Patient had come to be called the Patient to give her maximum anonymity after the strain of her most recent murder case as a detective had sent her right back to square one: the psychiatric ward. In fact, she had recovered with remarkable speed, had moved back home, but the press – which was still hysterically pursuing the Snowman case long after it had been cleared up – had not left her in peace. And one evening, a few months ago, the Patient had called Rødsmoen and asked if she could return.
‘So she’s in serviceable shape?’ the police officer asked. ‘On medication?’
‘Yes to the first,’ Kjersti Rødsmoen said. ‘The second is confidential.’ The truth was the Patient was so well that neither medicine nor hospitalisation was required any longer. Nevertheless Rødsmoen had wondered whether she should let him visit her; he had been on the Snowman case and could cause old issues to emerge. Kjersti Rødsmoen had, in her time as a psychologist, come to believe more and more in repression, in shutting things off, in oblivion. It was an unfashionable view within the profession. On the other hand, meeting a person who had been on that particular case might be a good test of how robust the Patient had become.
‘You’ve got half an hour,’ Rødsmoen said before opening the door to the common room. ‘And don’t forget that the mind is tender.’
The last time Harry had seen Katrine Bratt she had been unrecognisable. The attractive young woman with the dark hair and the glowing skin and eyes had gone, to be replaced by someone who reminded him of a dried flower: lifeless, frail, delicate, wan. He had had a feeling he might crush her hand if he squeezed too hard.
So it was a relief to see her now. She looked older, or perhaps she was just tired. But the gleam in her eyes returned as she smiled and got up.
‘Harry H,’ she said, giving him a hug. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fair to middling,’ Harry said. ‘And you?’
‘Dreadful,’ she said. ‘But a lot better.’
She laughed, and Harry knew she was back. Or that enough of her was back.
‘What happened to your jaw? Does it hurt?’
‘Only when I speak and eat,’ Harry said. ‘And when I’m awake.’
‘Sounds familiar. You’re uglier than I remember, but I’m glad to see you anyway.’
‘Same to you.’
‘You mean same to me, except for the ugly bit?’
Harry smiled. ‘Naturally.’ He looked around. The other patients in the room were sitting and staring out of the window, at their laps or straight at the wall. But no one seemed interested in him or Katrine.
Harry told her what had happened since the last time they’d seen each other. About Rakel and Oleg, who had moved to an unnamed destination abroad. About Hong Kong. About his father’s illness. About the case he had taken on. She even laughed when he said she mustn’t tell anyone.