'It's a big area.'
'But later?'
'The body, you mean? Bah. That was frozen, wasn't it? And the Metzner's not so keen on dead things. It likes fresh meat.'
Harry shuddered. 'In the police report it says you'd never seen Holmen down here before.'
'That's right enough.'
'I've just been to see his mother and she lent me this family photo.'
Harry put the picture on the watchman's desk. 'Could you have a look and swear to me that you have never seen this person before?'
The watchman lowered his gaze. Rolled the matchstick to the corner of his mouth to answer, then paused. The hands moved from behind his head and he picked up the photo. Studied it at length.
'I made a mistake. I have seen him. He was here in the summer. It wasn't so easy to recognise the . . . what was in the container.'
'I can appreciate that.'
When Harry stood in the doorway to leave a few minutes later, he opened the door a crack at first and checked. The watchman grinned.
'It's locked up during the day. And anyway, a Metzner's teeth are narrow. The wound heals fast. I've been thinking about buying a Kentucky terrier. Jagged teeth. Bite chunks out of you. You were lucky, Inspector.'
'Well,' Harry said, 'you'd better warn Fido that a lady is on her way and she'll give him something else to bite.'
'What?' Halvorsen asked, carefully manoeuvring the car past a snowplough.
'Something soft,' Harry said. 'Kind of clay. Afterwards Beate and her team will put the clay in plaster, let it set and, bingo, you've got a model of a dog's jaw.'
'Right. And that's supposed to prove that Per Holmen was murdered?'
'No.'
'I thought you said—'
'I said that's what I need to prove that it was murder. The missing link in the chain of evidence.'
'I see. And what are the other links?'
'The usual. Motive, murder weapon and opportunity. Turn right here.'
'I don't know. You said your suspicions were based on Holmen using wire cutters to break into the container terminal?'
'I said that was what made me wonder. To be precise, I wondered how a heroin addict so out of his skull that he has to look for refuge in a container would be alert enough to make sure he had wire cutters to get through the gate. Then I had a closer look at the case. You can park here.'
'What I don't understand is how you can claim that you know who the guilty party is.'
'Work it out, Halvorsen. It's not difficult, and you have all the facts.'
'I hate it when you do this.'
'I only want you to be good.'
Halvorsen cast a glance at his older colleague to see if he was joking. They got out of the car.
'Aren't you going to lock up?' Harry asked.
'The lock froze last night. The key broke in it this morning. How long have you known who the guilty person is?'
'A while.'
They crossed the street.
'Knowing who is in most cases the easy bit. It's the obvious candidate. The husband. The best friend. The guy with a record. And never the butler. That's not the problem; the problem is proving what your head and your gut have been telling you for ages.' Harry pressed the bell beside 'Holmen'. 'And that's what we're going to do now. Find the little piece that changes apparently unconnected information into a perfect chain of evidence.'
A voice crackled 'Ja' over the speaker.
'Police here, Harry Hole. Can we . . . ?'
The lock buzzed.
'It's all a question of moving fast,' Harry said. 'Most murder cases are solved in the first twenty-four hours or not at all.'
'Thanks. I've heard that one before,' Halvorsen said.
Birger Holmen stood waiting for them at the top of the stairs.
'Come in,' he said and led them into the living room. A bare Christmas tree stood by the door to the French balcony, waiting to be decorated.
'My wife is sleeping,' he said before Harry could ask.
'We'll whisper,' Harry said.
Birger Holmen gave a sad smile. 'She won't wake up.'
Halvorsen sent Harry a quick glance.
'Mm,' the inspector said. 'Taken a tranquilliser perhaps?'
Birger Holmen nodded. 'The funeral's tomorrow.'
'Yes, of course, that's a strain. Well, thank you for lending me this.' Harry put a photograph on the table. It was of Per Holmen sitting with his mother and father standing on either side. Protected. Or, depending on how you saw it, surrounded. A silence ensued as no one said a word. Birger Holmen scratched his forearm through his shirt. Halvorsen wriggled forward in his chair, then moved back.
'Do you know much about drug addiction, herr Holmen?' Harry asked without looking up.
Birger Holmen frowned. 'My wife has taken one sleeping pill. That doesn't mean—'
'I'm not talking about your wife. You may be able to save her. I'm talking about your son.'
'Depends what you mean by know. He was hooked on heroin. It made him unhappy.' He was going to say something else, but paused. He examined the picture on the table. 'It made us all unhappy.'
'I don't doubt that. But if you had known anything about drug addiction, you would have known that it takes precedence over everything else.'