Medusa Read online

– New week, new possibilities, she said, without conviction.

  – You heard the news, he said.

  She nodded.

  – It’s the most awful thing I ever heard. Imagine that, Axel, a bear.

  His eyebrows shot up.

  – A bear?

  – Didn’t you hear? she exclaimed, holding up VG. Half the front page was covered with the words: TORN APART BY BEAR IN NORDMARKA. There was an indistinct photograph, white-clad figures stooped over a body on the ground.

  – It’s just the kind of thing VG writes, Rita. It’s not possible. Not in the Nordmarka.

  – I suggest you read the whole thing. The police say there’s no doubt.

  He flipped through the ten pages devoted to the case.

  – I met her up there. Just before she disappeared.

  – My God! Why didn’t you mention it before?

  He peered out into the waiting room, where the first patient had taken a seat, a retired officer who had known his father.

  – There’s been so much going on, Rita.

  He heard Miriam talking to Rita outside reception. Shortly afterwards, she came along the corridor, past his door, and opened the door to Ola’s office. Axel opened the retired lieutenant colonel’s notes. Checked the lab tests. His haemoglobin concentration had fallen since the last time it was tested. He heard Miriam’s steps approaching again. He looked at some of the patient’s other results. There was a knock on the door, which was ajar. He cleared his throat, but before he managed to say anything, she was standing there. He scrolled down to the bottom of the document and looked at the last readings before glancing up. Beneath her coat, she was wearing the top with her name on it.

  – Dirty linen basket still full, then? he said, adding, before he had time to wince at his own comment: – So you’re feeling better?

  She crossed the floor and stood in front of him.

  – A bit hoarse, but yes, fine.

  He stood up. – Miriam, he said, and put his arm around her. She moved in close to him. He stroked her hair, laid his face against her neck and inhaled. The smell reminded him of something he had forgotten.

  The telephone rang. He reached across the table without letting go of her hand.

  – Are you ready for your first patient? asked Rita, obviously as a way of reminding him that he was already ten minutes late.

  – Send him in. Did you tell him that we have a student here?

  – Yes, yes. Another thing, Axel, VG just called. I said you were busy.

  – VG? What did they want?

  – A journalist … Fredvold, she wanted to talk to you. I said she could try again at lunchtime.

  Axel felt suddenly annoyed.

  – Listen, Rita, I don’t have time to talk to VG.

  – Okay then, she said, surprised. – What do you want me to say?

  – Tell them I’ll be busy all day. It’s the truth, after all.

  19

  – THIS IS THE closest you get to knowing what it feels like to be a surgeon, said Detective Chief Inspector Viken after he and his sergeant, Arve Norbakk, had pulled on the disposable green capes, with hoods in an almost matching green, and the blue plastic shoe coverings. – And it’s plenty close enough for me. I’ve never yet met one doctor you could trust.

  – Right now you look more like a chef, chuckled Norbakk as they entered the sharp light of the mortuary room in the basement of the Rikshospital.

  Viken didn’t like delay, and he’d taken the trip up to the Institute of Pathology without Finckenhagen knowing anything about it.

  – I know it’s not long till dinner, he said, wrinkling his nose, – but surely the smell down here doesn’t remind you of food?

  Two people were already in the room, bent over a steel table. One was a tiny woman in her forties with a heavily made-up doll-like face. Viken knew her well, had worked with Jennifer Plåterud many times. He had quickly discovered that her mind and her tongue were equally sharp and he treated her with a respect that very few others of his acquaintance enjoyed. Viken knew a lot about most of the people he worked with. In his head he kept a catalogue of useful information regarding them, some of which he had even written down. He had tried on several occasions to worm out of Jennifer just what it was that had brought her to Norway. Surely her real reason for leaving Canberra and travelling to the other side of the globe couldn’t be that she’d met some farmer from Romerike, the guy she later married? But when it came to her private life Jennifer was a sphinx, and Viken still hadn’t got to the bottom of that particular question.

  The other person standing there was a man of medium height wearing glasses, with a well-trimmed beard. Viken had never seen him before.

  – Frederik Ovesen, the bearded man said, introducing himself with a cough. – Assistant professor at the Zoological Institute.

  – Ovesen is their leading expert on beasts of prey, Jennifer announced in perfect Norwegian but with a broad Australian accent. Despite the fact that she was wearing stilettoes under her shoe coverings, she had to stretch to reach across the width of the steel table she was working at.

  – How far have you got? asked Viken, with a glance at the body he had last seen in the forest a few kilometres beyond Ullevålseter. The ribcage had been opened up and the heart and both lungs taken out.

  – The preliminary autopsy will be ready by tomorrow, Jennifer promised, and Viken couldn’t off-hand recall a single time she hadn’t kept her word.

  – Time of death?

  The pathologist pulled on her plastic gloves.

  – Four to five days ago. Six at the most.

  Viken’s eyes narrowed.

  – So a week after she went missing. We can only guess what she was doing up there in the marka all that time. Does she look as if she spent four or five days sleeping rough in the forest?

  – Not really, Jennifer replied. – But I wouldn’t exclude it either. Another thing is that we found large quantities of plaster under her fingernails. Some on the clothes, too. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it certainly doesn’t come from the forest floor.

  – Any signs of sexual assault?

  – Doesn’t look like it.

  Norbakk said:

  – I’ve seen a lot of animals killed by bears. There’s no mistaking these gashes across the neck and the back.

  Ovesen coughed again.

  – I agree. I’ve never seen a human being who’s been attacked, but we do have some archival material. I would say a fully grown adult bear.

  – How certain can you be? Viken persisted.

  Ovesen opened his mouth, coughed a couple more times; already these glottal eruptions had started to annoy the detective chief inspector.

  – We’ll send the photos to Edmonton University in Canada, said the zoologist. – They’ve got documentation there they can use for comparison.

  – Would a bear not have ripped open her stomach? Viken wondered.

  Ovesen shook his head.

  – We humans are not natural prey for a bear. It might gash us, bite, but it’s extremely rare that it would attack in order to eat us. Unless we’re talking about a seriously undernourished animal.

  – Don’t rule out that it might help itself to a dead person, said Norbakk. – Old Bruin’s a scavenger, after all. And not a particularly fussy one.

  – You’re right there, said the zoologist. – It might have started gnawing away at the body and been disturbed. Alarmed by something, for example.

  Jennifer Plåterud interrupted:

  – I can tell you that the deceased was still alive when these wounds were made. There was the hint of a smile about her mouth as she said this.

  – So not a scavenger, then, said Norbakk firmly. – But the tracks up there looked fresh enough.

  Again the zoologist backed him up.

  – Not more than a day or two old. And remember too that it was raining five days ago.

  Viken glanced at Norbakk, delighted to have the sergeant along. What do we need expe
rts for, he thought with a grin, when we find all the answers ourselves?

  – The preliminary conclusion then will be that all the visible injuries were inflicted by a bear, he announced, looking at Jennifer Plåterud across the partially autopsied body on the table.

  – Not that one, Chief Inspector, she said, and pointed with a scalpel.

  The smile spread across her face, revealing fine lines that were otherwise hidden by the make-up. She made Viken think of a child that had been working away inside its nose and come up with an enormous bogey. He leant over the body. Four small red pricks were clearly visible on the upper left arm. Jennifer held a magnifying glass to them.

  – Injection marks, suggested Norbakk.

  – That would be my opinion too, said the pathologist. – There are more of them here. She moved the magnifying glass to two areas on the inside of the thigh. – Moreover, she added, – note the red circles around the wrists.

  Viken examined them closely.

  – Tape marks?

  – I’d guarantee it. There are traces of adhesive on the skin. And the same here. She made a circling motion around the dead woman’s mouth.

  Four hours after he had left the pathology lab, Viken got a call from Jennifer Plåterud.

  – We’ve got the results of the blood tests, she informed him

  Viken grabbed a pen and flipped to an empty page in his notebook. The pathologist wouldn’t have taken the trouble to ring unless she had something interesting for him.

  – We found large quantities of a substance called thiopental in the blood.

  He noted this down.

  – What sort of substance is it?

  – A so-called barbiturate. It’s used in operations and should only be kept in hospitals and by medical suppliers. Some also in veterinary practices.

  – Effects?

  – A very effective anaesthetic. An overdose can bring on pulmonary and cardiac arrest.

  Viken leaned back in his chair. He savoured the fact that earlier in the day Finckenhagen had been so certain that this wasn’t a case for the Violent Crimes. He started thinking about who he wanted in his team to continue the investigation.

  20

  Tuesday 9 October

  SIGNY BRUSETER PULLED up outside the house on Reinkollen and parked next to the car that was already there. She turned off the engine, abruptly terminating the news broadcast. But letting herself into the house, it felt as though the newsreader’s voice was still talking inside her head about what had happened in the forest. Signy had slept badly that night. It was her second day in the new job.

  Mette Martin, who was social educator for the three homes that lay round the little clearing, met her in the corridor. Signy was pleased to see her, because Mette Martin was such a self-assured person. Signy hadn’t had a job for the past year and eleven months. Throughout the interview she had been convinced that she would never get the job of assistant. Mostly it felt like a relief. But Mette Martin thought that the experience of her years in the nursery made her interesting, and that the transition to looking after the mentally handicapped shouldn’t be too great. She had called the very next day – to Signy’s alarm – and asked when she could begin.

  – All quiet here at the moment, said Mette Martin now. – Tora’s asleep, and Oswald’s sitting in his room. The night shift took care of the morning cleaning. You’ll be on your own with them until lunch, then Åse Berit will be here, and there’ll be two of you for the rest of the day.

  Signy hung up her coat and sat down on the sofa.

  – Oswald has to have his medication at nine o’clock, said Mette Martin. – But don’t put the radio on. He gets so upset with all this talk about a killer bear being on the loose.

  – He’s not the only one, exclaimed Signy. – Have you ever heard anything like it? Killed by a bear, a grown woman. And just a few kilometres from Karl Johan and the palace.

  – Dreadful, agreed Mette Martin. – Hard to believe, actually.

  After she’d left, Signy knocked on Tora’s door and went in. They were very particular about that here, always knock on the door, even though Tora couldn’t answer and probably had no idea what all the banging was about. Mette Martin had stressed that it was important to show respect for the residents regardless, and Signy approved of her saying that. Tora hadn’t exactly been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, Mette Martin said. She had a congenital defect that meant that her brain hadn’t developed as it should have done. Remarkable that she was alive at all. Her mother was a drug addict and continued to inject herself even while she was carrying Tora, so it was probably connected with that. In all the time she had been living at Reinkollen, Tora had never had a single visitor. Not a soul beyond these walls cared whether she lived or died. Life hadn’t always been easy for Signy either, but when she saw this person whom she dressed and looked after, she felt she had a lot to be thankful for.

  When Tora was seated in her chair, freshly washed and groomed, Signy wheeled her out into the corridor and stopped in front of the mirror.

  – We care about you here, Tora, she crooned.

  Tora moved her jaw as though she was laughing, and made noises down in her throat. Mette Martin had said this meant she was happy, and Signy smiled and stroked her hair, suddenly feeling happy too.

  Soon she’d have to see to Oswald. All night she’d been uneasy at the thought of being alone with him. Oswald had Down’s syndrome and was nearly thirty years old. Some additional hormonal abnormality meant that he’d ended up a hefty six foot three, broad as a barn door but with a three year old in his head, the main difference being that Oswald didn’t have as much language. On several occasions Mette Martin had assured her that he was as gentle as a lamb and had never caused trouble for anyone.

  Signy summoned up her courage and opened his door.

  – Hi, Oswald, how about coming into the dining room for a bite to eat?

  He grunted and stood up so suddenly that she took two steps backward.

  – Hold hands, he said, and took hold of hers.

  Åse Berit Nytorpet was a big, stocky woman in her sixties with pinched lips and grey hair bunched in a topknot. She arrived at twelve o’clock exactly, took a pair of shaggy slippers from a plastic bag and slid her feet into them.

  – Floor in here gets bloody freezing, she said as she waddled into the room.

  After giving Tora her bath, the two assistants were able to sit down for a breather.

  – Miserable to live here and never even get a visitor, Signy said with a sideways glance at Tora.

  Åse Berit snorted.

  – Her mother’s been on the street for years. You don’t expect someone like that to care, do you? But her father’s supposed to be a celebrity.

  – Really? exclaimed Signy. – D’you know who …?

  Åse Berit shrugged her shoulders.

  – There are rumours.

  Clearly she didn’t want to say any more about these rumours. Maybe she was saving them for later. Instead she turned on the radio, but as the time for the news approached Signy had to remind her that Mette Martin had asked them to be sure not to leave it on.

  – It’s that woman who was killed, she said, lowering her voice. – Mette Martin says Oswald goes completely nuts when he hears about it.

  Åse Berit turned the radio off.

  – Let them have a taste of it, these city people, she said, pursing her lips. – They’ve made their own bed, now let them lie in it. Maybe now they’ll understand what it’s like having wild animals snuffling round the walls of your house. So at least some good might come of it.

  Signy didn’t respond. She couldn’t think of any way that what had happened might be good at all. The dead woman was just a few years older than she was herself.

  – You should’ve heard what my old man said when he heard the news yesterday, Åse Berit went on. – Just the year before last we had four pregnant ewes got ripped to pieces. Think it does any good to complain? Oh no, poor old Bruin the Bear ha
s to be left well enough alone, don’t you know. Her voice had begun to shake. – Don’t touch the wild animals. But people like us who are trying to live off keeping sheep, we’re the ones that pay the price.

  She pointed demonstratively at her forehead and shook her head.

  – Let me tell you something, Signy. She lowered her voice. – When people get angry enough, they can do things they oughtn’t to have done.

  Signy gaped at her.

  – You don’t think anyone from round here is involved in it?

  Åse Berit pursed her lips and made a zipping motion across them with two fingers. But shortly afterwards she was off again.

  – If you only knew how angry some people can be. Things have been brewing for a long time up on the farms around us. Year after year we’ve had to put up with this. Now things might change. If we’re going to have bears, they can roam around wherever they like, and not just up here. We’ll soon see how long they put up with that.

  Suddenly Oswald appeared in the door opening. His lower jaw jutted so profoundly that he drooled from the corners of his mouth.

  – Oswald catch bear.

  He thumped himself on the chest, and the bitterness in Åse Berit’s face dissolved and faded away.

  – Yes, you could, Oswald, big and strong as you are.

  Turning to Signy she said: – He’s a lovely lad, is Oswald. But he has his black moments. Best to leave him alone then. It’s to do with the way he was brought up.

  – What do you mean? Signy wanted to know.

  – He didn’t have an easy time of it, poor soul, Åse Berit confided. – Not until he was taken into care. Oswald’s father was a nasty piece of work, right from the word go. And you can trust me, because I went to primary school with him. You would never catch me getting mixed up with someone like that. There’s others’ll tell you the same thing.

  She tossed her head.

  – He ended up with some city girl that turned up out here. But then she found someone else and off she went and left him to look after the kids, and the whole thing just went to pieces. He lost the farm, had it sold out from underneath his feet. He took the kids with him and moved out into the woods, to a cabin they owned up there. Left them to run wild while he sat drinking down in Holtet with another boozer and drank away what little bit of brains he had left.