Closed for Winter by Jørn Lier Horst Page A

to stand with his jacket in his hand. ‘Can’t we discuss this?’
    ‘I’ve said all I’ve got to say. I’m going home for a while.’
    ‘What is it you want, then?’
    ‘I want you to come back and pack your belongings, and find yourself somewhere else to stay.’ She stood with her arms folded as Tommy continued to stare at her. Then he lowered his head, turned on his heel and left.

9
    Just before six o’clock Wisting leaned back in his office chair and closed his eyes. He had gathered his strength like this many times before, and knew that a doze of only half an hour would put him in better shape for the rest of the day. He drifted into sleep but was wakened twenty minutes later by a knock at the door. Straightening up, he cleared his throat and greeted Christine Thiis.
    The newly appointed Assistant Chief of Police sat at the opposite side of his desk, looking intently at him. Her state of mind was always revealed by her eyes. Open and straightforward, her eyes were like those of an intelligent child, eager to learn.
    ‘How are the children?’ Wisting asked before she had broken the silence.
    For a moment it appeared that she had not understood his question, and then she smiled, ‘They’re fine. Fast asleep. My mother’s arrived and will stay for the weekend. Next week too, if necessary.’
    ‘That’s good.’
    In the four months she had been with them Christine Thiis had never mentioned the children’s father. All they knew was that he was a corporate lawyer in Oslo, but there was never any suggestion of the children staying with him. Wisting had the impression that her former marriage was something she did not want to discuss, as though it comprised only unhappy memories she would prefer to forget.
    ‘How are things going here?’ she asked.
    Wisting stroked his chin. ‘Situation normal: complex and confusing.’
    Apprehension appeared in her eyes, and it dawned on him that she had never previously participated in such an investigation. ‘It’s always like this in the beginning,’ he said. ‘Gradually we get a grip on things.’
    He clarified the overnight developments in the case, letting his eyes slide over her instead of meeting her penetrating gaze. Her hair was short and chestnut-coloured with unruly curls. She had soft and generous lips and her nose was sprinkled with freckles. He suddenly felt that he had lost concentration, struck by an abrupt, involuntary thought about what type of man could let her go, before continuing his report and concluding with the discovery of the bullet wounds in the murder victim.
    ‘Have we any theories?’ she asked.
    ‘Not really,’ Wisting answered. ‘This early in the case all we have are speculations.’
    ‘But you must have some thoughts about what might have happened?’
    Wisting considered the implications of her question. Building a case on mere speculation was like pouring sand into your petrol tank, the road to ruin. ‘What is obvious, of course, is that there’s some connection between the burglaries at the cottages and the murder. It will all become much simpler once we establish the identity of the victim.’
    ‘And when do we get to know that?’
    ‘That can take time. The post mortem will begin in a couple of hours. We’ll have people from the ID group at Kripos joining us there. They’ll start by undressing him. As soon as we have a picture of the face behind the balaclava, we’ll know a great deal more, but it’s far from certain that it’ll tell us anything valuable. He won’t necessarily be someone already known to us. He may not even be Norwegian. If we’re lucky he’ll have an ID card of some description, or something else in his pockets that takes us further. If we’re really lucky, his details will be in the fingerprint register. Then we’ll have our answers before this day is done.’
    Christine Thiis stood up. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘When are you meeting with the investigators?’
    Wisting glanced at the clock.