‘In half an hour. In the conference room.’
‘Then I’ll see you there.’ The Assistant Chief of Police stepped towards the door.
‘There’s one thing more,’ Wisting called after her.
‘Yes?’
‘The prosecutor’s responsibilities also include liaison with the media.’ Christine Thiis nodded with what Wisting thought was a trace of uncertainty. ‘A press conference has been arranged for ten o’clock.’
‘You’ll accompany me, I hope?’
‘Yes.’ Wisting smiled. ‘I’ll come with you.’
A few minutes before seven, the investigators gathered in the conference room. Wisting paid a visit to the toilet, where he splashed his face with cold water and looked at his reflection in the mirror for several seconds. His pale face was swollen, his hair untidy and his eyes fixed. Tearing a paper towel from the holder, he dried himself before tossing the paper in the bin and leaving to join his colleagues.
Someone had switched on the television and Wisting stood in the doorway following the news report about the case in progress. On the screen, four policemen carried a covered stretcher, placing it in the rear of a hearse as a reporter gave an account of what the News Channel knew about the case. In the lower corner of the picture, his commentary was summed up in bold text: MURDER ALARM IN LARVIK .
The report continued with alternating photographs of the police helicopter, dog handlers, and police officers wearing bulletproof vests and carrying weapons while they played the recording of a telephone interview in which Christine Thiis made a few concise comments. Wisting recognised his own words from his briefing of her. The reportage was rounded off with photographs of the hearse leaving the scene accompanied by Christine Thiis commenting that the victim had not yet been identified and that the investigation would make considerable progress as soon as the post mortem had been carried out, establishing the identity of the murder victim.
She managed well, Wisting reflected, her voice betraying no trace of the uncertainty he had read in her eyes.
The newsreader promised viewers that they would continue to pursue the story in the course of the day and return with a live broadcast from the press conference at ten o’clock.
The TV set was switched off as Wisting stepped into the room where a rapid head count showed twenty-two people in total. The dog handlers were sitting on chairs lining the wall, together with others from the operational force who had worked through the night. The investigators who would progress the case were seated around the conference table. At the top, the Chief Superintendent had already taken his place, with Christine Thiis in the chair Wisting normally occupied at such meetings.
He sat in the vacant chair at her side. Outside, the autumn darkness would persist for another hour yet. ‘Welcome,’ he said, going on to thank the officers who were on overtime duties.
Nils Hammer started the ceiling projector, and an overview map showing the area between Hummerbakk fjord and Nevlunghavn illuminated the screen. At a point on the inside of the cove described as Ødegårdsbukta, a cottage by the edge of the sea was highlighted.
Wisting cleared his throat before delivering as succinct a summary as possible, appreciating from the expressions surrounding him that everyone in the room was already familiar with the case. Locating the leader of the operational force in his seat beside the row of windows, he nodded in his direction.
‘What’s the latest from the crime scene?’
Placing his coffee cup between his legs, the burly officer produced his notebook. ‘We called off the search for the presumed perpetrator half an hour ago,’ he explained as he flicked through the pages. ‘As you know, it was fruitless and we have neither an arrest nor the murder weapon. In the meantime, a couple of interesting things have cropped up. The crime scene technicians will probably say more about those,
‘Then I’ll see you there.’ The Assistant Chief of Police stepped towards the door.
‘There’s one thing more,’ Wisting called after her.
‘Yes?’
‘The prosecutor’s responsibilities also include liaison with the media.’ Christine Thiis nodded with what Wisting thought was a trace of uncertainty. ‘A press conference has been arranged for ten o’clock.’
‘You’ll accompany me, I hope?’
‘Yes.’ Wisting smiled. ‘I’ll come with you.’
A few minutes before seven, the investigators gathered in the conference room. Wisting paid a visit to the toilet, where he splashed his face with cold water and looked at his reflection in the mirror for several seconds. His pale face was swollen, his hair untidy and his eyes fixed. Tearing a paper towel from the holder, he dried himself before tossing the paper in the bin and leaving to join his colleagues.
Someone had switched on the television and Wisting stood in the doorway following the news report about the case in progress. On the screen, four policemen carried a covered stretcher, placing it in the rear of a hearse as a reporter gave an account of what the News Channel knew about the case. In the lower corner of the picture, his commentary was summed up in bold text: MURDER ALARM IN LARVIK .
The report continued with alternating photographs of the police helicopter, dog handlers, and police officers wearing bulletproof vests and carrying weapons while they played the recording of a telephone interview in which Christine Thiis made a few concise comments. Wisting recognised his own words from his briefing of her. The reportage was rounded off with photographs of the hearse leaving the scene accompanied by Christine Thiis commenting that the victim had not yet been identified and that the investigation would make considerable progress as soon as the post mortem had been carried out, establishing the identity of the murder victim.
She managed well, Wisting reflected, her voice betraying no trace of the uncertainty he had read in her eyes.
The newsreader promised viewers that they would continue to pursue the story in the course of the day and return with a live broadcast from the press conference at ten o’clock.
The TV set was switched off as Wisting stepped into the room where a rapid head count showed twenty-two people in total. The dog handlers were sitting on chairs lining the wall, together with others from the operational force who had worked through the night. The investigators who would progress the case were seated around the conference table. At the top, the Chief Superintendent had already taken his place, with Christine Thiis in the chair Wisting normally occupied at such meetings.
He sat in the vacant chair at her side. Outside, the autumn darkness would persist for another hour yet. ‘Welcome,’ he said, going on to thank the officers who were on overtime duties.
Nils Hammer started the ceiling projector, and an overview map showing the area between Hummerbakk fjord and Nevlunghavn illuminated the screen. At a point on the inside of the cove described as Ødegårdsbukta, a cottage by the edge of the sea was highlighted.
Wisting cleared his throat before delivering as succinct a summary as possible, appreciating from the expressions surrounding him that everyone in the room was already familiar with the case. Locating the leader of the operational force in his seat beside the row of windows, he nodded in his direction.
‘What’s the latest from the crime scene?’
Placing his coffee cup between his legs, the burly officer produced his notebook. ‘We called off the search for the presumed perpetrator half an hour ago,’ he explained as he flicked through the pages. ‘As you know, it was fruitless and we have neither an arrest nor the murder weapon. In the meantime, a couple of interesting things have cropped up. The crime scene technicians will probably say more about those,
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