keyed in his number.
‘Yes?’ answered Wisting abruptly, not bothering to check the display for who was calling.
‘Hello, Dad. It’s me.’
Some quick thoughts raced through Wisting’s head. They had not actually made any arrangement, but he had prepared dinner and was looking forward to meeting her later. ‘Line,’ he said, smiling. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home. I arrived a couple of hours ago.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I should have phoned you …’
‘I’ve seen the headlines,’ Line interrupted. ‘No need to think about me.’
‘There’s some food in the fridge …’
‘I’ll manage. Is everything ok with you?’
‘Oh yes, of course, we’ll manage all right as well,’ he confirmed, without entirely believing it. ‘You won’t be working on this?’
‘No, I’m in another department now, you know.’
It went a bit quiet.
‘Have you let Buster in?’ Wisting enquired, changing the subject. He had taken over the black male cat from Line almost three years previously. Buster had grown big and round, and never ventured very far from home.
‘No, I haven’t seen him.’
‘He’ll come if you call him,’ Wisting said. ‘What will you do this evening?’
‘I haven’t thought about it yet. Perhaps I’ll phone some girlfriends but most will probably be busy. They have husbands and children. Maybe I’ll go for a drive to the beaches.’
Wisting’s office door opened. Audun Vetti entered, together with the Chief Superintendent. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ He waved to the Assistant Chief of Police to invite him to sit in the visitor’s chair. ‘I’ve got people in the office now,’ he went on. ‘We’ll talk this evening.’
Vetti sat down, but the Chief Superintendent went to the window and stared out. Wisting concluded the telephone conversation.
‘They want pictures,’ the Assistant Chief of Police said.
‘Pictures?’
‘Of the shoes.’
Of course, thought Wisting. Of course they want pictures. He did not say anything, but closed his eyes, reflecting. He had discussed the use of pictures in the newspapers many times with Line, and understood how important they were to the press. The police also might have an interest in ensuring that a case received a higher profile in the news. Dramatic photographs led to increased attention, and a greater possibility that someone out there who held information would make contact.
This case would be at the top of the news regardless, and he was doubtful about publicising anything sensational. At the same time, it was of interest to the investigation. They still did not know who the severed feet belonged to and by making pictures of the shoes public they might prompt a response. And there were pictures in Mortensen’s folders of illustrations in which human material was not visible.
‘We must have something more to show than we have already described in the press release,’ Vetti argued.
‘I’ll arrange something,’ Wisting promised. ‘And I’ll make a summary of what we know about shoe sizes, manufacture, and so forth.’
The telephone on his desk rang again. He did not recognise the number and waited until Vetti had moved to the door before he lifted the receiver. The Chief Superintendent remained by the window.
‘Wait!’ Wisting said into the phone before laying his hand over the receiver and glancing enquiringly at him.
The Chief Superintendent waited until Vetti had left the office, then turned to face him. ‘I’d like you to show up at the press conference,’ he requested. Wisting never felt comfortable in meetings with a massive press corps, but could not find an argument against his attending. His body language expressed his reluctance. ‘We need someone there that people depend on.’ He threw a glance towards the open door. ‘Someone they feel confident can find a way out of all this.’
Wisting knitted his brows.
‘That is you, William, as you have demonstrated before. You have the
‘Yes?’ answered Wisting abruptly, not bothering to check the display for who was calling.
‘Hello, Dad. It’s me.’
Some quick thoughts raced through Wisting’s head. They had not actually made any arrangement, but he had prepared dinner and was looking forward to meeting her later. ‘Line,’ he said, smiling. ‘Where are you?’
‘At home. I arrived a couple of hours ago.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. I should have phoned you …’
‘I’ve seen the headlines,’ Line interrupted. ‘No need to think about me.’
‘There’s some food in the fridge …’
‘I’ll manage. Is everything ok with you?’
‘Oh yes, of course, we’ll manage all right as well,’ he confirmed, without entirely believing it. ‘You won’t be working on this?’
‘No, I’m in another department now, you know.’
It went a bit quiet.
‘Have you let Buster in?’ Wisting enquired, changing the subject. He had taken over the black male cat from Line almost three years previously. Buster had grown big and round, and never ventured very far from home.
‘No, I haven’t seen him.’
‘He’ll come if you call him,’ Wisting said. ‘What will you do this evening?’
‘I haven’t thought about it yet. Perhaps I’ll phone some girlfriends but most will probably be busy. They have husbands and children. Maybe I’ll go for a drive to the beaches.’
Wisting’s office door opened. Audun Vetti entered, together with the Chief Superintendent. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ He waved to the Assistant Chief of Police to invite him to sit in the visitor’s chair. ‘I’ve got people in the office now,’ he went on. ‘We’ll talk this evening.’
Vetti sat down, but the Chief Superintendent went to the window and stared out. Wisting concluded the telephone conversation.
‘They want pictures,’ the Assistant Chief of Police said.
‘Pictures?’
‘Of the shoes.’
Of course, thought Wisting. Of course they want pictures. He did not say anything, but closed his eyes, reflecting. He had discussed the use of pictures in the newspapers many times with Line, and understood how important they were to the press. The police also might have an interest in ensuring that a case received a higher profile in the news. Dramatic photographs led to increased attention, and a greater possibility that someone out there who held information would make contact.
This case would be at the top of the news regardless, and he was doubtful about publicising anything sensational. At the same time, it was of interest to the investigation. They still did not know who the severed feet belonged to and by making pictures of the shoes public they might prompt a response. And there were pictures in Mortensen’s folders of illustrations in which human material was not visible.
‘We must have something more to show than we have already described in the press release,’ Vetti argued.
‘I’ll arrange something,’ Wisting promised. ‘And I’ll make a summary of what we know about shoe sizes, manufacture, and so forth.’
The telephone on his desk rang again. He did not recognise the number and waited until Vetti had moved to the door before he lifted the receiver. The Chief Superintendent remained by the window.
‘Wait!’ Wisting said into the phone before laying his hand over the receiver and glancing enquiringly at him.
The Chief Superintendent waited until Vetti had left the office, then turned to face him. ‘I’d like you to show up at the press conference,’ he requested. Wisting never felt comfortable in meetings with a massive press corps, but could not find an argument against his attending. His body language expressed his reluctance. ‘We need someone there that people depend on.’ He threw a glance towards the open door. ‘Someone they feel confident can find a way out of all this.’
Wisting knitted his brows.
‘That is you, William, as you have demonstrated before. You have the
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