necessary personal authority.’ He stepped towards the door. ‘Eight o’clock,’ he said with a nod and went out.
Wisting looked after him, and then returned his attention to the telephone. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ll make it brief,’ the man who had been waiting at the other end began. ‘I’m calling from the crime watch section in Grenland.’ He cleared his throat and introduced himself: ‘Kvastmo, Vetle Kvastmo. I understand that you’ve got a lot to deal with just now, but that’s why I’m phoning.’
‘Well then?’
‘It probably doesn’t have any connection, but we received a report about a missing person this morning.’
‘Well then?’ Wisting repeated.
We’re talking about a lady from Langangen who didn’t come home last night. The point is that she works at the care home for the elderly where two men in your case have been reported missing. She did not turn up for the evening shift yesterday either.’
Wisting felt a nerve in his temple start to vibrate, anticipating what was coming. ‘Her name?’ he asked.
‘Thaulow. Her name is Camilla Thaulow.’
CHAPTER 11
Wisting sat in the front passenger seat of the police car and leafed through the papers he had received by fax, a short report that had been recorded at 09.23 hours earlier that day. The woman who had been reported missing was the same person that he had tried repeatedly to contact by telephone.
Camilla Thaulow was 58 years of age and lived with her mother in Langangen, a small village of over 500 inhabitants, on the Telemark side, and right on the county border. It seemed that she had left home about two o’clock the previous afternoon to work the afternoon shift at Stavern nursing home. Her mother had gone to bed early and did not discover until the next day that her daughter’s bed had not been slept in. She had called her mobile but received no answer. After that she phoned the home for the elderly to learn that her daughter had not turned up for work. Later, the mother had asked advice from a friend and agreed that she should phone the police.
The new missing person case could, of course, simply be an accident. She could have driven off the road and be lying in a ditch, out of sight of the traffic. The old road through Tvedalen and on towards Stavern was winding and narrow, and in a few places there was no safety barrier. However, they were already working on three similar disappearances and, statistically speaking, it was like coming up with a royal flush several times in a row. Wisting did not believe that this disappearance was simply another coincidence in a series, and was anxious to start investigating.
Langangen lay only a quarter of an hour’s drive from the police station, but Wisting had not been to the little place for years. Like most people, he drove past at top speed on the motorway bridge that ran between the hillsides.
Torunn Borg was driving, and he was pleased to have her as she had a special empathy with relatives. If it was not established in the course of a few hours that Camilla Thaulow had skipped her job and stayed overnight at a friend’s house or that she was the victim of an accident, her 84-year-old mother might not only play a central role in the investigation but also be a media focus. Wisting knew from experience what a great strain that could be for the family of the missing person, and old people often had less strength to resist. Anxiety and insecurity, anger and displacement were common reactions, and it could become more difficult to extract important information. At such times the role of the police also entailed providing care and support.
‘Number 23,’ Torunn Borg said aloud, stopping the car close to a white picket fence that enclosed a large but simple garden.
The house was half hidden behind a couple of tall elms, and the shadow from the treetops made the white walls dark grey. The iron gate squeaked and there was a crunching sound as they strolled along the gravel path.
Wisting looked after him, and then returned his attention to the telephone. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ll make it brief,’ the man who had been waiting at the other end began. ‘I’m calling from the crime watch section in Grenland.’ He cleared his throat and introduced himself: ‘Kvastmo, Vetle Kvastmo. I understand that you’ve got a lot to deal with just now, but that’s why I’m phoning.’
‘Well then?’
‘It probably doesn’t have any connection, but we received a report about a missing person this morning.’
‘Well then?’ Wisting repeated.
We’re talking about a lady from Langangen who didn’t come home last night. The point is that she works at the care home for the elderly where two men in your case have been reported missing. She did not turn up for the evening shift yesterday either.’
Wisting felt a nerve in his temple start to vibrate, anticipating what was coming. ‘Her name?’ he asked.
‘Thaulow. Her name is Camilla Thaulow.’
CHAPTER 11
Wisting sat in the front passenger seat of the police car and leafed through the papers he had received by fax, a short report that had been recorded at 09.23 hours earlier that day. The woman who had been reported missing was the same person that he had tried repeatedly to contact by telephone.
Camilla Thaulow was 58 years of age and lived with her mother in Langangen, a small village of over 500 inhabitants, on the Telemark side, and right on the county border. It seemed that she had left home about two o’clock the previous afternoon to work the afternoon shift at Stavern nursing home. Her mother had gone to bed early and did not discover until the next day that her daughter’s bed had not been slept in. She had called her mobile but received no answer. After that she phoned the home for the elderly to learn that her daughter had not turned up for work. Later, the mother had asked advice from a friend and agreed that she should phone the police.
The new missing person case could, of course, simply be an accident. She could have driven off the road and be lying in a ditch, out of sight of the traffic. The old road through Tvedalen and on towards Stavern was winding and narrow, and in a few places there was no safety barrier. However, they were already working on three similar disappearances and, statistically speaking, it was like coming up with a royal flush several times in a row. Wisting did not believe that this disappearance was simply another coincidence in a series, and was anxious to start investigating.
Langangen lay only a quarter of an hour’s drive from the police station, but Wisting had not been to the little place for years. Like most people, he drove past at top speed on the motorway bridge that ran between the hillsides.
Torunn Borg was driving, and he was pleased to have her as she had a special empathy with relatives. If it was not established in the course of a few hours that Camilla Thaulow had skipped her job and stayed overnight at a friend’s house or that she was the victim of an accident, her 84-year-old mother might not only play a central role in the investigation but also be a media focus. Wisting knew from experience what a great strain that could be for the family of the missing person, and old people often had less strength to resist. Anxiety and insecurity, anger and displacement were common reactions, and it could become more difficult to extract important information. At such times the role of the police also entailed providing care and support.
‘Number 23,’ Torunn Borg said aloud, stopping the car close to a white picket fence that enclosed a large but simple garden.
The house was half hidden behind a couple of tall elms, and the shadow from the treetops made the white walls dark grey. The iron gate squeaked and there was a crunching sound as they strolled along the gravel path.
Similar Books
