on the progress of the dog handler’s team, as well as directions relayed
to patrol cars. The plain-clothes police officer in the front passenger seat turned
down the volume and twisted round to face her. ‘Is that your blood?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, opening her laptop on her knee.
‘Are you sure none of it came from him?’
‘He would have to have injured himself.’
‘We’ll have a doctor take a look at you.’
The clock display changed to 00.17. ‘That’s not necessary,’ she said. ‘I can arrange
that afterwards.’
‘What happened?’
She glanced up from the image on her screen. ‘Listen. I’ve explained this over the
phone and then to the first patrol that turned up. After they’re all done with me,
I have to explain it all again to you?’
‘It’s important that we know exactly what took place. If I know whether he struck
you in the head or the abdomen, then I’ll know where to look for fibres from his gloves.’
Line logged into the newspaper’s data system. ‘He punched me on the back while I was
holding his leg,’ she said. ‘After that, he walloped me with a metal rake. It’s lying
in front of the house.’
‘What about all that blood on your face?’
‘A nosebleed. The door hit me when he burst out.’
‘Are you related to William Wisting?’ the driver asked. Older than his colleague,
he was thickset and wore a beard.
‘He’s my father.’
‘I seem to recall that his daughter worked for VG . I was at Police College with him.’
‘Mhmm.’
‘Tell him Jan Berger was asking for him.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Line said, without really catching the name. She was casting about
for her opening words. Only a few minutes ago, she had known how she was going to
express herself. Now her mind was in chaos. Instead of beginning, she phoned the photographer.
‘You look bloody awful in these photos,’ he said.
‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘You really ought to go to Accident and Emergency.’
‘Later. You need to send those pictures to the news desk. Both the one of me and the
one with the dog. Tell them I’ll get the text to them in ten minutes.’
She closed her eyes for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, before her fingers
started moving. She began with the most dramatic element, how the presumed murderer
had attacked her. Afterwards she would go back and write the introduction. The most
significant and central information took only three sentences. The radio cut through
her concentration.
‘ We ’ ve lost the scent at the Europris central warehouse . He may have had a vehicle parked here. ’
‘ Fox 3-2 take position on main highway 111 at the Torsnes exit. ’
When her phone rang she answered, cradling it between her neck and shoulder as she
continued to write.
‘Hi, it’s Nina.’
‘Who?’
‘Nina Haugen, from the Statoil Østsiden service station. You phoned me earlier tonight.’
The girl with her mouth full of chewing gum.
‘With you,’ Line said.
‘I know who the man with the dog is. He comes here regularly to buy tobacco.’
‘I’ve found out who he is as well.’
‘It’s a Schapendoes, a Dutch Sheepdog.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You mentioned a Labbetuss , and I didn’t know what that was, but it’s a Schapendoes.’ Concentrating on her writing,
Line deleted two sentences and replaced them with one. ‘It’s the same kind as Drillo
has.’
‘I know. I’ve seen it.’
‘It was Fredrik who realised. He’s found the pictures on the CCTV camera, if that’s
of any interest.’
Pictures were always of interest. It wasn’t anything they would publish at the moment,
but maybe later when the identity had been disclosed or in connection with the court
case.
‘Can you send them to me?’
‘Fredrik can do that.’
‘Excellent,’ Line passed on her email address.
‘How much do you pay?’
‘I’m not the one to decide, but write down your name, date of birth and bank account
to patrol cars. The plain-clothes police officer in the front passenger seat turned
down the volume and twisted round to face her. ‘Is that your blood?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, opening her laptop on her knee.
‘Are you sure none of it came from him?’
‘He would have to have injured himself.’
‘We’ll have a doctor take a look at you.’
The clock display changed to 00.17. ‘That’s not necessary,’ she said. ‘I can arrange
that afterwards.’
‘What happened?’
She glanced up from the image on her screen. ‘Listen. I’ve explained this over the
phone and then to the first patrol that turned up. After they’re all done with me,
I have to explain it all again to you?’
‘It’s important that we know exactly what took place. If I know whether he struck
you in the head or the abdomen, then I’ll know where to look for fibres from his gloves.’
Line logged into the newspaper’s data system. ‘He punched me on the back while I was
holding his leg,’ she said. ‘After that, he walloped me with a metal rake. It’s lying
in front of the house.’
‘What about all that blood on your face?’
‘A nosebleed. The door hit me when he burst out.’
‘Are you related to William Wisting?’ the driver asked. Older than his colleague,
he was thickset and wore a beard.
‘He’s my father.’
‘I seem to recall that his daughter worked for VG . I was at Police College with him.’
‘Mhmm.’
‘Tell him Jan Berger was asking for him.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Line said, without really catching the name. She was casting about
for her opening words. Only a few minutes ago, she had known how she was going to
express herself. Now her mind was in chaos. Instead of beginning, she phoned the photographer.
‘You look bloody awful in these photos,’ he said.
‘Thanks a bunch.’
‘You really ought to go to Accident and Emergency.’
‘Later. You need to send those pictures to the news desk. Both the one of me and the
one with the dog. Tell them I’ll get the text to them in ten minutes.’
She closed her eyes for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, before her fingers
started moving. She began with the most dramatic element, how the presumed murderer
had attacked her. Afterwards she would go back and write the introduction. The most
significant and central information took only three sentences. The radio cut through
her concentration.
‘ We ’ ve lost the scent at the Europris central warehouse . He may have had a vehicle parked here. ’
‘ Fox 3-2 take position on main highway 111 at the Torsnes exit. ’
When her phone rang she answered, cradling it between her neck and shoulder as she
continued to write.
‘Hi, it’s Nina.’
‘Who?’
‘Nina Haugen, from the Statoil Østsiden service station. You phoned me earlier tonight.’
The girl with her mouth full of chewing gum.
‘With you,’ Line said.
‘I know who the man with the dog is. He comes here regularly to buy tobacco.’
‘I’ve found out who he is as well.’
‘It’s a Schapendoes, a Dutch Sheepdog.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You mentioned a Labbetuss , and I didn’t know what that was, but it’s a Schapendoes.’ Concentrating on her writing,
Line deleted two sentences and replaced them with one. ‘It’s the same kind as Drillo
has.’
‘I know. I’ve seen it.’
‘It was Fredrik who realised. He’s found the pictures on the CCTV camera, if that’s
of any interest.’
Pictures were always of interest. It wasn’t anything they would publish at the moment,
but maybe later when the identity had been disclosed or in connection with the court
case.
‘Can you send them to me?’
‘Fredrik can do that.’
‘Excellent,’ Line passed on her email address.
‘How much do you pay?’
‘I’m not the one to decide, but write down your name, date of birth and bank account
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