Jo Nesbo - The Son

‘Nothing. Go on.’

‘The fan was switched on. The medical examiner’s preliminary conclusion is that Kalle Farrisen suffocated.’

Simon studied the knot on the jack cable. ‘It looks like Kalle was forced to inhale the drug which was blown into his face. Would you agree?’

‘I would,’ Kari said. ‘He managed to hold his breath for a short while, but eventually he had to give in. The guitar strings prevented him from turning his head away. But he tried, that’s why he has injuries from the thinner guitar string. The heroin ends up in his nose, stomach and lungs, it’s absorbed into the bloodstream, he starts feeling drugged and carries on breathing. But more faintly now because the heroin is suppressing his respiration. And finally, he stops breathing altogether.’

‘Classic case of death by overdose,’ Simon said. ‘Same thing happened to several of his customers.’

He pointed to the cable. ‘And whoever tied this knot is left-handed.’

‘We can’t go on meeting like this.’

They turned round. Asmund Bjornstad was standing in the doorway with a wry smile and two people behind him who were holding a stretcher.

‘We want to move the body now, so if you’re done. .’

‘We’ve seen everything we wanted to,’ Simon said, getting up laboriously. ‘Would it be all right if we took a look around?’

‘Of course,’ the Kripos investigator said, still with this half-smile, gallantly showing them the way. Simon rolled his eyes at Kari in surprise, who in return raised her eyebrows as if to say he’s changed his tune.

‘Any witnesses?’ Simon asked in the lift and looked at the broken glass.

‘No,’ Bjornstad said. ‘But the guitarist from the band who found the body says that there was a guy here earlier in the evening. He claimed to be playing in a band called the Young Hopeless, but we’ve checked and that band no longer exists.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘The witness says the guy wore a hoodie that covered his head. Lots of young people do these days.’

‘So he was young?’

‘The witness thought so. Somewhere between twenty and twenty-five.’

‘What colour was his hoodie?’

Bjornstad flipped open his notebook. ‘Grey, I believe.’

The lift doors opened, they stepped out carefully and straddled cordons and flags set out by the CSOs. There were four people on this floor. Two living and two dead. Simon nodded briefly to one of the living. He had a bushy ginger beard and was crouching on all fours over a body, holding a torch the size of a fountain pen in his hand. The deceased had a large wound under one eye. A dark red halo of blood on the floor surrounded his head. At the top of the halo the blood spatter formed a pattern that resembled a teardrop. Simon had once tried to explain to Else how a crime scene could be beautiful. He had tried once and never again.

Another and much bigger victim lay on the threshold with his upper body inside the door.

Simon’s gaze automatically scanned the walls and found the bullet hole in the wall. He noticed the hatch in the door and the mirror up under the ceiling. Then he took a step backwards into the lift, raised his right arm and took aim. Changed his mind and raised his left arm instead. He had to take one step to the right to make the angle fit with the trajectory of a bullet through the head and — if the skull hadn’t caused the bullet to change direction — into the bullet hole in the plaster. He closed his eyes. He had stood in the same position recently. On the steps outside the Iversen home. Aimed with his right hand. There he had also had to adjust his position to make the angle fit. Move one foot to just outside the flagstones. Onto the soft soil. The same soft soil which was around the bushes. But there hadn’t been a matching shoeprint on the soil next to the flagstones.

‘Shall we carry on the guided tour inside, ladies and gentlemen?’ Bjornstad held the door open and waited until Kari and Simon had stepped over the body and entered. ‘The council rented out this room to what they thought was a band booking and management agency.’

Simon peered inside the empty safe. ‘What do you think happened?’

‘Gang-related incident,’ Bjornstad said. ‘They hit the factory around closing time. The first victim was shot while he lay on the floor — we’ve recovered the bullet from the floorboards. The second victim was shot as he lay across the threshold — there’s a bullet in the floor there as well. They got the third man to open the safe. They took the money and the drugs, and then killed him downstairs to send a message to the competition about who’s in charge now.’

‘I see,’ Simon said. ‘And the shells?’

Bjornstad laughed quickly. ‘I know. Sherlock Holmes smells a connection with the Iversen murder.’

‘No empty shells?’

Asmund Bjornstad looked from Simon to Kari and back to Simon. Then — with a magician’s hey presto smile — he produced a plastic bag from his jacket pocket. He dangled it in front of Simon’s face. It contained two empty shells.

‘Sorry to bust your theory, old boy,’ he said. ‘Besides, the big bullet holes in the victims indicate a far bigger calibre than the one we found in Agnete Iversen. That concludes your guided tour. I hope you enjoyed it.’

‘I just have three questions before we leave.’

‘Go on then, Chief Inspector Kefas.’

‘Where did you find the empty shells?’

‘Next to the bodies.’

‘Where were the victims’ weapons?’

‘They didn’t have any. Final question?’

‘Did the Commissioner tell you to be cooperative and give us the guided tour?’

Asmund Bjornstad laughed. ‘Possibly through my boss in Kripos. We always do what our bosses tell us, don’t we?’

‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘If we want to get ahead, then that’s what we do. Thanks for the tour.’

Bjornstad stayed behind in the room, but Kari followed Simon. She stopped behind him when Simon, rather than going straight into the lift, asked the bearded CSO to lend him his torch and went over to the bullet hole in the wall. Pointed the torch at it.

‘Have you already removed the bullet, Nils?’

‘That must be an old hole; we didn’t find any bullets there,’ Nils said while he examined the floor around the body with a simple magnifying glass.

Simon squatted down, moistened the tips of his fingers and pressed them against the floor right under the hole. He held up his fingers to Kari. She could see that tiny plaster particles had stuck to his skin.

‘Thanks for the use of your torch,’ Simon said and Nils looked up, nodded briefly and took the torch.

‘What was that about?’ Kari asked when the lift doors had closed in front of them.

‘I need a moment to think, then I’ll tell you,’ Simon said.

Kari was annoyed. Not because she suspected her boss of being coy, but because she couldn’t follow him. Not being able to keep up wasn’t something she was used to. The doors opened and she stepped out. She turned round and looked quizzically at Simon, who was still inside the lift.

‘May I borrow your marble, please?’ he asked.

She sighed and stuck her hand into her pocket. Simon placed the small, yellow marble in the middle of the lift floor. It rolled at first slowly, then with increasing speed to the front of the lift where it disappeared down the gap between the inner and the outer doors.

‘Oops,’ Simon said. ‘Let’s go down to the basement and look for it.’

‘It’s not irreplaceable,’ Kari said. ‘I’ve got more at home.’

‘I’m not talking about the marble.’

Kari hastened after him again, still two steps behind. At least. A thought occurred to her. The thought of another job she could have gone for and could be doing right now. Better pay, more independence. No eccentric bosses and foul-smelling bodies. But that time would come; for now it was a question of arming herself with patience.