Free Closed for Winter by Jørn Lier Horst Page A

for Torunn Borg over the loudspeaker. He brought her up to date on the situation and asked her to investigate whether the hearse had been involved in an accident. He then glanced at the clock. There were twenty minutes to go before the press conference. He looked out of the window and saw that the fog had dispersed. The leaden sky was overlaid with scudding clouds that were perpetually, but almost imperceptibly, changing shape, dissolving and then merging once more.
    The phone rang again. It was Arnesen. All the restraint had disappeared from the funeral director’s voice. ‘I’ve spoken to his wife. She hasn’t heard anything. I’ve tried to phone him several times but I don’t think his phone is switched on.’
    ‘Okay,’ Wisting replied. He could not think of anything more sensible to say, concluding the conversation just as Torunn Borg appeared at his office door.
    ‘He drove through three police districts on his way to Forensics,’ she explained. ‘Søndre Buskerud, Asker and Bærum, and then Oslo. None of them have any reports about a road traffic accident involving personal injury, or any other kind of accident.’
    Wisting ran his hand over his hair. A feeling of disquiet gnawed deep inside him.
    ‘What should we do?’ Torunn Borg asked. ‘Search for the vehicle?’
    There were only fifteen minutes until the press conference, when they would have all the attention of the media directed at them. However, he had no desire to sit facing the camera lenses, forced to announce that the body had vanished. ‘Send a car on the same route,’ he requested, rising from his chair. ‘Full emergency status. Perhaps the hearse is stopped by the roadside somewhere with a flat tyre, and that idiot behind the wheel has let his phone battery run down.’
    Torunn Borg nodded her head and disappeared. Lifting his suit jacket from the chair back, Wisting headed for the preliminary meeting with Christine Thiis. Several members of the press corps were already in the building and being directed to the conference room on the second floor. A couple of them threw a few questions at him, but Wisting hurried past.
    Christine Thiis’ desktop was bare, apart from a printout of the progress report Wisting had emailed her, and a ballpoint pen she had used to make corrections and additions. The report summarised the parts of the case he felt they should inform the public about, expressed in general terms, but nevertheless containing sufficient detail to satisfy the press. He sat in the vacant visitor’s chair beside the Chief Superintendent. ‘We may have a problem,’ he said, and told them that the hearse had gone missing.
    ‘What shall we do?’ Christine Thiis asked.
    ‘I suggest we leave this until after the press conference,’ the Chief Superintendent said. ‘Shall we go through the statement?’
    Accepting this, Wisting let Christine Thiis read it out. They discussed individual points before coming to an agreement.
    ‘Have we made contact with Thomas Rønningen?’ she wanted to know.
    ‘No. He lives in Bærum. I’ve instructed the police there to drive to his house but haven’t heard back from them yet.’
    ‘Do you think the press know about his involvement yet?’ Christine enquired. ‘That his cottage is the crime scene?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Wisting answered. ‘But if they do, none of them will ask you about it. That’s a headline each one will want to keep from the others. It’s probably only a question of time before it’s out in the open, but we can’t give out any information yet.’
    They divided out roles and tasks. It was the young police lawyer’s duty to lead the press conference, and Wisting could see that she was unused to the situation. ‘It will go all right,’ he said as they stood up. ‘If there’s anything you can’t answer, you can pass the question to me.’
    She gave him a swift, friendly look before crossing to the mirror beside the door. Tidying a few wisps of hair, she assumed