Free Closed for Winter by Jørn Lier Horst Page B

a serious expression before nodding to her two colleagues to indicate her readiness. Wisting glanced fleetingly at his own reflection. His face was swollen on one side and the skin surrounding the sticking plaster on his chin had developed a bluish tinge. His encounter with the previous night’s assailant had produced visible results, and the bruise had started to throb.
    His phone rang as they left the office, with his daughter’s name illuminated on the display, but he declined the call, wondering at the same time whether he would see her at this press conference. She had covered some of his cases, and he always felt uncomfortable about it.
    Nonetheless he had to admit that she was a competent crime journalist. She understood the different phases of police work and had a particular talent for interpreting the developments in a case. Her articles had sometimes led to progress in an enquiry. He had to concede that he was proud of her.
    Wisting remembered the crowded press conferences during the summer of the previous year, when four severed left feet had washed up along the coastline in his police district. That was then. Now, the room was no more than half full, and he could not spot Line among those present. There were only two camera teams and one journalist from newspapers in the capital. The other nationwide media outlets would be taking reports from the news bureaux.
    The journalists turned to face them and some of the photographers captured their arrival on their cameras. His phone rang. If it was Line calling it might be something important, but it was a different number. He answered, intending to ask the caller to phone back later.
    ‘It’s Hoff-Hansen at Forensics,’ explained the man at the other end of the line. Wisting gesticulated to Christine Thiis to let her know he had to take the call. ‘He has been here,’ the pathologist continued, ‘but he drove off again without delivering the body.’
    ‘What on earth do you mean?’
    ‘One of the women in the lab saw the hearse from Larvik and presumed it was to do with the case they’ve been talking about on the news.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘It drove away from the car park when she arrived, at top speed.’
    ‘She’s sure it was from Larvik?’
    ‘It said so on the side. Anyway, we’re not expecting any other deliveries today. It was here, but turned around and disappeared.’
    ‘And you don’t have the body? Perhaps delivered and put in the wrong place or something like that?’
    ‘I guarantee that’s not happened.’
    Wisting was unsure what this might mean, other than providing confirmation that the most essential evidence in the case, the body, had gone missing.
    ‘What do we do now?’ the pathologist asked.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Wisting replied. ‘I’ll phone you back.’
    He disconnected the call and turned his phone to silent before entering the room for a second time. He took his place beside Christine Thiis, stroking his chin thoughtfully. The pain was increasing.
    The Chief Superintendent welcomed the press group and introduced the platform party before handing the microphone to Christine Thiis. Point by point she reiterated the statement they had prepared, and only occasionally did she steal a glance at her notes, looking comfortable in her role.
    As soon as she had finished, the journalists were ready with their questions. A female reporter from the local paper was sitting in the front row. ‘What clues do you have?’ she asked.
    Christine Thiis hesitated momentarily. ‘We have secured a number of interesting pieces of evidence,’ she responded. ‘However, the crime scene work is still in progress.’
    ‘What was interesting about it?’ the reporter followed up.
    Wisting cleared his throat. The police prosecutor had opened a door. They had decided in advance not to provide information about what evidence had been found. The public had no need to know, and it could damage the investigation if they disclosed too much. All the same, he