Death Deserved Read online

  There were no vacant parking spaces outside the TV building. Blix ended up parking three blocks away, just beside the square at Gull­haug Torg. He finally entered the building with only five minutes to spare before the show started.

  He stood in the foyer, trying to find his bearings, but had no clue which direction to take. A young girl got up from a stool behind a desk. A radio transmitter hung from a strap over her chest, and she had an earplug in her right ear.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m to be in the audience for Worthy Winner,’ Blix answered.

  ‘The studio doors close ten minutes before the broadcast begins,’ the girl told him.

  ‘My daughter’s one of the contestants,’ Blix explained. ‘Iselin Skaar. I’m her father, Alexander Blix.’

  The girl gave him a sceptical look. After the divorce, Iselin had adopted her mother’s name.

  He considered using his police badge to gain entry, but decided on something else. ‘Speak to Even Eckhoff,’ he said. ‘I think he’s kept a seat for me.’

  The girl glanced at the time before grabbing her chest mic and re­laying the message. Her earplug crackled, but Blix failed to make out what was being said.

  ‘Over and out,’ the girl replied, as if she were part of a military op­eration.

  ‘I’ll escort you in,’ she said, walking towards the nearest door.

  It was pitch dark inside. As Eckhoff approached, his foot became entangled in a cable, but he managed to extricate himself and limped towards Blix. He was wearing a navy-blue suit, an open-neck white shirt and an earplug in one ear. He also held a clipboard in his hand.

  ‘That’s brilliant, you managed to make it,’ he said, shaking Blix’s hand. ‘I think you’ll like today’s test.’

  The tests were ethical and moral dilemmas the contestants were faced with either before they entered the house, or during their stay. The way the participants responded, and how their choices chimed with the public’s ethical principles, were reflected in votes for the contestant the viewers felt most worthy of winning the prize money.

  Eckhoff claimed to be the one who had dreamed up the various tests the programme concept was based on. Blix was reminded of how strongly he disliked people who had an urge to call attention to themselves. In that sense, Eckhoff reminded him of Fosse.

  ‘I kept a seat for you,’ Eckhoff said. ‘Come with me.’

  Eckhoff advanced between the rows of seats in the auditorium. Blix caught sight of an empty seat beside Merete. She spotted him and enthusiastically waved him over. Blix thanked Eckhoff for his as­sistance, and began to make his way along the row, mumbling apologies to everyone he passed.

  ‘Ten seconds!’ yelled one of the operators down on the floor.

  Merete stood up and gave Blix a quick hug. Blix held out his hand to Jan-Egil, Merete’s new boyfriend, who remained seated, but shook his hand with an indifferent smile.

  ‘Five seconds!’

  Someone with sizeable earphones on his head held a hand in the air and counted down, finger by finger. Then the reality show’s fam­iliar theme music began to play over the loudspeaker system. Screens suspended from the ceiling showed the introductory titles. The pro­gramme presenter got ready in front of one of the cameras. A man encouraged the audience to cheer and applaud, and the screens showed the camera drifting across their faces.

  Then the studio manager gesticulated towards the presenter, giving the go-ahead.

  ‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome to Worthy Winner! I’m Tore Berg Tollersrud. We now have four contestants left in the house. In the course of this evening, they’ll go down to three!’

  The audience cheered on cue and held up homemade placards.

  ‘Let’s meet the contestants!’ Tollersrud yelled.

  For nine weeks, Iselin and the other participants had stayed in the specially built house, fully equipped with the most up-to-date and high-end conveniences. Twenty-six cameras and forty-eight microphones were installed around the house and in the area outside, where the contestants could exercise or just have a smoke, if they wanted to. Through the web pages of Worthy Winner, viewers could take out a subscription that gave them access to all these cameras, following whichever one they wanted at any par­ticular time.

  An exit led from the house into the studio where the live broad­casts were filmed. The sliding door moved up and the four remaining contestants emerged on to the stage one by one as the presenter in­troduced them. Iselin was number three. She was wearing the blue dress she had worn for the first live transmission.

  On her way to the sofa where the other contestants were sitting, she glanced up at the audience. Blix shot one hand in the air and waved, but she did not seem to notice him. He listened to the ap­plause and cheers, but it was difficult to judge her popularity compared to that of the others.

  Tollersrud started with some general questions for the housemates, but soon Iselin was in the firing line, as he quizzed her about the past week.

  ‘We’ve been following you closely,’ the presenter said, ‘and we’ve noticed that you’ve kept yourself to yourself a lot of the time.’

  ‘We’ve been cooped up together for weeks on end,’ Iselin answered. ‘There aren’t many of us left now, so this is the first time there’s been a chance to spend some time on my own.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘So you’re ready for another week?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Iselin assured him.

  Blix felt his mobile phone vibrate in his inside pocket. He took it out as discreetly as possible. It was Tine Abelvik.

  ‘Can’t you put that away for now?’ Merete whispered sharply. Blix flicked away the call and put his phone back.

  Tollersrud had finished with the introductions and turned to face the camera. ‘So now we’re ready for this week’s test, folks! To find out which of the participants is a worthy winner, we, as you know, have been following them for a while with a hidden camera to dis­cover who they really are – when they don’t know they’re on TV.’

  Blix glanced across at Eckhoff, who was standing at the side of the stage, smiling. His shaved head glistened in the blaze of the spotlights.

  ‘Around three weeks ago, before you entered the house, you each found a five-hundred-kroner note,’ Tollersrud went on, turning towards the four on the sofa.

  The contestants looked at one another. Some began to laugh, and one hid his head in his hands. Iselin nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘You no doubt remember what you did yourself, but tonight the audience will see it too.’

  Berg Tollersrud addressed himself to the nearest contestant. ‘Arild, what do you think about that?’

  Arild was a smallholder from Hjartdal. Blix thought of him only as The Farmer.

  ‘No, I’m not really sure, I—’

  ‘Where did you find the five-hundred-kroner note?’

  The Farmer placed one hand on his thigh. ‘Right beside my car outside the store where I usually do my shopping.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  Even from where Blix was sitting, he could see that The Farmer was blushing furiously.

  ‘Well, I … didn’t have time to try to find out who it belonged to.’

  ‘I’m not condemning you, Arild,’ Berg said, with a smile. ‘Far from it. There’s no right or wrong answer here.’

  Blix’s inside pocket buzzed again. He ignored it.

  ‘Let’s see!’ the presenter continued.

  The large screens now showed how the hidden cameras had been set up. Then The Farmer came on the scene, driving an old red Nissan, and parked. A bald man walked in front of his car and dropped a 500-kroner note on the tarmac. Blix smiled as he recog­nised Eckhoff. He was walking a bit stiffly, like amateur actors usually do when they know the cameras are on them.

  It did not look as if The Farmer had noticed Eckhoff dropping the money, but when he spotted the banknote on the ground, he was quick to pick it up and stuff it into his own pocket. When
he looked around, it was obvious that this wasn’t to see who might have lost it, but to make sure no one had seen what he had done.

  The item ended with laughter and applause from the audience.

  Blix felt his phone once more. Text message this time. He hooked it out without looking at Merete. It was from Abelvik: Sonja Nord­strøm’s phone has just been switched on.

  Blix raised his eyes from the screen before leaning in again to write: Where is she?

  He was aware of Merete’s gaze on him, and tried to ignore both her look and the poke of her elbow.

  Another text message: Where are you? Need you here.

  Blix looked over at his ex-wife and inclined his head towards her to whisper: ‘I need to take a phone call.’

  Merete looked at him with raised eyebrows. ‘Now, this minute?’

  Blix nodded and got to his feet.

  ‘Are you coming back?’

  Blix didn’t answer, but began to edge towards the end of the row, apologising again and again.

  ‘Stay where you are, we’ll be right back,’ Tore Berg Tollersrud an­nounced onstage. It was a timely pause as some people stood up, making things easier for Blix. Down on stage he saw Iselin get up from the sofa and gaze out into the auditorium. For a brief second, their eyes met.

  Blix waved, but Iselin did not wave back. She just looked at him. Blix tried to signal that he would be back and that he just had to take a phone call. But Iselin was looking at something else.

  Outside, it was growing dark. He keyed in Abelvik’s number. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Things are a bit up in the air, to be honest. Sonja Nordstrøm’s phone is on, but it’s not moving.’

  ‘Where is it, then?’

  ‘Gamlebyen Graveyard.’

  Blix took a few seconds to have a think.

  ‘Is anyone heading out there?’ he asked, starting to walk towards his own car.

  ‘Wibe’s on his way there with Ann-Mari Sara. Kovic and I are just getting into our car.’

  ‘Have you tried to phone her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Nordstrøm.’

  ‘Of course. She’s not answering.’

  Blix picked up his pace. ‘We should get an ambulance out there too,’ he said. ‘If Nordstrøm is there, she might need medical assis­tance.’

  ‘Kovic has given advance warning to A&E,’ Abelvik explained.

  Blix wheeled around to face the TV building and thought of Iselin. Swore to himself.

  ‘OK, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s meet at the northern entrance.’

  14

  Blix parked behind a police patrol car. Tine Abelvik, Nicolai Wibe and Sofia Kovic stood at the graveyard entrance, and Ann-Mari Sara was making her way towards them with two flashlights.

  The air was cold and raw. As he approached the group, Blix pulled his jacket flaps together at the neck.

  Abelvik brandished a phone at him. ‘We have her positioned here,’ she told Blix. ‘But with no more than two hundred metres precision, so we’ll have to cover a pretty extensive area.’

  Sara handed him a flashlight.

  ‘Kovic comes with me,’ he said, pointing in one direction. ‘The others go that way.’

  The grass between the gravestones was damp. In the distance Blix could hear the roar of traffic on the E18 motorway. Lights twinkled in the buildings above the Ekeberg cliffs.

  Blix and Kovic chose a path each between the gravestones, and began to trudge along, side by side, about twenty metres apart, scan­ning the terrain, shining their flashlights in between the tombs and the trees.

  From somewhere behind them, Abelvik called out Blix’s name. He wheeled around and sprinted over the wet grass, Kovic following close behind.

  ‘Over here!’ Abelvik shouted. She was standing in the doorway of a tool shed.

  ‘Is it Nordstrøm?’ Blix asked.

  Abelvik shook her head. ‘It’s a man,’ she answered from inside the hut.

  Blix shone his flashlight inside the hut. The man was lying on his side, moving his arm slowly. He looked to be in his sixties and wore workman’s clothes. His face was smeared with blood. He was strug­gling to say something, but couldn’t get it out.

  Abelvik sat down next to him, put an arm on his shoulder and said something soothing to him.

  ‘The ambulance will be here in three minutes,’ Wibe said, putting his mobile back in his pocket.

  ‘OK,’ Blix said, looking around at the same time. ‘Sara, you stay here. Check whether he has any ID on him. The rest of us will go on searching for Nordstrøm.’

  He pivoted around to face Abelvik. ‘You’re sure her phone’s some­where in here?’

  Abelvik checked her phone again, nodding. ‘We’re almost on top of it.’

  They spread out for a fresh search. Behind them blue light pulsed over the gravestones.

  ‘Call her,’ Blix said. ‘Then we can follow the sound.’

  Wibe took out his phone again. ‘What’s her number?’ he asked.

  Abelvik produced her notebook. He punched in the numbers she gave him and pressed the dial button; a ringtone sounded.

  They stood gazing at one another. The noise came from a spot towards the middle of the graveyard.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Wibe gasped.

  The sound grew louder with every step they took. Blix sped up, sweeping the flashlight beam to and fro. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw that the paramedics had arrived at the tool shed.

  The ringtone came from somewhere directly to his right. A clear­ing. He swerved towards it, rounding a tombstone, and saw before him an open grave.

  He managed to stop just half a metre from the edge. He leaned forwards and peered down into it.

  There was only a mobile phone. A gold-coloured iPhone.

  And then the ringing stopped.

  15

  The flashing light of the ambulance cast flitting, edgy shadows over Gamlebyen Graveyard. It acted as a magnet for people out jogging or taking a walk in the chilly autumn-evening air. Blix had posted uniformed police at the cemetery’s entrances to ensure no intruders gained access.

  Blix checked his mobile. Gard Fosse had called twice, Merete three times. She had sent him several text messages as well. Blix didn’t read them, but he phoned his boss and gave him a brief update on the situ­ation.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Fosse demanded. ‘Nordstrøm’s phone found in an open grave?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Blix admitted.

  Fosse sighed. ‘We keep this to ourselves until we know more.’

  Blix glanced again at the onlookers lining the graveyard walls. A camera flash suggested that one or two journalists were out there too.

  Abelvik approached him. ‘It’s the caretaker,’ she explained, indi­cating the ambulance, where Wibe was seated beside the stretcher, taking a statement from the injured man. ‘Børre Simonsen. He lives near here and had just popped in to pull a tarpaulin over a grave that had been prepared for tomorrow, because rain is forecast overnight. While he was doing it, he was attacked and struck down.’

  Blix headed for the ambulance, stood a couple of paces behind Wibe and listened to the conversation.

  ‘I noticed him earlier in the day,’ the caretaker was explaining in a shaky voice. ‘He stood watching when we were digging the grave.’

  Wibe noticed Blix behind him. ‘This is my boss, Chief Inspector Blix,’ he told Simonsen. Then turned to Blix. ‘Mr Simonsen was just telling me a guy was hanging about the graveyard – looked like a drug addict, apparently.’ He turned back to the caretaker.

  ‘Could you give us a description of the guy?’ he asked.

  Børre Simonsen seemed to search his memory. ‘He was about my height, just over six feet tall, and he had maybe a few weeks of beard growth. I’d guess he was in his early thirties. But – it’s impossible to tell with people like that.’

  Wibe made some more notes. ‘Any other distinguishing marks? Scars, crooked nose…?’

  Simo
nsen mulled this over. ‘He had mid-length, slightly straggly hair. Hardly any teeth, I think. That’s not uncommon among druggies.’

  Once again he needed a moment or two to reflect.

  ‘And then I think he had a burn mark. Here. On his cheek.’ Sim­onsen lifted his hand to his own left cheek.

  ‘A burn mark? Or do you mean a birth mark?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. But it was red, at any rate.’

  ‘You’re certain it was on this side of his face?’ Wibe pressed him.

  ‘Yes,’ Simonsen answered. ‘Maybe about the size of a five-kroner coin.’

  Wibe jotted this down. As he did so, he raised his eyebrows to Blix, as if to ask if he wanted to throw in any questions.

  ‘Did you see if he had a phone?’ Blix asked.

  ‘A phone? No, it…’ Yet again Simonsen scoured his memory banks for a response. ‘He didn’t have one out, at least. Maybe he had one in his jacket pocket, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Have you seen him here before? Here in the graveyard?’

  Simonsen shook his head.

  ‘No one who’s been in the habit of hiding in the tool shed or steal­ing anything from in there?’ Blix pointed at the hut behind them.

  ‘No, it’s never happened before.’

  Blix thanked him and gave Wibe a nod before traipsing through the gloom of the cemetery towards the open grave.

  Ann-Mari Sara had donned a whole-body protective suit and was climbing down into the grave with the help of an aluminium ladder.

  The display on the phone lit up when she retrieved it.

  ‘It’s full of unanswered calls and messages,’ she said, slipping the phone into a transparent evidence bag.

  ‘How long do you need to check it?’ Blix asked.

  ‘A bit difficult to tell,’ Sara replied. ‘But we should have most of the answers by the time you’re at work again in the morning.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Blix added.

  Sara looked up at the heap of earth beside the grave. ‘There are some good footprints there,’ she said. ‘Some of them probably from the caretaker, but there are traces of more than one person.’