Beyond the Truth: Hanne Wilhelmsen Book Seven (A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel) by Anne Holt Read Free Book Online

three pens lay straight and parallel in an oblong dish. Even the curtains seemed freshly ironed and a faint scent of detergent hung in the air. Hanne caught herself wondering whether Erik took care of cleaning the office himself. It was actually peculiar that she did not know him better. For years on end he had trailed behind her, often overlooked, tagging along. Trainee, constable, sergeant and inspector: he had climbed through the ranks, all the time secretly and timidly in love with Hanne Wilhelmsen. It had hindered him in his work, and once looked as if it might turn him into an eternal bachelor. Only when a terror-stricken Hanne had entered into a civil partnership with Nefis eighteen months ago had he let go. He became a sergeant, moved in with a girl in the uniformed section, and began to demonstrate to the entire world that he really was a top-notch detective.
    “Mrs. Kvalheim,” the name occurred to Erik, without having to check more closely. “Aslaug Kvalheim, a neighbor across the street. Silje had her in here at the crack of dawn and, according to her, anyway, the windows were in darkness in the Vede apartment – the people who are away on extended holiday – when she went to bingo just before seven. Another neighbor said the same. In the Gregusson apartment, though, there was some light in the afternoon and evening, as if he had forgotten that he had left a lamp switched on. The living-room light was on in Henrik Backe’s apartment, while the Stahlbergs’ windows suggested that the apartment was ‘chock-a-block’, as Mrs. Kvalheim put it. She also thought that the fire must have been lit. Says she could see the flicker of flames through the curtains.”
    “They keep watch,” Hanne said. “The neighbors. Keep an eye on everyone and everything.”
    “In this case, we ought to be pleased about that.”
    “Then can we conclude that Henrik Backe was the only one of the neighbors actually at home when the shots were fired?”
    “Not altogether. We don’t yet know the exact time of the killings. An absolutely provisional timeframe is fixed between eight and nine o’clock. As far as our friend Backe is concerned, he was so pissed when he was dragged in here last night that we had to let him sleep it off before we could interview him.”
    “Here? Here in police headquarters?”
    “They had brought him in, yes. Fortunately Silje made the dim duty officer understand that we couldn’t haul people out of house and home and put them in a cell when they hadn’t done anything wrong. So he was driven home again, to catch some sleep. He created merry hell in here. We’ll just have to hope that he’s more amenable now. He’s expected at …”
    A brief glance at the wall clock took him aback. He double-checked with his watch.
    “Now. Any time now. Do you want to be present?”
    Hanne considered for a moment. As she opened her mouth to answer, someone knocked angrily on the door and all of a sudden an elderly man had entered the room.
    “Are you Henriksen?”
    The voice was gruff and hoarse. The figure stooped aggressively. Hanne recognized the unmistakable odor of alcoholism: poor hygiene and self-deceiving menthol pastilles. Amazingly enough, though, he was on time.
    “That’s me,” Erik said jovially and got to his feet to shake hands. “Police Inspector Erik Henriksen.”
    “I’m going to submit a formal complaint,” the man replied.
    “This is Chief Inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen,” Erik said, pointing. “Please take a seat.”
    “I’d like to know by what authority I was brought in here last night,” Backe said, with a racking cough, and neglecting to sit down. “And I want it in writing.”
    “Of course you’ll receive a response to your complaint,” Erik said. “But now we’ll get that witness statement out of the way, eh? Then I’ll find someone to help you with the formalities afterwards. Maybe you’d like some coffee?”
    It was possibly the friendliness that surprised the old