Singsaker trudged through the snowstorm. He was on his way to the station, his head filled with gloomy thoughts. He tried to send Felicia a text message. It was the same one he’d already sent several times that morning: “Where are you? Do you want to talk?” She had every right to react the way she had, but why did she have to disappear the very moment that a homicidal maniac was roaming the streets? Again and again he reminded himself that Felicia was a tough cookie, with police training to boot. She knew how to take care of herself. Plus, the killer had no reason to go after her in particular. Still, that didn’t make him feel any better. The perp had been on her Web site, after all.
He’d gone over to the Edvardsen home and watched Grongstad pack up the frozen body of the Saint Bernard in plastic. Grongstad acted as though the dead dog was good news, because it would undoubtedly provide a treasure trove of evidence. Singsaker, on the other hand, regarded the discovery as yet another failure, and he thought that the next good lead in the case might be finding Julie’s dead body. This time, he had no idea what to say to her parents, so he left the task to Jensen. His colleague had made just as bad a job of it as Singsaker would have. All in all, it was a miserable way to start the day. For the very first time since he’d started ice bathing, he’d actually looked forward to the freezing dip. An icy swim would suit him just fine.
Singsaker couldn’t stop himself from brooding. No matter how hard he tried not to think about Felicia, he couldn’t push it aside. He had only himself to blame for what had happened between them.
Maybe it was the black belt that Siri had worn around her waist as they engaged in that easy, sweaty fuck in the midst of that frenzied investigation late last summer. Ever since he had fallen asleep in her messy bedcovers after making love, he had feared the consequences. He had pictured getting in trouble at his job, since Siri had been a key witness in the case. If it had ever come to Brattberg’s attention that he’d had sex with a witness, he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself. But strangely enough, the prospect of being suspended from the force hadn’t worried him much. After the brain surgery, his job hadn’t seemed as important as before. No matter what happened, his wounded head always came along with him. And sometimes working felt like more drudgery than it was worth. That was definitely the way it felt today. But his error in judgment with Siri Holm hadn’t had any effect on his job. Bad decisions weren’t really bad if they didn’t have repercussions that truly stung. After he met Felicia, he quickly realized that there were worse things than losing his job. What had happened now was a disaster that had been waiting to happen. He just hadn’t seen the signs in time.
When Singsaker reached the station, Gran had some surprising news for him.
“Høybråten is back,” she said.
“Did you find anything on him?” asked Singsaker, wondering whether this would give him any sense of satisfaction, but he wasn’t sure.
“Not regarding the music box case, I’m afraid. But Nadia Torp mustered her courage and decided to report him. She says that he touched a lot of the girls in the choir inappropriately, and that one night after practice he asked her to stay, and then forced her onto a table. She managed to get away before he could rape her. We have more than enough to charge him. This morning, after we brought him in, he confessed to Brattberg. He totally fell apart. He’s been sobbing like a little kid. Actually, he asked to speak to you personally.”
Singsaker entered the interview room. The professor was seated next to his attorney.
Singsaker sat down across from them.
“I don’t expect anything in return,” said Høybråten. “And my attorney has already told me that the Norwegian police don’t grant lighter sentences in return for information, the way they do in American movies.”
“Is there something you want to tell me?” asked Singsaker, noticing that a sudden tension had replaced the listless feeling he’d had all morning.
“He had something on me, and I had something on him,” said Høybråten. “That’s why I didn’t say anything about this before. I was afraid he’d talk—about the stuff with the girls.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I know who stole the letter that was found at the Ringve estate,” replied Høybråten. “It has to do with Jon Blund, and was supposed to be turned over to the Gunnerus Library.”
“Tell me more,” said Singsaker.
And Høybråten began to talk.