The brittle plastic splintered as Blix crushed the end of his pen between his teeth. He leaned back in his chair and looked down towards the other end of the room, where Gard Fosse stood with the new investigator, introducing her to Tine Abelvik and Nicolai Wibe – like him, two of the department’s longest-serving detectives.
Blix found it unfathomable that Fosse had managed to manoeuvre his way to the top of the Violent Crime Unit without having a single genuine investigative gene in his body. Or maybe, he thought, spitting out a sliver of plastic, that was exactly why.
Sofia Kovic’s southern European origins were easy to spot. She had brown, mid-length hair and dark eyes, and her skin tone was several shades darker than anyone else’s in the department. Ten years ago she would have been unable to fulfil the minimum height requirement for entry to police college.
Fosse pointed across at Blix. Kovic tossed her head as they approached him, making her loose hair sit better. Blix put down his 14pen and picked some flakes of plastic from his tongue before getting to his feet to shake hands.
They exchanged pleasantries and Sofia Kovic smiled, revealing white teeth. ‘I’ve heard about you,’ she said.
Blix hadn’t expected anything else. For ages now what had happened at Teisen nineteen years ago had been part of the police college syllabus. The episode had even been given a special name: The Teisen Tragedy.
‘Blix is going to show you how we work in here,’ Fosse told her. ‘This will be your workstation.’
Kovic looked around. Blix said good morning to Abelvik and Wibe, then drew some case papers over to his side of the desk and moved the pile of dirty plates to the top of the filing cabinet.
Fosse exchanged a quick look with Blix. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, turning on his heel.
With a stiff grin, Blix watched him exchange nods and pleasantries with people just arriving in the office.
‘So,’ he said, turning to Kovic, ‘what made you want to work here?’
Kovic sat down. ‘I think I can excel here,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘Do what I’m good at.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Collecting information, analysing cases, building appropriate hypotheses, thinking creatively, turning accepted truths on their head and finding alternative solutions.’ Kovic paused. ‘Investigate, in other words.’
Blix looked at her as he twirled his pen between his fingers. Her short speech sounded like something straight from a textbook. Something that would have impressed Fosse.
‘It would be good if you managed to solve some cases too.’ Blix put his pen back in his mouth.
Kovic put down the slim, transparent folder she’d received from the ICT department and switched on her computer. Waiting for it to start up, she checked her mobile, but immediately set it aside again.15
‘So what’s it like having Fosse as your boss?’ she asked.
Forthright, Blix thought. He swallowed the answer that was burning the tip of his tongue, and said instead: ‘It’s OK, no problems.’
‘OK?’
‘Yes,’ Blix nodded, but did not deign to elaborate.
The truth was that he and Fosse had completely different approaches to police work. The simplest way to describe it was theory and practice. He followed his gut instinct, Fosse the book.
‘He wants me to show you how we work here,’ Blix said, reaching out to the papers on his desk and picking up a random bundle of case folders. He deposited them on her desk with a thump. ‘This is how we work here,’ he said, with an apologetic smile. ‘One case at a time. Welcome to the madhouse.’