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have any more to drink after you left.’

5
    Nils Hammer helped Wisting into the building. A bulky man with rugged features, Hammer was about five centimetres taller than his boss. Though he had the reputation of being a loner, he was a capable investigator who took his job very seriously, never giving up, always throwing himself intensely into his work. Like Wisting himself, Hammer could become obsessed with solving a case, and they had spent countless night hours together at the police station, battling their way through huge wall charts, complex theories and cups of bitter coffee. Nils Hammer was always one of the first personnel Wisting requested when an enquiry group was assembled.
    ‘Torunn’s on her way,’ he said through a faint whiff of beer. He did not appear intoxicated; quite a number of police officers had been forced to change their plans that Friday evening.
    ‘Okay,’ Wisting nodded. It was reassuring to hear Torunn Borg, would participate in the introductory phase of the enquiry. Efficient and thorough, she was always extremely professional. ‘We’ll hold a meeting when she arrives.’
    ‘I’ve initiated a search for your mobile phone,’ Hammer went on, as they climbed the stairs to the criminal investigation department.
    Wisting’s mobile phone was continually transmitting a radio signal and the telephone company could locate it through their base stations. The very thought made him both enthusiastic and optimistic.
    ‘It’s somewhere here in town,’ Hammer continued. ‘ Telenor is currently disconnecting individual antenna towers to home in more precisely.’
    ‘When can we expect a result?’
    Hammer shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fifteen to twenty minutes, I suppose. We just have to hope the car isn’t on the move.’
    Thanking him, Wisting entered his own office, where he switched on the computer. While he waited for it to set up there were a couple of phone calls he had to make. The first number he dialled was for Christine Thiis, the lawyer newly appointed as successor to Audun Vetti, who had moved up the ranks and left the police station behind.
    A distinguished defence lawyer from Oslo, she had switched career and relocated from the big city. Clearly the best-qualified applicant for the post, she had accepted the far less lucrative position as Assistant Chief of Police. Now she was in charge of all cases, and automatically assumed responsibility for the investigation.
    Christine Thiis answered after a single ring. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ she said, her tone tense and slightly irritated. ‘I need to know what’s going on.’
    Clearing his throat, Wisting spent three minutes explaining the case. He could envisage her as he spoke, cheeks tinged pink with annoyance, brown eyes alert.
    ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
    ‘Oh yes, fine thanks,’ Wisting reassured her.
    He could hear her leafing through papers; she had probably been taking notes while he spoke. ‘What do we have to go on?’ she asked.
    ‘We don’t have anything specific yet, but it’s still early days.’
    ‘Okay, then I won’t come in. The children are sleeping, and I can’t leave them on their own.’
    ‘We’re going to need a lawyer here,’ Wisting commented. ‘Do you want me to check if someone else can take responsibility for this case?’
    ‘No.’ The reply was blunt. ‘I’ve phoned my mother. She’s coming from Lillestrøm and will be here in a few hours. For the moment I’d like you to keep me posted by phone.’
    Assuring her he would be in touch if anything dramatic happened, Wisting wound up the conversation. The next person he needed to contact was Thomas Rønningen. Assuming the famous television talk show host’s phone number was unlisted, he called the television company, NRK . Introducing himself, he explained it was of critical importance that he be put in touch with Thomas Rønningen.
    The woman on night duty at the switchboard sounded experienced. Apologising, she