Bienaventurados los sedientos Blessed Are Those Who Thirst by Anne Holt

Author:Anne Holt [Holt, Anne]
Language: spa
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense, Mystery & Detective, General, Fiction, Thrillers
ISBN: 9788499183602
Publisher: Roca Editorial
Published: 2012-01-01T07:57:17+00:00

TUESDAY, JUNE 8

No one was drinking coffee any longer; they were all drinking cola. Just the thought of letting a hot drink run down their dry throats was repellent. A beer stall in the foyer would have been a gold mine. The little refrigerator in the lunchroom emitted unhappy moans and sighs at all the plastic bottles stacked inside, unable even to chill before being taken out again.

That morning, Hanne Wilhelmsen had introduced iced tea to the staff of Section A 2.11. At seven o’clock, without a single hour’s sleep, she went around scouring out all the ingrained dirt on the coffee machines. She then made fourteen liters in total of extremely strong tea, mixing it with heaps of sugar and two whole bottles of lemon essence, in an enormous steel home brew container “borrowed” from the room where confiscated items were stored. Finally, she filled the pot to the brim with crushed ice begged from the canteen. It was a great success. For the rest of the day, they all walked about with canteen tumblers brimful, slurping down iced tea, amazed no one had thought of this before.

“Thank God I’ve checked all these out.” Erik Henriksen sighed in relief as he handed Hanne Wilhelmsen a bundle containing twelve tips about the Kristine Håverstad case.

It was the group containing lawyers and police. The one they had laughed at. The one she thank God had asked him to take care of. It took a quarter of an hour to read them all.

One tip-off stood out from the others and was repeated twice: “The artist’s impression in Dagbladet on June first has a certain resemblance to Cato Iversen. His face is slightly thinner, but on the other hand he has been behaving oddly for a while now. As I work beside him, I’d prefer to remain anonymous. We both work in the Immigration Directorate, where he can be reached during normal office hours.”

“Bull’s-eye,” Hanne Wilhelmsen mumbled, grabbing the other sheet of paper Erik expectantly handed her.

“I was struck by how much the sketch looked like my neighbor Cato Iversen,” the tip said. “He lives at Ulveveien 3, Kolsås, and works in the Immigration Directorate, as far as I know. He has been away from home at various times. He is unmarried.”

The letter was signed, accompanied by a robust request to allow the name anonymity.

Thirty seconds later, Hanne Wilhelmsen was standing in Håkon Sand’s office.

“I need a blue sheet.”

“For which case?”

“This case. Look here.”

She gave him both reports, but his reaction was quite different from what she expected. Calmly, he read them through a couple of times before returning them.

“Now you must listen to my theory,” she began, slightly confused by the attorney’s devastating composure. “Have you heard about signature crimes?”

Of course he had, he read the textbooks as well.

“The murderer leaves behind some kind of trademark, doesn’t he? The mark becomes known, through the newspapers or as the subject of gossip. Then there’s somebody who wants to get rid of somebody else, and who therefore disguises ‘his’ .

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