Sohlberg and the Gift Read Free Page A

their ultimate whereabouts during his first year in the police. But that was long ago. Sohlberg doubted if most detectives knew exactly where their paper and computer records wind up after their cases are considered “officially closed”.
     
    Sohlberg sighed and told the clerk:
     
    “The case closed three years ago.”
     
    “Did it include rape?” said the clerk on the phone. “Our department only keeps files on homicides that involve rape . . . and other sex crimes.”
     
    “No rape. Do you have any idea where I could find a simple homicide?”
     
    “No. But why do you want to find—”
     
    Sohlberg yelled “Gotta go!” and hanged up on the clerk. He wondered why he had spoken that morning to thirteen clerks who had not helped him at all and yet they had all taken the time to question him. Two audacious clerks had even demanded to know exactly who had authorized him to look at the Janne Eide case file.
     
    “Why?” he asked himself in a low whisper. “Why did I get into this mess?”
     
    Doubts began gnawing at Sohlberg’s conscience.
     
    Should I get mixed up with the Janne Eide case?
     
    Why did I tell her that I’d look into it?
     
    His female visitor that morning had sent him off into uncharted territories. Perhaps even perilous terrain. Maybe even a career-ending journey. But he was a man of his word. He had to keep his promise to the visitor—Astrid Isaksen.
     
    Sohlberg stood up from his desk chair. He looked around while he pretended to stretch. Homicide was strangely quiet. Every single detective was out of the Homicide and Major Crimes Department that frosty morning on calls or on vacation. Sohlberg grew increasingly nervous. The silence made him restless while he tried not to think about his morning visitor. He nevertheless kept a calm if not bored outward appearance thanks to the fact that he could work on the Janne Eide murder in the office without anyone snooping on him.
     
    One lonely temporary secretary shared the floor with him. She was too busy chewing gum and leafing through a tabloid magazine to notice anything or anyone including Sohlberg’s visitor. The pretty young temp was filling in for the vacationing Petra Sivertsen.
     
    This temp may be nice eye candy but she’s no Petra Sivertsen.
     
    Sohlberg wished that Petra Sivertsen had not taken such long Christmas vacations. The widowed blue-haired 40-year veteran ruled the Homicide roost from her perch as the Executive Assistant to the head of the Homicide Department. Fru Sivertsen had a photographic memory. She remembered almost every detail about every homicide case that the Oslo Police had investigated during the past three decades. She also knew everything about everyone who worked in the department.
     
    Fru Sivertsen . . . wish you were here with your beehive hairdo and prune-wrinkled face.
     
    Fru Sivertsen kept an eagle-eye on everything and everyone in Homicide. But not the temp. She didn’t even bother to look up when the somber Magnus Tjomsland walked past her.
     
    The lugubrious inspector nodded in Sohlberg’s direction. Tjomsland or Gloomy Gus was an excellent homicide detective. But he was infamous for his extreme pessimism. Prosecutors hesitated putting him on the stand for fear that his testimony would alienate judges. He was known for including unsolicited comments in his testimony such as:
     
    “The victim was shot in the head . . . yes . . . she was dead . . . the same way that all of us will die . . . sooner or later.”
     
    Sohlberg could not risk Magnus Tjomsland overhearing his phone calls for the Janne Eide case file. While Tjomsland removed his winter coat Sohlberg left Homicide. He walked down a hallway and looked around to ensure that no one was heading towards the men’s bathroom. Unlike most other bathrooms in the building this one in the north corner of the building had a lock on the door. Sohlberg sighed with relief when he realized that he was going to be left completely alone in the