Blessed Are Those Who Thirst by Anne Holt Page A

supporting her head with her elbow, and stroking a forefinger slowly across her partner’s right breast.
    “What would you do if someone raped me?” she asked suddenly.
    “Raped you? Why would anybody rape you? You’re not careless enough to get raped.”
    “Honestly, darling. You really must give that up. It has nothing to do with being careless when a girl gets raped.”
    “Oh, no? Why have none of our friends been raped, then? Why are there continual reports in the newspapers about girls raped in the most suspect places in the city, at the most peculiar times? If you’re careful, you won’t get raped.”
    Hanne Wilhelmsen was not ready for an argument, though her partner’s lack of insight irritated her. She felt much too happy to quarrel. She definitely did not want to. Instead she leaned forward, letting her tongue glide in wet circles around Cecilie’s areola, painstakingly, so as not to touch the actual nipple. Suddenly she stopped.
    “Seriously,” she insisted. “What would you do? How would you feel?”
    The other woman sat up slowly, supporting herself with her arms. She half turned to face her. A green light from the display on the gigantic stereo system made her features almost ethereal.
    “Now you look like the most beautiful ghost in the world,” Hanne said softly, laughing. “The world’s absolutely most beautiful ghost.”
    She snatched at a lock of her long pale blonde hair and curled it several times around her finger.
    “Please,” she asked once more. “Can’t you say what you would do?”
    Finally Cecilie realized she was serious. She straightened her back ever so slightly, as though it would help her ability to think. Then she said, loud and clear, and with great seriousness: “I would kill the guy.”
    She stopped abruptly, considering for a further ten seconds.
    “Yep, I would most certainly murder him.”
    It was precisely the response Hanne wanted. She sat up too and kissed her partner tenderly.
    “Right answer.” She smiled. “Now we must sleep.”

FRIDAY, JUNE 4
    F inn Håverstad rarely ventured into the east end of the city. His dental practice was situated in a villa in the Frogner district: enormous, old, and expensive of upkeep, so no one could afford to live there. The ground floor accommodated a firm of architects, one of the few that had managed to survive the lengthy financial crisis in the profession. On the first floor, three dentists had their exam rooms in bright, attractive premises flooded with sunshine and fresh air.
    His residence was situated in Volvat. Centrally located but at the same time rural, on a site measuring around half an acre. Although the dental practice had been extremely profitable during the last fifteen years, it began with the good fortune of receiving an advance on his inheritance that had placed him in a position to buy the property in 1978. His daughter had loved the house. He could walk to his work in twenty minutes—something, all the same, he never actually did.
    It smelled different on the other side of the city. Not exactly dirtier, perhaps not meaner either, but . . . it had a stronger smell. Exhaust fumes lay thicker, and the city had a more pungent odor, as though it had forgotten to put on deodorant in just this spot. Moreover, the level of noise here was far louder. He did not feel comfortable.
    It was typically Norwegian to situate police headquarters in the most deplorable district of the city. The state had probably bought the site for next to nothing. Parking provision was dreadful too. He drove his BMW gingerly into an empty gap at the foot of the long incline leading up to the actual building. He had to wait for tenminutes before there was a parking space. A youth slammed aggressively out of an opening in an old Amazon, grazing the corner of the wall on the bend as he turned out of the garage building. A heavily scraped yellow-and-black patch on the wall indicated the boy was not the first to do so. Paying due