Blessed Are Those Who Thirst by Anne Holt Page B

attention to the danger, the dentist eased his car into place and left it reluctantly when he saw he was already a quarter of an hour behind schedule.
    She didn’t mention he was eighteen minutes late. On the whole, she appeared cheerful and accommodating, in fact downright pleasant. He started to feel extremely insecure.
    “It won’t take long,” she said reassuringly. “Coffee? Or maybe tea?”
    Hanne Wilhelmsen fetched coffee for both of them and lit a cigarette for herself after his assurance it did not inconvenience him in the least.
    For a frighteningly long period of time, she remained sitting, blowing cigarette smoke into the room, following the exhalation with a lingering look and keeping totally silent. He moved restlessly in his chair, partly because he found it uncomfortable. In the end he could no longer endure the silence.
    “Is there anything in particular you wanted from me?” he said, feeling surprised at how submissive he sounded.
    The detective inspector suddenly stared at him, as though she hadn’t known until now that he was sitting there.
    “Oh, yes,” she replied, almost jauntily, “there is something in particular I wanted of you. First . . .”
    Looking at him with a quizzical expression, she stubbed out her cigarette and, obviously receiving the answer she was looking for when he gesticulated with one arm, immediately lit another.
    “I really ought to give it up,” she said confidingly. “I’ve a boss here who has smoked like this for thirty years. You should hear him cough! Shush!”
    Her posture stiffened as she tilted her head. Far down the corridor they could hear a rattling fit of coughing.
    “There you hear it,” she said triumphantly. “This stuff is really dangerous!”
    Gazing disapprovingly at the half-full pack of twenty, she fell into something of a reverie.
    “And so there are the two of us, then,” she said abruptly, so loudly he jumped in his seat. Noticing that he had begun to sweat, he stroked his upper lip as discreetly as possible with his index finger.
    “First the formalities,” she said indifferently, hammering down his name, address, and date of birth as quickly as he stated them. “Next I have to warn you about the following matters: you must tell the police the truth; it is a punishable offense to make a false declaration to the police; you are in fact a witness . . .”
    She smiled, and their eyes met again.
    “. . . and not the accused in a criminal case. They can actually lie as much as they want! Unfair, really, don’t you think?”
    The large head nodded up and down. At that very moment, he would have agreed with this woman about anything at all. She was scarier than she appeared. The first time he met her, the previous Monday, he had noticed in passing she was attractive. Quite tall and slim but with generous hips and full breasts. Now she seemed more like an Amazon. He stroked his finger under his nose once more, but it did not help. Digging out a freshly ironed pocket handkerchief, he wiped both his temples.
    “Are you feeling hot in here? I apologize. This building is completely unsuitable for the kind of temperatures we’re experiencing just now.”
    She didn’t make any move to open the window.
    “However,” she said instead, “you have no need to give evidence. You can refuse. But I don’t suppose you’ll do that?”
    He shook his head so vehemently he had a feeling the drops of sweat were splashing.
    “That’s fine,” she established. “We’ll make a start.”
    For fully half an hour, the detective inspector posed completely unthreatening questions. When he had arrived at his daughter’s apartment last Sunday. Where she had been sitting at that time, quite precisely. Whether she had been wearing any clothes. Whether there were any items there he might have disposed of. Whether he had noticed anything unusual apart from his daughter’s condition—smells, sounds, or anything of that nature. About how his daughter was