Nemesis (39 page)

T
HE AFTERNOON RUSH-HOUR TRAFFIC HAD STARTED AND IN
Grønlandsleiret car-borne wage slaves slowly trooped past Police HQ. A hedge sparrow sat on a branch and saw the last leaf let go, lift off and flutter past the window of the meeting room on the fifth floor.

‘I’m no public speaker,’ Bjarne Møller began, and those who had heard Møller’s previous speeches nodded in assent.

A bottle of Opera sparkling wine costing seventy-nine kroner, fourteen plastic glasses – still in the packet – and everyone who had been involved in the Expeditor case waited for Møller to finish.

‘First of all, I would like to pass on warm greetings from Oslo City Council, the Mayor and the Chief Constable, and thank you all for a job well done. We were, as you know, under quite a lot of pressure when we realised that what we were dealing with was a serial bank robber . . .’

‘I didn’t know there was any other type!’ Ivarsson shouted and was rewarded with a ripple of laughter. He had positioned himself at the back of the room by the door from where he had an overview of the assembled officers.

‘I suppose you could say that.’ Møller smiled. ‘What I wanted to say was that . . . erm . . . as you know . . . we’re glad the whole thing is over. Before we take a glass of champagne I would like to say a special thank you to the person who should take most of the credit . . .’

Harry could feel the others looking at him. He hated this type of occasion. The boss’s speech, speeches to the boss, thanks to the clowns, the theatre of triviality.

‘Rune Ivarsson, who led the investigation. Congratulations, Rune.’

Round of applause.

‘Would you like to say a few words, Rune?’

‘No,’ Harry muttered between gritted teeth.

‘Yes, I would,’ Ivarsson said. The assembled officers craned their heads. He cleared his throat. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have the privilege to be able to say, as you did, Bjarne, that I am no public speaker. Because I am.’ More laughter. ‘And from my experience as a speaker at the successful conclusion of other cases, I know it is tiring to thank all and sundry. Police work is, as we all know, teamwork. Beate and Harry had the honour of scoring the goal, but the team did the groundwork.’

With disbelief, Harry watched the assembly nod in agreement.

‘So, thank you, everyone.’ Ivarsson passed his gaze over the officers, with the evident intention of making each individual feel noted and thanked. Then, more upbeat, he shouted: ‘Let’s crack open the champagne sharpish, shall we!’

Someone passed him the bottle and after giving it a good shake he started to loosen the cork.

‘I can’t be bothered with this,’ Harry whispered to Beate. ‘I’m off.’

She sent him a reproachful look.

‘Watch out!’ The cork popped and flew up to the ceiling. ‘Everyone take a glass!’

‘Sorry,’ Harry said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He walked through the office and collected his jacket. In the lift on the way down, he leaned against the wall. He had only slept a couple of hours in Albu’s chalet last night. At six in the morning, he had
driven to the railway station in Moss, found a telephone box and the number of Moss police and reported the body in the sea. He knew they would ask Oslo police for assistance. When he arrived in Oslo at eight, he sat in Kaffebrenneriet in Ullevålsveien and drank a
cortado
until he was sure the case had been given to others and he could go to his office in peace.

The lift doors slid open and Harry went out through the swing doors. Into the cold, clear autumn air of Oslo, reported to be more polluted than the air in Bangkok. He told himself there was no rush and forced himself to slow down. He didn’t want to think about anything today, just sleep and hope he wouldn’t dream. Hope tomorrow all the doors would have closed behind him.

All except one. The one which would never close, the one he didn’t
want
to close. He wasn’t going to think about that until tomorrow, though. Then he would walk with Halvorsen along the river Akerselva. Stop by the tree where they had found her. Reconstruct what happened for the hundredth time. Not because they had forgotten anything, but to get the feeling back, the smell in your nostrils. He was dreading it already.

He took the narrow path across the lawn. The short cut. He didn’t look at the grey prison building on the left. Where Raskol had presumably packed away the chess set for the time being. They would never find anything in Larkollen or anywhere else to point to the gypsy or any of his henchmen, even if Harry himself took on the case. They would have to keep going for as long as was necessary. The Expeditor was dead. Arne Albu was dead.
Justice is like water
, Ellen had once said.
It always finds a way.
They knew it wasn’t true, but at least it was a lie they could find solace in every now and then.

Harry heard the sirens. He had heard them for a while. The white cars with rotating blue lights passed him and disappeared down Grønlandsleiret. He tried not to think why they had been called out. Probably nothing to do with him. If it was, it would have to wait. Until tomorrow.

Tom Waaler realised he was too early. Residents of the pale yellow block did other things than sit at home during the day. He had just pressed the bottom button in the row. He turned to walk away when he caught the caged, metallic sound of a voice: ‘Hello?’

Waaler spun round. ‘Hello, is that . . . ?’ He looked at the nameplate beside the button. ‘Astrid Monsen?’

Twenty seconds later he was on the landing looking at a scared, freckled face peering up at him from behind a security chain.

‘May I come in, frøken Monsen?’ he asked, baring his teeth in a David Hasselhoff special.

‘Rather you didn’t,’ she squeaked. She probably hadn’t seen
Baywatch
.

He gave her his ID.

‘I’ve come to ask if there is anything we ought to know about Anna Bethsen’s death. We’re not so sure it was a suicide any more. I understand a colleague of mine has been conducting a private investigation and I was wondering if you had spoken to him.’

Tom Waaler had heard that animals, especially predators, can smell fear. It didn’t surprise him. What surprised him was that not
everyone
could smell fear. Fear had the same transitory, bitter odour that cow piss had.

‘What are you frightened of, frøken Monsen?’

Her pupils dilated even further. Waaler’s antennae were whirring now.

‘It’s very important you help us,’ Waaler said. ‘The most important aspect of the relationship between the police and the general public is honesty, don’t you agree?’

Her eyes went walkabout and he took a risk: ‘I believe my colleague may be involved in the case somehow.’

The chin dropped and she sent him a helpless look. Bingo.

They sat down in the kitchen. The brown walls were covered in
children’s drawings. Waaler guessed she must have been an auntie to loads of kids. He took notes as she talked.

‘I heard a crashing noise in the corridor, and when I went out a man was on all fours on the landing outside my door. He had obviously had a fall so I asked him if he needed any help, but I didn’t really get a proper answer. I went upstairs and rang Anna Bethsen’s bell, but no answer there, either. When I went back down I helped him to stand up. All the things from his pockets were strewn everywhere. I found his wallet with his name and address. Then I helped him into the street, hailed an unoccupied taxi and gave the driver the address. That’s all I know.’

‘And you’re sure it’s the same person who visited you later? Harry Hole, that is?’

She gulped. And nodded.

‘That’s fine, Astrid. How did you know he’d been at Anna’s?’

‘I heard him arrive.’

‘You
heard
him arrive and you
heard
him go into Anna’s?’

‘My study is right next to the corridor. You can hear everything that goes on there. This block’s quiet; not much happens here.’

‘Did you hear any other movements near Anna’s flat?’

She hesitated. ‘I thought I heard someone creeping up to Anna’s after the policeman had gone. But it sounded like a woman. High heels, you see. They make a different sound. But I think it was fru Gundersen on the third.’

‘Oh?’

‘She usually creeps in when she’s had a few at Gamle Major.’

‘Did you hear any shots?’

Astrid shook her head. ‘The walls
between
flats are well insulated.’

‘Do you remember the number of the taxi?’

‘No.’

‘What was the time when you heard the crashing in the corridor?’

‘A quarter past eleven.’

‘Are you absolutely sure, Astrid?’

She nodded. Took a deep breath.

Waaler was surprised by the sudden firmness in her voice as she said: ‘He killed her.’

He could feel his pulse quicken. A tad. ‘What makes you say that, Astrid?’

‘I knew something was wrong when I heard Anna was supposed to have committed suicide that night. There was that person lying dead drunk on the stairs, wasn’t there, and she didn’t answer the door. I considered contacting the police, but then he came here . . .’ She looked at Tom Waaler as if she was drowning and he was a lifeguard. ‘The first thing he asked me was if I recognised him. And of course I knew what he meant by that.’

‘What did he mean by that, Astrid?’

Her voice rose half an octave. ‘A murderer asking the sole witness if she recognises him? What do you think? He came to warn me what would happen if I gave him away. I did what he wanted. I told him I had never seen him.’

‘But you said he came back later to ask you about Arne Albu?’

‘Yes, he wanted me to foist the blame on someone else. You must understand how frightened I was. I pretended I didn’t realise and played along . . .’ He could hear sobs begin to catch hold of her vocal cords.

‘But now you would be willing to tell us about this? In a court of law, on oath as well?’

‘Yes, if you’re . . . if I know I’m safe.’

The ping of an e-mail arriving sounded from another room. Waaler checked his watch. 4.30. He would have to move fast, this evening if possible.

At 4.35, Harry unlocked the door to his apartment and instantly realised he had forgotten that he and Halvorsen had arranged a bike session at the gym. He kicked off his shoes, went into the sitting room and pressed PLAY on the flashing answer machine. It was Rakel.

‘Court makes its decision on Wednesday. I’ve booked tickets for
Thursday. We’ll be in Gardemoen at eleven. Oleg asked if you could come and pick us up.’

Us
. She had said the decision would have immediate effect. If they lost, there would be no
us
to pick up, just someone who had lost everything.

She hadn’t left a number for him to ring back, to be told it was all over and she wouldn’t need to keep looking over her shoulder any more. He sighed and slumped into the green armchair. Closed his eyes and saw her there. Rakel. The white sheet which was so cold it burned his skin, the curtains which barely moved against the open window and let in a strip of moonlight which fell on her naked arm. He ran the tips of his fingers so gently across her eyes, her hands, her narrow shoulders, her long, slim neck, her legs entangled in his. He felt her calm, warm breath against his neck, heard the breathing from the sleeping body imperceptibly change rhythm as he gently caressed the small of her back. Her hips which also imperceptibly began to move towards his as if she had only been hibernating, waiting.

At 5.00, Rune Ivarsson picked up the phone in his Østerås home to tell the caller that his family had just sat down to eat. Meals were holy in their house; would they mind ringing back later?

‘Apologies for the disturbance, Ivarsson. This is Tom Waaler.’

‘Hi, Tom,’ Ivarsson said with a half-chewed potato in his mouth. ‘Listen . . .’

‘I need a warrant for the arrest of Harry Hole. Along with a warrant to search his apartment. Plus five people to do the search. I have reason to believe Hole is implicated in a murder case in a very unfortunate way.’

The potato went down the wrong way.

‘It’s urgent,’ Waaler said. ‘There’s a risk that evidence will be destroyed.’

‘Bjarne Møller,’ was all Ivarsson could splutter between coughing fits.

‘Right, I know strictly speaking this is Møller’s responsibility,’ Waaler said. ‘But I bet you agree with me that he is prejudiced. He and Harry have worked together for ten years.’

‘You’ve got a point. But we had another job to do last thing today, so my lads have their hands tied.’

‘Rune . . .’ This was Ivarsson’s wife. He was reluctant to provoke her; he had arrived home twenty minutes late after the champagne celebration and then the alarm had gone off at the Grensen branch of Den norske Bank.

‘I’ll get back to you, Waaler. I’ll ring the police solicitors and see what I can do.’ He cleared his throat and added in a voice loud enough for his wife to hear: ‘After we’ve eaten.’

Harry woke up to hear banging on the door. His brain automatically concluded that the person had been banging for a while and was sure Harry was at home. He looked at his watch. 5.55. He had been dreaming about Rakel. He stretched and rose from the chair.