by Jo Nesbo
She looked as she always had. As she always would. The dark hair, the gentleness in her brown eyes, the slim neck. Sod her. She was so beautiful it hurt.
‘Harry,’ she said.
‘Rakel.’
‘Your face. I saw it in church. What happened?’
‘Nothing. They say it will heal fine,’ he lied.
‘Come in and I’ll make some coffee.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I have a taxi waiting down on the road. Is Oleg here?’
‘In his room. Do you want to see him?’
‘Another day. How long are you staying?’
‘Three days. Maybe four. Or five. We’ll see.’
‘Can I see you both soon? Would that be OK?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t know if I did the right thing.’
Harry smiled. ‘Well, who knows what that is?’
‘In church, I mean. We left before we … got in the way. You had other things to think about. Anyway, we went for Olav’s sake. You know that he and Oleg … well, they got on. Two reserved personalities. You can take nothing for granted.’
Harry nodded.
‘Oleg talks about you a lot, Harry. You mean more to him than you ever realised.’ She looked down. ‘More than I ever realised, too, perhaps.’
Harry cleared his throat. ‘So everything here is unchanged since …?’
Rakel nodded quickly so he was spared from having to complete the impossible sentence. Since the Snowman had tried to kill them in this very house.
Harry gazed at her. He had only wanted to see her, hear her voice. Feel her eyes on him. He hadn’t wanted to ask her. He cleared his throat again. ‘There’s something I have to ask you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Can we go into the kitchen for a minute?’
They went in. He sat at the table opposite her. Explained slowly and at some length. She listened without interrupting.
‘He wants you to visit him at the hospital. He wants to ask you for forgiveness.’
‘Why should I agree?’
‘You have to answer that one for yourself, Rakel. But he hasn’t got much time left.’
‘I’ve read you can live for a long time with that disease.’
‘He hasn’t got much time left,’ Harry repeated. ‘Think about it. You don’t need to answer now.’
He waited. Saw her blink. Saw her eyes fill, heard the almost noiseless crying. She gasped for breath.
‘What would you do, Harry?’
‘I would say no. But then I’m a pretty bad human being.’
Her laughter mixed with the tears. And Harry wondered at how much it was possible to miss a sound, a certain oscillation of the air. How long you can yearn for a certain laugh.
‘I need to be off now,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I have three meetings left.’
‘Left? Before what?’
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow.’
Harry got up. He had heard music from the first floor. Slayer. Slipknot.
After getting into the taxi and giving the next address, he thought about her question. Before what? Before he wanted to have everything finished. To be free. Maybe.
It was a short drive.
‘This one might take a bit longer,’ he said.
He breathed in, opened the gate and went to the door of the fairy-tale house.
He thought he could see the turquoise eyes following him from the kitchen window.
92
Free Fall
MIKAEL BELLMAN STOOD INSIDE THE ENTRANCE DOOR OF Oslo District Prison watching Sigurd Altman and a prison officer sauntering towards the counter.
‘Checking out?’ the officer behind the counter asked.
‘Yes,’ said Altman, handing over a form.
‘Anything from the minibar?’
The second officer chuckled at what was undoubtedly a stock-in-trade at releases.
Personal effects were unlocked from a cupboard and returned with a broad smile. ‘Hope your stay met expectations, herr Altman, and that we see you again soon.’
Bellman held the door open for Altman. They walked down the stairs together.
‘The press are outside,’ Bellman said. ‘So let’s go through the culvert. Krohn’s waiting for you in a car at the rear of Police HQ.’
‘Master of bluffs,’ Altman said with a barbed smile.
Bellman didn’t ask which he was alluding to. He had other questions. The final ones. And three hundred metres within which to have them answered. The lock buzzed, and he pushed open the door to the culvert. ‘Now the deal is done I thought you might be able to tell me a couple of things.’
‘Shoot, Bellman.’
‘Like why you didn’t correct Harry as soon as you realised he was going to arrest you?’
Altman shrugged. ‘I considered the misunderstanding a priceless treat. I understood entirely, of course. What was not understandable was that the arrest would take place in Ytre Enebakk. Why there? And when there’s something you don’t understand, it’s best to keep your trap shut. So I did, until the blinding light, until I saw the whole picture.’
‘And what did the whole picture tell you?’
‘That I was in a see-saw situation.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I knew about the conflict between Kripos and Crime Squad. And I saw it gave me an option. Being in a see-saw situation means that you’re in a position to apply weight to one side or the other.’
‘But why didn’t you try the same deal with Harry that you did with me?’
‘In a see-saw situation you always turn to the losing party. That’s the party which is more desperate, more willing to pay for what you have to offer. It’s a simple gambling theory.’
‘Why were you so sure that Harry wasn’t on the losing side?’
‘I wasn’t sure, but there was another factor. I had begun to get to know Harry. He’s not like you, Bellman, a man of compromises. He couldn’t care less about personal prestige, he only wants to catch the bad boys. All the bad boys. He would have seen things in the following way: if Tony was the main actor, I was the director. And therefore I should not get off lightly. I reckoned that a career man like you would see things differently. And Johan Krohn agreed with me. You would see the personal gain in being the person who caught the murderer. You knew that people were keen to know who did it, who physically performed the killing, not who did the thinking. If a film flops, it’s great for a director to have Tom Cruise in the main role because he’s the one people will slaughter. Audiences and the press like to have things simple, and my crime is indirect, complicated. A court of law would undoubtedly have handed down a life sentence, but this case isn’t about courts of law, but about politics. If the press and the people are happy, the Ministry of Justice is happy, so everyone can go home more or less happy. Getting away with a slap on the wrist, maybe a suspended sentence, is a cheap price to pay.’
‘Not for everyone,’ Bellman said.
Altman laughed. The echo drowned his footsteps. ‘Take some advice from someone who knows. Let it go. Don’t let it eat you up. Injustice is like the weather. If you can’t live with it, move. Injustice is not part of the system’s machinery. It is the machinery.’
‘I’m not talking about me, Altman. I can live with it.’
‘And I’m not talking about you, either, Bellman. I’m talking about the person who can’t live with it.’
Bellman nodded. For his part, he certainly could live with the situation. There had been telephone calls from the Ministry. Not from the minister himself, of course, but the feedback could be interpreted in only one way. That they were happy. That this would have positive consequences, both for Kripos and for him personally.
They went up the stairs and into the daylight.
Johan Krohn stepped out of his blue Audi and extended a hand to Sigurd Altman as they crossed the road.
Bellman stood watching the released man and his counsel until the Audi disappe
ared round the bend to Tøyen.
‘Don’t you say hi when you come to see us, Bellman?’
Bellman turned. It was Gunnar Hagen. He was on the pavement across the road, no jacket, arms folded.
Bellman went over, and they shook hands.
‘Anyone spreading gossip about me?’ Bellman asked.
‘Here at Crime Squad everything is brought to light,’ Hagen said with a broad smile, shivering and rubbing his hands for warmth. ‘By the way, I have a meeting with the Ministry of Justice at the back end of next month.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Bellman said, unconcerned. He knew very well what the meeting would be about. Restructuring. Downsizing. Transfer of responsibility for murder cases. What he didn’t know was what Hagen meant with his allusion to everything coming to light.
‘But you know all about the meeting, don’t you.’ Hagen said. ‘We’ve both been requested to forward a recommendation for the future organisation of murder investigations. The deadline’s approaching.’
‘I hardly think they’ll lay much weight on our one-sided presentations,’ Bellman said, looking at Hagen and trying to interpret where he was going. ‘I suppose we just have to give our opinions, in the name of tolerance.’
‘Unless we both believe that the present structure is preferable to all the investigations being placed under one roof,’ Hagen said through chattering teeth.
Bellman chortled. ‘You’re not wearing enough clothes, Hagen.’
‘You could be right. But I also know what I would think about a new murder unit being led by a policeman who had used his position to let his future wife go free after she had been smuggling drugs. Even though witnesses had pointed her out.’
Bellman stopped breathing. Felt his grip slacken. Felt gravity taking hold of him, his hair rising, his stomach falling. This was the nightmare he had been having. Nerve-jangling in sleep, brutal in reality; the fall without any rope. The solo climber’s fall.
‘Looks like you’re feeling the cold, too, Bellman.’
‘Fuck you, Hagen.’
‘Me?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Want? Long term, I want the force to be spared yet another public scandal calling into doubt the integrity of the regular policeman. As far as restructuring is concerned …’ Hagen’s head receded between his shoulders and he stamped his feet on the ground. ‘Now, the Ministry of Justice might want murder investigation resources all in the same pot, quite irrespective of the leadership question. If I were to be asked to lead such a unit I would, of course, consider the offer. But, in general, I think things are functioning well as they are. By and large, murderers receive their punishment, don’t they. So if my counterpart in this matter shares that view, I will be prepared to continue with investigations both in Bryn and here at Police HQ. What do you think, Bellman?’
Mikael Bellman felt the jerk as the rope caught him after all. Felt the harness tighten, felt himself being torn into two, felt his back unable to cope with the strain and it broke, the mixture of pain and paralysis. He dangled, helpless and dizzy, somewhere between heaven and earth. But he was alive.
‘Let me think about it, Hagen.’
‘Think away. But don’t take too much time. Deadline, you know. We have to coordinate.’
Bellman stood watching Hagen’s back as he loped to the entrance of Police HQ. Then turned and stared over the rooftops of Grønland. Studied the town. His town.
93
The Answer
HARRY WAS STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LIVING-ROOM floor, looking around, when the phone rang.
‘Rakel here. What are you doing?’
‘Examining what’s left,’ he said. ‘After a person dies.’
‘And?’
‘There’s a lot. And yet not much. Sis has said what she wants, and tomorrow some guy’s coming to buy up the goods and chattels. He intimated he would pay fifty thousand to buy the lot, lock, stock and barrel. And he’ll clean up after him. That’s … er …’ Harry couldn’t find the word.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘It was like that for me when my father died. His things, which had been so important, so irreplaceable, seemed to lose their meaning. It was as if he alone was the one who had given them value.’
‘Or perhaps it’s those of us left realising we have to clear up. To burn. To start afresh.’ Harry went into the kitchen. Looked at the photograph hanging under the kitchen cupboard. A photo from Sofies gate. Oleg and Rakel.
‘I hope you said goodbye properly,’ Rakel said. ‘Saying goodbye is important. Especially for those left behind.’
‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘We never properly said hello, he and I. I let him down.’
‘How was that?’
‘He asked me to dispatch him. I refused.’
The line went quiet. Harry listened to the background noise. Airport noises.
Then her voice was back. ‘Do you think you should have helped him on his way?’
‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I do. I think so now.’
‘Don’t think about it. It’s too late.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes, Harry. It’s too late.’
The line went quiet again. Harry could hear a nasal voice announcing boarding for a flight to Amsterdam.
‘So you didn’t want to meet him?’
‘I can’t do it, Harry. I suppose I’m a bad human being, too.’
‘We’ll have to try to do better next time then.’
He could hear her smiling. ‘Can we do that?’
‘It’s never too late to try. Say hello to Oleg from me.’
‘Harry …’
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
Harry stood looking out of the kitchen window after she had rung off. Then he went upstairs and started to pack.
The doctor was waiting for Harry when he came out of the toilet. They continued down the last stretch of the corridor towards the prison officer.
‘His condition is stable,’ she said. ‘We might transfer him back to prison. What’s the purpose of this visit?’
‘I want to thank him for helping us to clear up a case. And to get back to him about a wish he had expressed.’
Harry took off his jacket, gave it to the officer and held out his arms while he was searched.
‘Five minutes. No more. OK?’
Harry nodded.
‘I’ll come in with you,’ said the prison guard who was unable to take his eyes off Harry’s disfigured cheek.
Harry arched an eyebrow.
‘Rules for civilian visits,’ the officer said. ‘It has come to our ears that you’ve resigned from the force.’
Harry shrugged.
The man had got out of bed and was sitting on a chair by the window.
‘We found him,’ Harry said, pulling a chair close. The prison guard stood by the door, but was within hearing distance. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘I kept my part of the bargain,’ the man said. ‘What about yours?’
‘Rakel didn’t want to come.’
The man’s face didn’t move a muscle, he just shrank as if hit by an ice-cold gust of wind.
‘We found a bottle of medicine in the chest at Prince Charming’s cabin. I had a drop of the contents analysed yesterday. Ketanome. Same as he used on his victims. Do you know the drug? Fatal in large doses.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I was given some of it myself recently. In a way, I liked it. But then I like all kinds of drugs. Only you know that, don’t you? I told you what I did in the toilet at The Landmark in Hong Kong.’
The Snowman eyed Harry. Glanced cautiously at the prison officer and then back at Harry.
‘Oh yes,’ he said in a monotone. ‘In the cubicle at the end on …’
‘… the right,’ Harry said. ‘Well, as I said, thanks. Don’t look in the mirror.’
‘Same applies to you,’ the man said and offered him a bony, white hand.
When Harry was shown out at the end of
the corridor, he turned and caught a glimpse of the Snowman tottering towards them with the guard. Before going into the toilet.
94
Glass Noodles
‘HI, HOLE.’ KAJA SMILED UP AT HIM.
She was sitting in the bar, on a low stool, on her hands. Her gaze was intense, her lips blood red, her cheeks glowing. It struck him that he had not seen her wearing make-up before. And it was not true what he had once believed, in his naivety, that a woman cannot be made more beautiful with cosmetics. She was wearing a plain black dress. A short necklace of gold and white pearls rested against her collarbone and when she breathed they reflected soft light.
‘Been waiting long?’ Harry asked.
‘No,’ she said, getting up before he had a chance to sit down, pulling him over, laying her head on his shoulder and holding him like that. ‘I’m just a bit cold.’
She didn’t care about other people in the bar watching her, she didn’t let go, instead she stuffed both hands under his suit jacket, stroking his shirted back up and down to get them warm. Harry heard a discreet cough, looked up and received a friendly nod from a man with body language that said head waiter.
‘Our table is ready,’ she said.
‘Table? I thought we were only having a drink.’
‘We have to celebrate the end of the case, don’t we? I ordered the food beforehand. Something very special.’
They were shown to a table by the window in the fully occupied restaurant. A waiter lit the candles, poured apple cider into the glasses, put the bottle back in the ice bucket and left.
She raised her glass. ‘Skâl.’
‘To what?’
‘To Crime Squad continuing as before. To you and me catching bad men. To being here now. Together.’
They drank. Harry set his glass down on the cloth. Moved it. The base had left a wet mark. ‘Kaja …’
‘I’ve got something for you, Harry. Tell me what your greatest wish is right now.’
‘Listen, Kaja …’
‘What?’ she said, breathless, and leaned forward, eager to hear.
‘I told you I would be on my travels again. I’m leaving tomorrow.’
