by Jo Nesbo
‘Mm. Have you thought this through, Rakel?’
She sighed, closed her eyes and nestled the top of her head against his shoulder.
‘No. And yes. It feels a bit like jumping out of a burning house. Falling is better than burning.’
‘At least until you land.’
‘I’ve come to realise that falling and living have certain things in common. For a start, both are very temporary states of being.’
They sat in silence looking at each other while listening to the irregular rhythm of the engine. Then Harry put a finger under Rakel’s chin and kissed her. She had the feeling that she was losing her grip, losing her balance, and her composure, and there was only one thing she could cling on to, and he made her burn and fall at the same time.
She didn’t know how long they had been kissing when he gently freed himself from her embrace.
‘I’ll leave the door open,’ she whispered.
She should have known it was stupid.
She should have known it was dangerous.
But she hadn’t thought for weeks. She was tired of thinking.
33
Sunday Night. Joseph’s Blessing.
There were almost no cars and no people in the car park outside the custody block.
Harry switched off the ignition and the engine died with a death rattle.
He checked his watch: 23.10. Fifty minutes left.
The echo of his footsteps rebounded off Telje, Torp amp; Aasen’s exterior brick walls.
Harry took two deep breaths before he entered.
There was no-one behind the reception desk and there was total silence in the room. He detected a movement to his right. The back of a chair rotated slowly in the duty office. Harry caught sight of half a face with a liver-coloured scar running down like a tear from an eye staring blankly at him. Then the chair returned to its former position and turned its back on him.
Groth. He was alone. Strange. Or perhaps not.
Harry found the key to cell number nine behind the reception desk to the left. Then he walked to the cells. There were voices coming from the warders’ room, but conveniently enough number nine was situated so that he didn’t have to pass it.
Harry put the key into the lock and turned. He waited for a second; he could hear a movement inside. Then he pulled open the door.
The man staring up at him from the bunk didn’t look like a killer. Harry knew that didn’t mean a thing. Sometimes they looked like what they were; sometimes they didn’t.
This one was good-looking, clean cut, solidly built, short dark hair and blue eyes that may once have been like his mother’s, but over the years had become his own. Harry would soon be 40, Sven Sivertsen was over 50. Harry felt sure that most people would have guessed the other way round.
Sivertsen, for one reason or another, was wearing the red prison working trousers and jacket.
‘Good evening, Sivertsen. I’m Inspector Hole. Would you mind standing up and turning round.’
Sivertsen raised an eyebrow. Harry dangled the handcuffs in front of him.
‘It’s the rules.’
Sivertsen got up without a word, and Harry clicked the handcuffs into place and pushed him back down on the bunk.
There were no chairs to sit on in the cell. There was no personal property that could be used to harm yourself or others. In here the state had a monopoly on punishment. Harry leaned against the wall and pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.
‘You’ll set off the smoke alarm,’ Sivertsen said. ‘They’re extremely sensitive.’
His voice was surprisingly high-pitched.
‘That’s true. You’ve been here before, haven’t you.’
Harry lit the cigarette, stood up on tiptoes, whipped off the alarm cover and took out the batteries.
‘And what do the rules say about that?’ Sven Sivertsen asked acidly.
‘Don’t remember. Smoke?’
‘What’s this? The good-cop trick?’
‘No.’ Harry smiled. ‘We’ve got so much on you that we don’t need to do any play-acting. We don’t need to clear up details. We don’t need the corpse of Lisbeth Barli. We don’t need a confession. We simply don’t need your help, Sivertsen.’
‘Why are you here then?’
‘Curiosity. We deal with deep-sea creatures here and I wanted to see what kind of creature we had got on the hook this time.’
Sivertsen snorted a laugh.
‘A fanciful image, but you’ll be disappointed, Inspector Hole. It might feel like something big, but I’m afraid this one’s just an old boot.’
‘Would you mind lowering your voice a bit.’
‘Are you frightened someone will hear us?’
‘Just do as I say. You seem very calm for someone who’s been arrested for four murders.’
‘I’m innocent.’
‘Mm. Let me give you a brief resume of the situation, Sivertsen. In your briefcase, we find a red diamond that is not exactly an everyday item, but has been found on the bodies of several of the victims. Plus a Ceska Zbrojovka, a relatively rare weapon in Norway, but the same make as the gun used to murder Barbara Svendsen. According to your statement, you were in Prague on the dates the murders were committed, but we’ve checked with the airlines and it turns out that you were on a flying visit to Oslo on all of the five relevant dates, including yesterday. How are your alibis for five o’clock on all of the days in question, Sivertsen?’
Sven Sivertsen did not reply.
‘Thought so. So don’t you innocent me, Sivertsen.’
‘As if I care what you think, Hole. Was there anything else?’
Harry, his back against the wall, slid down into a crouch position.
‘Yes. Do you know Tom Waaler?’
‘Who?’
It came quickly. Too quickly. Harry took his time, blew smoke up at the ceiling. The expression on Sven Sivertsen’s face was one of abject boredom, but Harry had met killers with a hard shell before – and with a psyche that was like a shaking jelly inside. Nonetheless, he’d also met the deep-frozen variety who were shell right the way through. He wondered how tough this one actually was.
‘You don’t need to pretend that you don’t remember the name of the man who arrested and questioned you, Sivertsen. I wonder if you already knew him?’
Harry noted a tiny little hesitation in his eyes.
‘You’ve been done for smuggling before. The weapon that was found in your case has a particular mark on it made by a machine used to grind away the serial number. In recent years we have found the same marks on more and more unregistered guns in Oslo. We think there is a ring of smugglers responsible.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Have you been smuggling arms for Waaler, Sivertsen?’
‘Jesus, do you guys do that kind of thing, too?’
Sven Sivertsen didn’t even blink. However, a little bead of sweat was making its way down from his dense hairline.
‘Warm, Sivertsen?’
‘Comfortable.’
‘Mm.’
Harry got up, went over to the basin and with his back to Sivertsen he loosened a white plastic beaker from the container and turned the tap on full.
‘Do you know what, Sivertsen? It didn’t occur to me until a colleague told me about the way Waaler arrested you. Then I remembered how Waaler reacted when I said that Beate Lonn had found out who you were. Normally, he’s a cold sod, but he went ashen and for a while seemed almost stunned. At that time I thought it was because he realised we’d been outmanoeuvred and we might get landed with another dead body. But when Lonn told me about Waaler’s two guns and said that he’d shouted out that you shouldn’t shoot him, it all clicked into place. It wasn’t the fear of another murder that had given him the shakes. It was my mentioning your name. He knew you. In fact, you’re one of his couriers. And Waaler appreciated of course that if you were accused of murder everything would come out into the open. All about the guns you used, the reason for
your frequent trips to Oslo, all your contacts. A judge might even mitigate the sentence if you were willing to work with the police. That was why he planned to shoot you.’
‘Shoot…’
Harry filled the beaker with water, turned and went over to Sven Sivertsen. He put the beaker on the floor in front of him and unlocked his handcuffs. Sivertsen rubbed his wrists.
‘Drink up,’ Harry said. ‘Then you can have a smoke before I put the cuffs back on.’
Sven hesitated. Harry looked at his watch. He still had half an hour left.
‘Come on, Sivertsen.’
Sven took the beaker, put his head back and emptied it while keeping an eye on Harry.
Harry put a cigarette between his lips and lit it before giving it to Sivertsen.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Harry said. ‘You think the opposite, that Tom Waaler is the one who’s going to rescue you from this – what shall we call it? – tiresome situation, don’t you? That he’ll take a risk as a reward to you for long and loyal service to his wallet. With all you’ve got on him, the worst that can happen is that you can blackmail him into helping you.’
Harry gently shook his head. ‘I thought you were smart, Sivertsen. All these puzzles you set up, the way you stage-managed everything, with you always one step ahead. All this and I imagined someone who knew exactly what we would think and what we would do. But you aren’t even up to understanding how a shark like Waaler operates.’
‘You’re right,’ Sivertsen said, blowing smoke up at the ceiling with his eyes half closed. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Sivertsen tapped at the cigarette. The ash fell outside the plastic beaker he was holding underneath.
Harry wondered if it was a crack he could see. But then he had seen cracks before and had been wrong.
‘Did you know that colder weather is forecast?’ Harry asked.
‘I don’t follow Norwegian news.’ Sivertsen smirked. The man apparently thought that he had won.
‘Rain,’ Harry said. ‘How was the water, by the way?’
‘Like water.’
‘Joseph’s Blessing does what it’s supposed to, then.’
‘Joseph’s what?’
‘Blessing. No taste and no smell. You seem to know about the product. You might even have smuggled it in for him? From Chechnya to Prague to Oslo?’ Harry smirked. ‘That’s an irony of fate.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Harry threw something high in the air over to Sivertsen, which he caught and inspected.
‘It’s empty…’ He sent Harry a searching look.
‘Skal.’
‘What?’
‘Best wishes from our mutual boss, Tom Waaler.’
Harry blew the smoke through his nose while watching Sivertsen.
The involuntary twitch of his brow. The Adam’s apple bobbling up and down. The fingers that suddenly needed to scratch his chin.
‘With you under suspicion of committing four murders you should be sitting in a high-security prison, Sivertsen. Have you thought about that? Instead of that you’re in a standard detention cell where anyone with a police badge can walk in and out as they like. As a detective I could have taken you out, told the guard on duty that I was taking you for questioning, signed you out with some scrawl and then given you a plane ticket to Prague. Or – as in this case – to hell. Who do you think arranged for you to be here, Sivertsen? How do you feel, by the way?’
Sivertsen gulped. Crack. Major crack.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he whispered.
Harry shrugged his shoulders.
‘Waaler restricts what he tells his underlings and, as you know, I’m curious by nature. Do you, like me, want to see the big picture, Sivertsen? Or are you one of those who believe that you’ll get the full enlightenment when you’re dead? Fine. My problem is that, in my case, that’s still quite a long wait…’
Sivertsen went pale.
‘Another smoke?’ Harry asked. ‘Or are you beginning to feel nauseous?’
Sivertsen opened his mouth, seemingly on cue, tossed his head to the side and the next moment yellow vomit splattered against the brick wall. He sat gasping for breath.
Harry glared at the drips that had ricocheted onto his trousers, went to the sink, tore paper off the roll, tore off another piece and gave it to Sivertsen. Sivertsen dried his mouth. Then his head slumped forward and he hid his face in his hands. His voice was tearful as he finally opened up:
‘When I came into the hallway… I was confused, but, naturally, I understood that he was playacting. He winked at me and twisted his head in such a way that I was meant to interpret the shouts as meant for someone else. It took me a few seconds to understand the scene. What I thought was the scene. I thought… I thought he wanted it to sound as if I was armed so that he had a reason for letting me get away. He had two guns. I thought the other one was for me. So that I was armed in case anyone saw us. I just stood there waiting for him to give me the gun. Then that bloody woman came and ruined everything.’
Harry had taken up his stance with his back to the wall again.
‘So you admit that you knew the police were after you in connection with the courier killings?’
Sivertsen shook his head.
‘No, no, I’m no murderer. I thought I’d been arrested for smuggling arms. And the diamonds. I knew that Waaler was in charge of all of this and that was why everything was going so smoothly. And that was why he was trying to let me get away. I have to…’
More vomit splashed on the floor, a greener colour this time.
Harry handed him more paper.
Sivertsen began to sob.
‘How much time do I have left?’
‘That depends,’ Harry said.
‘On what?’
Harry stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, put his hand into his pocket and played his trump card.
‘Do you see this?’
He held up a white pill between his thumb and first finger. Sivertsen nodded.
‘If you take this within ten minutes of drinking Joseph’s Blessing there is a reasonable chance that you’ll survive. I got this from a friend who works with pharmaceutical products. Why, I’m sure you’re wondering. Well, because I want to strike a deal with you. I want you to testify against Tom Waaler and to say everything you know about his arms smuggling dealings.’
‘Yes, yes. Just give me the pill.’
‘But can I trust you, Sivertsen?’
‘I swear.’
‘I need a carefully considered answer, Sivertsen. How do I know that you won’t change sides again as soon as I’m out of sight?’
‘What?’
Harry put the pill back in his pocket.
‘The seconds are ticking away. Why should I trust you, Sivertsen? Give me one good reason.’
‘Now?’
‘The Blessing stops you breathing. Extremely painful according to those who have seen people take it.’
Sivertsen blinked twice before he began to speak:
‘You have to trust me because that’s the logical follow-on. If I don’t die this evening, Tom Waaler will know that I’ve uncovered his plan to kill me. And then there’s no way back. He’ll have to get me before I get him. I simply don’t have a choice.’
‘Well done, Sivertsen. Go on.’
‘I haven’t got a chance in here. I’ll be done for long before they come to get me early tomorrow. My only chance is if Waaler is exposed and put behind bars as soon as possible. And the only person who can help me is… you.’
‘Bullseye. Congratulations,’ Harry said, getting up. ‘Hands behind your back, please.’
‘But…’
‘Do as I say. We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Get the pill…’
‘The pill’s called Flunipam and it’s only really any good for insomnia.’
Sven gawped at Harry in disbelief.
‘You…’
Harry was ready for the attack. He
stepped to the side and punched hard and low. Sivertsen made a sound like air being deflated from a beach ball and folded in the middle.
Harry held him up with one hand and secured the handcuffs with the other.
‘I wouldn’t be too worried, Sivertsen. I emptied the contents of Waaler’s ampoule down the sink last night. Any complaints about the taste of the water you’ll have to take up with Oslo Water.’
‘But… I…’
They both looked down at the vomit.
‘Eyes too big for your belly,’ Harry said. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
The back of the chair in the duty room rotated slowly. A half-closed eye hove into view. Then it reacted, and the loose folds of skin slid back to reveal a large, glaring eye. ‘Griever’ Groth shifted his fat body surprisingly quickly out of the chair.
‘What’s this?’ he barked.
‘The prisoner from cell number nine,’ Harry said nodding towards Sivertsen. ‘He’s needed for questioning on the sixth floor. Where do I sign for him?’
‘Questioning? I haven’t been told about any questioning.’
The Griever had taken up a stance a short way back from the reception desk with his arms crossed and his legs wide apart.
‘As far as I’m aware, we don’t usually tell you about that kind of thing, Groth,’ Harry said.
The Griever’s eyes darted in confusion from Harry to Sivertsen and back again.
‘Relax,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just a few changes to the plans. The prisoner won’t take his medicine. We’ll find another way.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course not, and if you want to avoid hearing any more, I suggest you put the signing-out book on the desk now, Groth. We’ve got a lot to do.’
The Griever stared at him with his grieving eye while rubbing the other.
Harry concentrated on breathing and hoped that his pounding heart would not be visible from the outside. All of his plans could collapse like a house of cards at this point. Handy theme for metaphors. He had a terrible hand of cards. Not one single ace. The only thing he could hope for was that Groth’s addled brain would connect in the way he anticipated. An anticipation that was loosely based on Aune’s fundamental principle that man’s ability to think rationally when self-interest was at stake was inversely proportionate to intelligence.
