by Jo Nesbo
‘So why didn’t she?’ Harry asked, puffing smoke at Iggy.
‘She didn’t have a chance. I was in love, enough for two men, but I wanted her for myself, and Eva is like most women who are not in love – she values economic security. So, to acquire exclusivity I had to acquire some money. Smuggling blood diamonds from Sierre Leone was low-risk, but it did not produce enough money to make me irresistibly wealthy. Drugs was high-risk. That was how I got into smuggling arms and met Prince. We met twice in Prague to agree on procedures and conditions. The second time was in an open-air restaurant in Vaclav Square. I persuaded Eva to act the photo-snapping tourist, and the table where Prince and I were sitting happened to come up on the majority of the photos. People who don’t settle their accounts after I’ve done jobs for them usually receive a photo in the post together with a reminder. It works. Prince was promptitude personified, though, and I’ve never had any trouble with him. I only found out that he was a policeman some time later.’
Harry closed the window and sat on the sofa bed.
‘In spring I received a phone call,’ Sivertsen said. ‘From a Norwegian with an Ostland dialect. I’ve no idea how he managed to get hold of my telephone number. He seemed to know all about me. It was almost creepy. No, it was creepy. He knew who my mother was, about the prison sentences I had had, and about the pentagram-shaped blood diamonds I had specialised in for years. Worst of all, though: he knew I had started smuggling guns. He wanted both. A diamond and a Ceska with a silencer. He offered an unimaginably high sum. I said “no” to the weapon, that it would have to go via another channel, but he insisted it had to come directly through me, no middle-man. He raised his offer. And Eva is, as I have said, a demanding woman, and I couldn’t afford to lose her. So we agreed.’
‘What exactly did you agree?’
‘He had very specific requests regarding the delivery. It had to take place in Frogner Park, directly below the Monolith. The first delivery was just over five weeks ago. It had to be at five o’clock, in the peak period when tourists were about and people were walking in the park after work. That made it easier for him and for me to get in and out without attracting attention, he said. The chances of me being recognised were minimal anyway. Many years ago, at my local bar in Prague, I saw a Norwegian guy who used to beat me up at school. He looked right through me. He and a lady I had while she was honeymooning in Prague are the only people from Oslo I’ve seen since I moved away from here, you know.’
Harry nodded.
‘Anyway,’ Sivertsen said, ‘the client didn’t want us to meet and that was fine by me. I was to carry the items in a brown polythene bag and put it in the green litter bin at the centre of Frogner Park in front of the Fountain and then leave immediately. It was very important that I was on time. The agreed sum was paid up front into my account in Switzerland. He said that the simple fact that he had found me was unlikely to give me any ideas about tricking him and that was what he was counting on. He was right. Could I have a cigarette?’
Harry lit it for him.
‘The day after the first handover he rang me and ordered a Glock 23 and another blood diamond for the following week. Same place, same time, same procedure. It was a Sunday, but there were just as many people there.’
‘Same day and same time as the first killing, of Marius Veland.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Go on.’
‘This was repeated three times. Always with five days between. But the last time was a little different. I was told about two deliveries: one on the Saturday and one on the Sunday, yesterday that is. The client asked me to stay at my mother’s on Saturday night so that he could contact me should there be any changes to the plan. Fine by me. I was going to do that anyway. I was looking forward to seeing Mother. After all, I had good news for her.’
‘That she was going to be a grandmother.’
Sivertsen nodded.
‘And that I was going to get married.’
Harry stubbed out his cigarette.
‘So what you’re saying is that the diamond and the gun we found in your briefcase were for the handover on Sunday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mm.’
‘And now?’ Sivertsen asked, after a prolonged silence.
Harry put his hands behind his head, leaned back against the sofa bed and let out a yawn.
‘As an old Iggy fan you must have heard Blah Blah Blah? Good album. Fascinating nonsense.’
‘Fascinating nonsense?’
Sven Sivertsen hit his elbow on the radiator creating a hollow and empty clang.
Harry got up. ‘I need to clear my head. There’s a 24-hour garage down in the street. Do you want me to bring you anything?’
Sivertsen closed his eyes.
‘Listen, Hole. We’re in the same boat. Sinking. OK? You’re not just a mean bastard, you’re stupid with it.’
Harry grinned and got up.
‘I’ll have a think about that.’
When Harry returned 20 minutes later, Sven was asleep with his arm attached to the top of the radiator, as if waving.
Harry put two hamburgers, chips and a large bottle of Coca-Cola on the table.
Sven rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
‘Did you have a think, Hole?’
‘Yup.’
‘And what did you think about?’
‘About the pictures your girlfriend took of you and Waaler in Prague.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Harry unlocked the handcuff.
‘The pictures have nothing to do with the case. I was thinking that she was pretending to be a tourist, doing what tourists do.’
‘And that is?’
‘What I said. Taking pictures.’
Sivertsen rubbed his wrists and scrutinised the food on the table.
‘What about a glass to drink from, Hole?’
Harry pointed to the bottle.
Sven unscrewed the top while squinting through semi-closed eyes at Harry.
‘So you’ll risk drinking from the same bottle as a serial killer?’
Harry replied with a mouth full of hamburger: ‘Same boat. Same bottle.’
Olaug Sivertsen was sitting in her living room staring vacantly ahead of her. She had not switched on the light in the hope that they would think she wasn’t at home and give up. They had been ringing the phone, ringing the doorbell, shouting from the garden and throwing pebbles at the kitchen window. ‘No comment,’ she had said, and pulled out the telephone jack plug. In the end they stood around outside, waiting with their long, black telephoto lenses. Once she had gone to draw the curtains in front of one of the windows and she had heard the insect noises from their cameras. Zzzz, Zzzz, click. Zzzz, Zzzz, click.
Almost a day had passed and still the police had not discovered their mistake. It was the weekend. Perhaps they were waiting until Monday and their usual office hours before sorting it out.
If only she had someone to talk to. But Ina still had not returned from her holiday with this mysterious gentleman. Perhaps she should ring Beate, the policewoman? It wasn’t her fault they had arrested Sven. Beate seemed to know that he wasn’t the kind of person to go round killing people. She had even given her a telephone number and said that she could ring if there was anything she wanted to tell them. Anything.
Olaug gazed out of the window. The silhouette of the dead pear tree looked like fingers grasping the moon, which hung low over the garden and the station building. She had never seen a moon like it before. It resembled a dead man’s face. Blue veins standing out against white skin.
What had happened to Ina? Sunday afternoon at the latest, she had said. Olaug had imagined how cosy it would be with a cup of tea, and Ina would be able to meet Sven. Ina who was so reliable as far as punctuality and so on went.
Olaug waited until the wall clock struck two.
Then she pulled out the telephone number.
There was an answer at the third ring.
‘Hello, this is Olaug Sivertsen. I’m really terribly sorry for ringing so late.’
‘Don’t worry, fru Sivertsen.’
‘Olaug.’
‘Olaug. Sorry, I’m not quite awake yet.’
‘I’m ringing because I’m concerned about Ina, my lodger. She should have been home ages ago and with all the things that have happened, well, yes, I’m worried.’
When Olaug did not get an immediate response, she wondered if Beate had gone back to sleep. But then her voice was there again, and this time it was not sleepy.
‘Are you telling me that you’ve got a lodger, Olaug?’
‘Yes, indeed. Ina. She has got the maid’s room. Oh, yes, I didn’t show you, did I. It’s because it’s on the other side of the back steps. She’s been away all weekend.’
‘Where? Who with?’
‘I wish I knew. The person is a relatively new acquaintance whom I have not yet been introduced to. She just said they were going to his holiday cabin.’
‘You should have told us that before, Olaug.’
‘Should I? I’m really very sorry… I…’
Olaug could feel the tears welling up, but she was powerless to prevent it.
‘No, I didn’t mean it like that, Olaug,’ she heard Beate hasten to add. ‘It’s not you I’m angry with. It’s my job to check these things. You couldn’t have known this was relevant to our inquiry. I’ll ring the police control room and they’ll phone you back for personal details about Ina so that they can look into the matter. I’m sure nothing has happened to her, but it’s better to be on the safe side, isn’t it. After that, I think you should try to get a little sleep. I’ll ring you back early in the morning. Shall we say that, Olaug?’
‘Yes,’ Olaug said, trying to put a smile into her voice. She really wanted to ask Beate if she knew how things were going with Sven, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.
‘Yes, let’s say that. Bye, Beate.’
She replaced the handset with tears running down her cheeks.
Beate settled down and tried to sleep. She listened to the house. It was talking. Mother had switched off the television at 11.00 and now it was quite still on the floor below. Beate wondered if her mother was also thinking about him, about her father. They seldom spoke of him. It took too much out of them. She had started looking for a flat in the city centre. Last year she had begun to feel confined living on one floor in her mother’s house. Especially since she had started seeing Halvorsen, the rock-steady officer from Steinkjer whom she called by his surname and who treated her with a kind of respect and trepidation that she unaccountably set great store by. She would not have so much room in Oslo. And she would miss the sounds of this house, the wordless monologues she had gone to sleep to all her life.
The telephone rang again. Beate sighed and reached out her arm.
‘Yes, Olaug?’
‘It’s Harry. You seem to be awake already.’
She sat up in bed.
‘Yes, the phone’s been going non-stop tonight. What’s up?’
‘I need some help. And you’re the only person I dare trust.’
‘Right. Knowing you, I suppose that means hassle for me.’
‘Loads of hassle. Are you with me?’
‘What if I say “no”?’
‘Listen to what I have to say first, and then you can say “no” afterwards.’
36
Monday. The Photograph.
At 5.45 on Monday morning the sun was shining down from Ekeberg Ridge. The Securitas guard on duty in reception at Police HQ yawned loudly and raised his eyes from his Aftenposten as the first arrival signed in with his ID card.
‘Rain on the way according to the paper,’ he said, happy to see another human being.
The tall, somber-looking man cast a brief glance at him, but he didn’t respond.
During the next two minutes three other men followed him in, all equally uncommunicative and sombre.
At 6.00 the four men were sitting in the Divisional Commander’s office on the sixth floor.
‘Well,’ the Divisional Commander said, ‘one of our police inspectors has taken a possible killer from the custody block and nobody knows where they are.’
One of the things that made the Divisional Commander relatively well suited to his position was his ability to sum up a problem. Another was his ability to formulate what had to be done concisely:
‘So I propose we find them quick as fuck. What’s happened so far?’
The head of Kripos stole a furtive glance at Moller and Waaler before clearing his throat and answering:
‘We’ve put a small but experienced group of detectives on the case. Handpicked by Inspector Waaler, who is leading the search. Three from POT. Two from Crime Squad. They began last night only an hour after the officers in the custody block reported that Sivertsen had not been returned.’
‘Snappy work. But why haven’t the uniformed police been informed? And the patrol cars?’
‘We wanted to await developments and make a decision at this meeting, Lars. Hear what you thought.’
‘What I thought?’
The head of Kripos ran his finger along his top lip.
‘Inspector Waaler has promised that he’ll catch Hole and Sivertsen before the day is out. We’ve managed to confine the spread of information so far. We four and Groth in the custody block are the only ones who know that Sivertsen is out. In addition, we’ve phoned Ullersmo and cancelled Sivertsen’s cell and transport. We told them that we’d received information which gave us reason to believe that Sivertsen might not be safe there and therefore he would be transferred to a, for the moment, secret destination. To cut a long story short, we’re in a position to keep the lid on this until Waaler and his group have resolved the situation for us. Naturally, it is your decision, though, Lars.’
The Divisional Commander placed the tips of his fingers together and nodded thoughtfully. Then he got up and went to the window, where he remained with his back to them.
‘Last week I took a taxi. The driver had a paper lying open on the seat next to me. I asked him what he thought about the Courier Killer. It’s always interesting to hear what people at grass-roots level think. He said it was the same problem with the Courier Killer as with the World Trade Center: questions were being asked in the wrong order. Everyone was asking “who” and “how”. But to solve a riddle you first have to ask another question. And do you know what that question is? Torleif?’
The head of Kripos didn’t answer.
‘It’s “why”, Torlief. This taxi driver was no dummy. Has anyone here asked themselves that question, gentlemen?’
The Divisional Commander rocked on his heels and waited.
‘With all respect to the taxi driver,’ the head of Kripos said finally, ‘I’m not so sure there is a “why” in this case. At least, not a rational “why”. All of us here know that Hole is psychologically unstable and an alcoholic. That’s why he’s being dismissed.’
‘Even crazy people have motives, Torleif.’
There was the sound of someone discreetly clearing their throat.
‘Yes, Waaler.’
‘Batouti.’
‘Batouti?’
‘The Egyptian pilot who deliberately crashed a full passenger plane to avenge himself on the airline who had demoted him.’
‘What are you getting at, Waaler?’
‘I ran after Harry and talked to him in the car park after we’d arrested Sivertsen on Saturday evening. It was obvious that he was bitter, both for being dismissed and because he thought we’d cheated him out of the credit he was due for arresting the Courier Killer.’
‘Batouti…’
The Divisional Commander shaded his eyes from the first rays of sun to hit his window.
‘You haven’t said anything yet, Bjarne. What do you think?’
Bjarne Moller stared up at the silhouette in front of the window. He had such pains in h
is stomach that he not only felt that he was going to explode, he hoped he would. From the moment he was woken up in the night and informed about the kidnapping he had waited for someone to give him a good shake and tell him he was having a nightmare.
‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t understand what’s going on.’
The Divisional Commander nodded slowly.
‘If it leaks out that we’ve kept this under wraps we’ll be crucified,’ he said.
‘A concise summary, Lars,’ the head of Kripos said. ‘But if it leaks out that we’ve let a serial killer go, we’ll also be crucified. Even if we find him again. There’s still one way of resolving this problem on the quiet. Waaler has, I’m led to understand, a plan.’
‘And what is it, Waaler?’
Tom Waaler put his left hand round his clenched fist.
‘Let’s put it this way,’ he said. ‘It’s absolutely clear to me that we cannot afford to fail, so I may have to use some unconventional methods. Bearing possible repercussions in mind, I’m going to suggest that you know nothing about the plan.’
The Divisional Commander swivelled round with a mildly astonished expression on his face.
‘That’s very generous of you, Waaler, but I’m afraid we cannot agree to -’
‘I insist.’
The Divisional Commander frowned.
‘You insist? Are you aware of the risks, Waaler?’
Waaler opened the palms of his hands and examined them.
‘Yes, but it’s my responsibility. I ran the investigation and worked closely with Hole. As the person in charge I ought to have seen the signs before and done something. At any rate, after the conversation in the car park.’
The Divisional Commander gave Waaler a searching look. He turned back to the window and stayed there as a rectangle of light crept across the floor. Then he raised his shoulders and shook himself as if he were freezing cold.
‘You’ve got until midnight,’ he said to the window pane. ‘Then the news of the disappearance will be announced to the press. And this meeting never took place.’