The Devil's star hh-5
Page 41
When they passed Vinderen, it suddenly stopped raining. Like curtains on the stage, the clouds slid away and a new moon shone on them from a black sky over Oslo fjord.
‘At last,’ Moller said, turning round in the front passenger seat with a smile.
Harry assumed he was referring to the rain.
‘At last,’ he answered, without taking his eyes off the moon.
‘You’re a very brave boy,’ Moller said, patting the boy’s knee. Oleg gave a wan smile and looked up at Harry.
Moller turned round again and kept his eyes forward on the road ahead.
‘My stomach pains have gone,’ he said. ‘Vanished into thin air.’
They had found Oystein Eikeland in the same place that they took Sven Sivertsen. In the custody block. According to ‘Griever’ Groth’s papers, Oystein had been brought in by Tom Waaler on suspicion of driving a taxi while drunk. The blood sample he had given had in fact also shown some evidence of alcohol. When Moller ordered that Eikeland was to be released and that all formalities were to be dropped, ‘Griever’ Groth, surprisingly enough, had no objections. On the contrary, he was unusually obliging.
Rakel was standing in the doorway as the police car swung onto the crunching gravel of the drive in front of her house.
Harry leaned across Oleg and opened the door. Oleg jumped out and ran towards Rakel.
Moller and Harry stayed in the car and watched the two of them silently hugging each other on the steps.
Moller’s mobile phone rang and he raised it to his ear. He said ‘Yes’ twice and ‘Right’ once and rang off.
‘That was Beate. They’ve found a bag full of cycling equipment in the refuse bin in the yard at Barli’s place.’
‘Mm.’
‘It’s going to be hell,’ Moller said. ‘They’re all going to want a chunk of you, Harry. Akersgata, NRK, TV2. Foreign press as well. Just imagine, they’ve heard about the Courier Killer in Spain. Well, you’ve done all that stuff before, so you know how it goes.’
‘I’ll survive.’
‘I suppose you will. We’ve got some footage of what happened in the student place last night, too. I just wonder how Tangen managed to set up the recording in his bus on Sunday afternoon and then forget to switch it off and catch the train home to Honefoss.’
Moller studied Harry’s face, but Harry remained impassive.
‘And, on top of that, what a stroke of luck that he’d just wiped the hard disk so that there was enough space for several days’ recording. Incredible actually. You could almost think that it had been planned beforehand.’
‘Almost,’ Harry mumbled.
‘There’s going to be an internal inquiry. I have contacted SEFO and informed them about Waaler’s activities. We are not discounting the possibility that this case may have ramifications for the Force. I have the first meeting with them tomorrow. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Harry.’
‘Fine, boss.’
‘Fine? You don’t sound very convinced.’
‘Well, are you?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘Because you don’t know who you can trust, not even you.’
Moller blinked twice, but failed to get an answer out; he flashed a glance across to the policeman sitting behind the wheel.
‘Can you wait for a second, boss?’
Harry got out of the car. Rakel let go of Oleg and he disappeared through the door.
She had her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes fixed on his shirt as he stood before her.
‘You’re wet,’ she said.
‘Well, when it rains…’
‘… I get wet.’ She smiled sadly and laid the palm of her hand against his cheek.
‘Is it over now?’ she whispered.
‘It’s over for now.’
She closed her eyes and leaned forwards. He took her in his arms.
‘He’ll manage OK,’ he said.
‘I know. He said he wasn’t afraid. Because you were there.’
‘Mm.’
‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘And it’s true? It’s all over?’
‘Over.’ He mumbled into her hair. ‘Last day at work.’
‘Good,’ she said.
He could feel her body coming closer, filling all the small spaces between them.
‘Next week I start the new one. That’ll be good.’
‘The one you got via a pal?’ she asked, putting her hand on his neck.
‘Yes.’ The smell of her filled his head. ‘Oystein. Do you remember Oystein?’
‘The taxi driver?’
‘Yes. The exam for the taxi driver’s licence is on Tuesday. I’ve been mugging up street names in Oslo every single day.’
She laughed and kissed him on the mouth.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I think you’re crazy.’
Her laughter rippled like a little brook in his ears. He wiped a tear off her cheek.
‘I have to go now,’ he said.
She tried to smile, but Harry saw that she wouldn’t be able to.
‘I won’t manage,’ she blurted out before the sobs shook her voice.
‘You’ll manage,’ Harry said.
‘I can’t manage… without you.’
‘That’s not true,’ Harry said, pulling her close. ‘You can manage very well without me. The question is: Can you manage with me?’
‘Is that the question?’ she whispered.
‘I know you’ll have to think about it.’
‘You don’t know anything.’
‘Have a think first, Rakel.’
She tilted back her head and he held the arch of her spine. She contemplated his face. Looking for changes, Harry thought.
‘Don’t go, Harry.’
‘I’ve got a meeting. If you like, I’ll drop by early tomorrow morning. We could…’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t know. I have no plans. Or ideas. Does that sound OK?’
She smiled.
‘That sounds perfect.’
He looked at her lips. Hesitated. Then he kissed her and left.
‘Here?’ the policeman behind the wheel asked, looking in the mirror. ‘Isn’t it closed?’
‘Twelve till three in the morning on workdays,’ Harry said.
The driver pulled into the kerb outside the Boxer.
‘Are you coming too, boss?’
Moller shook his head.
‘He wants to talk to you on his own.’
Serving had long since finished and the last guests were in the process of leaving the bar.
The head of Kripos was sitting at the same table as on the previous occasion. His deep eye sockets lay in shadow. The beer in front of him was almost finished. A crack opened in his face.
‘Congratulations, Harry.’
Harry squeezed his way in between the bench and the table.
‘Really good work. But you must tell me how you worked out that Sven Sivertsen was not the Courier Killer.’
‘I saw a photo of Sivertsen in Prague and remembered that I’d seen a photo of Wilhelm and Lisbeth in the same place. On top of that, forensics examined the remains of the excrement under…’
The Chief Superintendent leaned across the table and placed his hand on Harry’s arm. His breath smelled of beer and tobacco.
‘I don’t mean proof, Harry. I mean the idea. The suspicion. Whatever made you link the clues with the right man. What was the moment of inspiration? What was it that made you formulate the thought?’
Harry shrugged his shoulders. ‘You think all sorts of thoughts all the time. But…’
‘Yes?’
‘It all fitted too well.’
‘What do you mean?’
Harry scratched his chin. ‘Did you know that Duke Ellington used to ask the piano tuners not to tune the piano to perfect pitch?’
‘No.’
‘When a piano is tuned to perfection, it doesn’t sound good.
There’s nothing wrong, it just loses some of the warmth, the feeling of genuineness.’
Harry poked at a piece of varnish on the table that was coming loose.
‘The Courier Killer gave us a perfect code that told us where and when. But not why. In this way he made us focus on actions rather than the motive. Every hunter knows that if you want to see your prey in the dark, you mustn’t focus on it directly, but beside it. It was when I stopped staring at facts that I heard it.’
‘Heard it?’
‘Yes. I could hear that these so-called serial killings were too perfect. They sounded right, but they didn’t sound genuine. The killings followed the formula down to the last detail; they gave us an explanation that was as plausible as any lie, but seldom as plausible as the truth.’
‘And you knew that?’
‘No, but I stopped being so myopic and my vision cleared.’
The head of Kripos nodded while staring down into the bulbous beer glass which he kept rotating between his hands on the table. It sounded like a grindstone in the quiet, almost deserted bar.
He cleared his throat.
‘I was wrong about Tom Waaler, Harry. And I apologise.’
Harry didn’t answer.
‘What I wanted to say to you is that I didn’t sign your dismissal papers. I would like you to continue working. I want you to know that you have my confidence. My complete and unreserved confidence. And I hope, Harry…’
He raised his head and an opening – a kind of smile – appeared in the lower half of his face.
‘… that I have yours.’
‘I’ll have to think about it,’Harry said.
The opening closed.
‘About the job,’ he added.
The head of Kripos smiled again. This time it also reached his eyes.
‘Of course. Let me buy you a beer, Harry. They’ve closed but if I say.’
‘I’m an alcoholic.’
The head of Kripos was caught off-balance for a moment. Then he chuckled.
‘Apologies. Thoughtless of me. But one other thing, Harry. Have you…’
Harry waited as the glass completed another circuit.
‘Have you thought about how you’re going to present this case?’
‘Present?’
‘Yes. In the report. And to the press. They’re going to want to talk to you. And they’ll put the whole service under the magnifying glass if this arms smuggling of Waaler’s comes out. For this reason it’s vital that you don’t say…’
Harry searched for his packet of cigarettes while the Chief Superintendent searched for words.
‘… that you don’t give them a version which leaves room for misinterpretation,’ he said finally.
Harry stretched his lips in a thin smile and looked at his last cigarette.
The head of Kripos made up his mind, resolutely downed the last of his beer and dried his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Did he say anything?’
Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you thinking about Waaler?’
‘Yes. Did he say anything before he died? Anything about who his partners were? Who else was involved?’
Harry decided to save the last cigarette. ‘No, he didn’t say anything. Not a thing.’
‘Shame.’ The head of Kripos observed him with a blank expression. ‘What about these film recordings that were done? Do they reveal anything of that kind?’
Harry met the head of Kripos ’s blue eyes. As far as Harry knew, the head of Kripos had been in the police force all his working life. His nose was as sharp as an axe blade, his mouth a straight line and surly, and his hands large and coarse. He was part of the bedrock of the Force: solid but secure granite.
‘Who knows?’ Harry answered. ‘There’s not much to worry about anyway. Since in this case it will be a version that leaves no room for…’ Harry finally poked the dry crust of varnish free. ‘… misinterpretation.’
As if on cue, the lights in the bar began to flicker.
Harry stood up.
They looked at each other.
‘Do you need a lift?’ the head of Kripos asked.
Harry shook his head.
‘I’ll go for a stroll.’
The head of Kripos shook Harry’s hand firmly and at length. Harry was going towards the door when he stopped and turned round.
‘By the way, Waaler did say one thing.’
The head of Kripos ’s white eyebrows fell.
‘Oh?’ he said cautiously.
‘Yes. He asked for mercy.’
Harry took the shortcut through Our Saviour’s Cemetery. The rain was dripping from the trees. The drops hit the leaves beneath with small sighs before they fell to the ground and the thirsty earth absorbed them. He walked on the path between the graves and heard the dead talking in mumbles. He stopped and listened. Gamle Aker church hall stood ahead of him, dark and dormant. There was the whispering sound of wet tongues and cheeks. He took the left fork and went out through the gate towards Telthus hill.
When Harry arrived in his flat he tore off his clothes, went into the shower and turned on the hot water. The steam ran down the walls and he stood there until his skin was red and sore. He went into the bedroom. The water evaporated and he lay on the bed without drying himself. He closed his eyes and waited. For sleep to come. Or images. Whichever came first.
Instead the mumbling came.
He listened.
What were they whispering about?
What plans were they making?
They were talking in codes.
He sat up. Rested his head against the wall and felt the carving of the devil’s star against the back of his head.
He looked at his watch. It would soon be light outside.
He got up and went into the hall. He searched the pockets of his jacket and found his last cigarette. He ripped off the tip and lit it. He sat in the wing chair in the living room and waited for morning to come.
The light from the moon shone into the room.
He thought about Tom Waaler staring into eternity. And about the man he had talked to in Oslo Old Town after the conversation with Waaler outside the canteen on the roof terrace at Police HQ. It had been easy to find him, because he had kept his nickname and still worked in the family kiosk.
‘Tom Brun?’ the man behind the tiled counter had answered and had run a hand through his greasy hair. ‘Yes, indeed I do remember him. Poor lad. Was beaten by his dad at home. His father was an unemployed brickie. Drank. Friend? No, I wasn’t any pal of Tom Brun’s. Yes, it was me who was called Solo. Inter-rail?’
The man had laughed.
‘Furthest I’ve ever been by train is just down the coast, south of Oslo. Don’t think Tom Brun had that many pals in fact. I remember him as a nice lad, the kind of boy who would help old ladies cross the road, a bit like a Boy Scout. Strange guy though. There was something dodgy about his father’s death. Very weird accident, that.’
Harry ran his ring finger over the smooth surface of the table. He felt small particles stick to his skin and knew it was the yellow dust from the chisel. The red light on his answerphone flashed. Journalists, presumably. It would start this morning. Harry put the tip of his finger on his tongue. It tasted bitter. Mortar. He remembered that it came from the wall over the door to room 406 where Wilhelm Barli had carved the devil’s star. Harry made a smacking noise with his tongue. It must have been a strange mix the bricklayer had used because there was another taste in there somewhere. Sweet. No, metallic. It tasted of egg.
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