in reception?’
Truls nodded without batting an eyelid. Bellman had rung him and explained that a certain Tord Schultz had dropped by to give him information about drug smuggling and tell him they had a burner in their ranks. He was worried about the man’s safety and the name was to be removed from the register in case this burner was working at HQ and had access.
‘I’ve tried to call him several times, but there’s no answer. I’m a bit concerned. Are you absolutely sure Securitas removed his name and no one else found out?’
‘Absolutely, Chief of Police,’ Truls said. City were back in defence and scooped the ball away. ‘By the way, have you heard any more from that annoying inspector at the airport?’
‘No,’ Bellman said. ‘Seems as if he’s accepted it must have been potato flour. Why?’
‘Just wondering, Chief of Police. Regards to the dragon at home.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t use that term, OK?’
Truls shrugged. ‘It’s what you call her.’
‘I mean the Chief of Police stuff. Won’t be official for a couple of weeks.’
The operations manager sighed. The air traffic control officer had phoned to say the Bergen flight was delayed because the captain had not turned up or rung in, and they had to scramble a new one fast.
‘Schultz is having a rough time right now,’ said the manager.
‘He’s not answering his phone, either,’ said the officer.
‘I was afraid of that. He might be doing some solo trips in his free time.’
‘So I’ve heard, yes. But this is not free time. We almost had to cancel the flight.’
‘Bit of a bumpy road at the moment, as I said. I’ll talk to him.’
‘We all have bumpy roads, Georg. I’ll have to write a full report, you understand?’
The operations manager paused. But gave up. ‘Of course.’
As they rang off an image appeared in the operations manager’s memory. One afternoon, barbecue, summer. Campari, Budweiser and enormous steaks straight from Texas, flown in by a trainee. No one saw him and Else sneak into a bedroom. She groaned softly, softly enough not to be heard over the screams of children playing, the incoming flights and carefree laughter outside the open window. Planes coming and going. Tord’s ringing laughter, after another classic flying story. And Tord’s wife’s low groans.
18
‘You’ve bought violin? ’
Beate Lonn stared in disbelief at Harry, who was sitting in the corner of her office. He had dragged the chair away from the bright morning light into the shadow where he folded his hands round the mug she had passed him. He had hung his jacket over the back of the chair, and sweat lay like cling film over his face.
‘You haven’t…?’
‘You crazy?’ Harry slurped the boiling hot coffee. ‘Alkies can’t get up to that kind of business.’
‘Good, because otherwise I would think that was a botched shot,’ she said, pointing.
Harry looked at his forearm. Apart from the suit, he had only three pairs of underpants, a change of socks and two short-sleeved shirts. He had thought of buying whatever clothes he needed in Oslo, but so far there hadn’t been a free moment. And this morning he had woken up with what seemed so much like a hangover that from habit he almost threw up in the toilet. The result of injecting into flesh was the shape and colour of the USA when Reagan was re-elected.
‘I’d like you to analyse this for me,’ Harry said.
‘Why?’
‘Because of the crime-scene photos showing the bag you found on Oleg.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You’ve got fantastic cameras. You can see the powder was pure white. This powder’s got brown bits. I want to know what it is.’
Beate took a magnifying glass from the drawer and leaned over the powder Harry sprinkled onto the cover of Forensic Magazine.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘The samples we’ve had in have been white, but in fact over recent months there hasn’t been a single confiscation, so this is interesting. Especially since an inspector from the police at Gardermoen rang the other day and said something similar.’
‘What?’
‘They found a bag of powder in a pilot’s hand luggage. The inspector wondered how we’d come to the conclusion that it was potato flour. He had seen the brown grains in the powder with his own eyes.’
‘Did he think the pilot was smuggling in violin?’
‘Since there hasn’t been a single confiscation of violin on the borders, the inspector has probably never seen it. White heroin is rare. Most of the stuff that winds up here is brown, so the inspector probably thought the two had been mixed. By the way, the pilot wasn’t coming in, he was going out.’
‘ Out?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where to?’
‘Bangkok.’
‘He was taking potato flour to Bangkok?’
‘Perhaps it was for some Norwegians to make white sauce for their fish balls.’ She smiled while blushing at her attempt to be funny.
‘Mm. Something quite different. I’ve just read about an undercover man who was found dead in Gothenburg harbour. There were rumours he’d been a burner. Were there any rumours about him in Oslo?’
Beate shook her head. ‘No. On the contrary. He was more famous for being overkeen to catch the bad guys. Before he was killed, he talked about having a big fish on the hook and wanting to reel it in solo.’
‘Solo.’
‘He didn’t want to say any more, he didn’t trust anyone else. Sound like someone you know, Harry?’
He smiled, got up and threaded his arms into his jacket sleeves.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To visit an old friend.’
‘Didn’t know you had any.’
‘It’s a manner of speaking. I rang the head of Kripos.’
‘Heimen?’
‘Yes. I asked if he could give me a list of people Gusto had spoken to on his mobile before the murder. He answered that, first off, it was such an open-and-shut case they didn’t have a list. Secondly, if they did they would never give it to a… let me see…’ Harry closed his eyes and counted on his fingers. ‘… discharged cop, alkie or traitor like me.’
‘As I said, I didn’t know you had any old friends.’
‘So now I’ll have to try elsewhere.’
‘OK. I’ll have this powder analysed today.’
Harry stopped in the doorway. ‘You said that recently violin had been turning up in Gothenburg and Copenhagen. Does that mean it appeared there after Oslo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t it usually the other way round? New dope goes to Copenhagen first and then spreads north?’
‘You’re probably right. Why?’
‘Not quite sure yet. What did you say that pilot’s name was?’
‘I didn’t. Schultz. Tord. Anything else?’
‘Yes. Have you considered that the undercover man may have been right?’
‘Right?’
