the facade?
‘How about Oleg? Did you meet him?’
‘The one who was arrested for the murder? Never. But Gusto mentioned an Oleg a couple of times, said he was his best friend. I think he was his only friend.’
‘What about Irene?’
‘He mentioned her too. She was like a sister.’
‘She was a sister.’
‘Not in blood, Harry. It’s never the same.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘People are naive and believe they are capable of selfless love. But it’s all about passing on genes that are as close as possible to your own. I see this in horse breeding every day, believe me. And, yes, people are like horses, we’re herd animals. A father will protect his biological son, a brother his biological sister. In any conflict we instinctively take the side of those who look most like us. Imagine you’re in the jungle and walk round a corner and suddenly see another white man, dressed like you, grappling with a semi-naked black man in warpaint. They’ve both got knives and are fighting to the death. You’ve got a gun. What’s your first instinct? To shoot the white man to save the black man? It’s not, is it.’
‘Mm. And what’s your proof?’
‘The proof is that our loyalty is biologically determined. Circles that spread out from the centre, which is ourselves and our genes.’
‘So you’d shoot one of them to protect your genes?’
‘Without a second thought.’
‘What about killing both to be on the safe side?’
She looked at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What were you doing the night Gusto was killed?’
‘What?’ She scrunched up one eye in the sun and beamed at him. ‘Do you suspect me of killing Gusto, Harry? And that I was after this… Oleg?’
‘Just answer me.’
‘I remember where I was because it was in my mind when I was reading about the murder in the paper. I was sitting in a meeting with representatives of the Police Narco Unit. They should be reliable witnesses. Do you want names?’
Harry shook his head.
‘Anything else?’
‘Well, this Dubai. What do you know about him?’
‘Dubai, hm. As little as everyone else. There’s talk, but the police aren’t making any headway. It’s typical; the professionals behind the scams always get away.’ Harry looked for a change in the size of pupils, the colour of her cheeks. If Isabelle Skoyen was lying, she was good.
‘I ask because you’ve cleared the streets of all the dope dealers apart from Dubai and a couple of minor gangs.’
‘Not me, Harry. I’m just a council secretary following the orders of the Social Services Committee and the council’s policies. And what you call clearing the streets, strictly speaking, is a police job.’
‘Mm. Norway is a little fairy-tale land. But I’ve spent the last few years in the real world, Skoyen. And the real world is driven by two types of people. Those who want power and those who want money. The first want a statue, the second enjoyment. And the currency they use when negotiating with each other to get what they want is called corruption.’
‘I’ve got things to do, Hole. Where do you want this to go?’
‘Where others have obviously lacked the courage or the imagination to go. If you live in a town for a long time you usually see the situation as a mosaic of details you know well. But someone who returns to the town and doesn’t know the details only sees the picture. And the picture is that the situation in Oslo is favourable for two groups: the dealers who have the market to themselves and the politicians who are credited with having cleared up.’
‘Are you saying I’m corrupt?’
‘Are you?’
He saw the fury flash into her eyes. Genuine, without a doubt. He wondered only whether it was the anger of the just or the ensnared. Then, out of the blue, she laughed. A trilled, surprisingly girlish laugh.
‘I like you, Harry.’ She got up. ‘I know men, and they’re wimps when it comes to the crunch. But I think you might be an exception.’
‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘at least you know where you are with me.’
‘Reality calls, my dear.’
Harry turned to see the roll of Isabelle Skoyen’s voluminous beam-end as she headed for the horses.
He followed. Got his feet in the stirrups. Mounted Balder. Looked up and met Isabelle’s eyes. There was a small provocative smile in the middle of that hard, handsomely chiselled face. She pouted a kiss. Made an obscene sucking sound and dug her heels into Medusa’s sides. And her back swayed as the great beast leapt forward.
Balder reacted without warning, but Harry managed to hold on tight.
Isabelle led again, and wet clods of earth from Medusa’s hooves rained down. Then the mare upped her pace, and Harry saw Isabelle’s ponytail standing upright as she disappeared round a bend. He gripped the reins further up, the way his grandfather had taught him, without tightening them. The path was so narrow that branches whipped at him, but he crouched down in the saddle and squeezed his knees hard against the horse. He knew he would not be able to stop, so he concentrated on keeping his feet in the stirrups and his head low. At the margins of his vision, trees flashed past in yellow and red stripes. Automatically he rose in the saddle and put his weight on his knees and the stirrups. Beneath him muscles rippled and undulated. He had the feeling he was sitting on a boa constrictor. And now they had slipped into a kind of rhythm, accompanied by the thunderous drumming of the hooves on the ground. A sense of horror competed with a sense of obsession. The path straightened, and fifty metres in front of them Harry saw Medusa and Isabelle. For a moment it was as if the image was freeze-framed, as if they had stopped, as if horse and rider were floating above the ground. Then Medusa resumed her gallop. Another second passed before Harry realised.
And it had been a valuable second.
At Police College he had read scientific reports showing that in catastrophes the human brain tries to process enormous quantities of data in seconds. For some officers this can lead to a paralysis; for others to a feeling that time is going slower, that life passes before them, and they manage to make an astonishing number of observations and evaluations of the situation. Such as that at a speed of almost seventy kilometres an hour they had covered twenty metres and there were only thirty metres and ninety seconds left to the chasm that Medusa had just crossed.
That it was impossible to see how wide it was.
That Medusa was a trained, fully grown dressage horse with an experienced dressage rider while Balder was younger and smaller and had a novice of close on ninety kilos on his back.
That Balder was a herd animal and of course Isabelle Skoyen knew that.
That it was too late to stop.
Harry relaxed his hands on the reins and dug his heels into Balder’s sides. Felt a last surge of pace. Then all went still. The drumming stopped. They were floating. Far beneath them he saw a treetop and a stream. Then he was thrust forward and banged his head against the horse’s neck. They fell.
23
Were you A thief as well, Dad? Because I’d always known I was going to be a millionaire. My motto has been to steal only when it’s worthwhile, so I had been patient and waited. And waited. Waited so long that when the opportunity finally offered itself I thought I bloody deserved it.
The plan was as simple as it was brilliant. While Odin’s biker gang was meeting the old boy at McDonald’s,
