'She probably thought she knew him, after being with him for thirteen years.' Harry walked over to the window. 'The sensitive but kind, safe accountant who loved her so dearly. Let me speculate a little about what happened afterwards.'
Ivarsson sniffed. 'And what do you call what you've been doing so far?'
'When Lev comes to Oslo, Trond gets in touch. Says they're adults and brothers so they should be able to talk about things. Lev is relieved and happy. But he doesn't show his face around town, it's too risky, so they agree to meet in Disengrenda while Stine's at work. Lev goes and is well received by Trond, who says he had been sad at first, but now he was basically over that and happy for them. He opens a bottle of Coke for each of them and they drink and talk about practical details. Trond has Lev's secret address in d'Ajuda so he can forward post, back- payments and so on to Stine. Lev doesn't realise he has just given Trond the final details he needs to implement a plan which Trond had initiated when he was in Sгo Paulo.'
Harry saw Weber slowly nodding his head.
'Friday morning. D-day. In the afternoon Stine is flying to London with Lev and from there to Brazil the following morning. The trip has been booked through Brastours. The suitcases are packed and ready at home, but she and Trond go to work as usual. At two Trond leaves work and goes to Focus in Sporveisgata. He arrives, pays for the squash court he has booked, but says he hasn't found a partner. That's the first alibi in place: a registered payment at 14.34. Then he says he'll do some training in the fitness room instead and goes into the changing room. There are lots of people moving in and out at that time. He locks himself in the toilet with the bag, changes into the boiler suit with something over it, probably a long coat, waits until he can be sure the people he saw in the toilet have gone, puts on his sunglasses, takes the bag and passes quickly and unnoticed out of the changing room through the reception area. I would guess he walks towards Stenspark and then up Pilestredet by the building site where they clock off at three. He nips in, tears off his coat, puts on a folded balaclava he has hidden under his cap. Then he walks up the hill and turns left down Industrigata. At the Bogstadveien crossroads he goes into the 7- Eleven. He'd been there a couple of weeks earlier to check the camera angles. And the skip he ordered is in position. The scene is set for the diligent police officers he obviously knows will check all the video footage in the shops and petrol stations around. So he puts on this little show for us: we don't see his face but we do see very clearly a bottle of Coke he's holding in his bare hand and drinking from. He puts it in a plastic bag, so we're all convinced the fingerprints have not been wiped off by the rain and places it in the green skip he knows won't be collected for a good while. He must have had a fairly high opinion of our efficiency, and we nearly lost the evidence, but he got lucky-Beate drove like crazy and we managed it: to give Trond Grette a watertight alibi by acquiring the final, incontrovertible piece of evidence against Lev.'
Harry broke off. The faces in front of him expressed mild perplexity.
'The bottle of Coke was the one Lev had drunk from in Disengrenda,' Harry said. 'Or somewhere. Trond had taken it for precisely this purpose.'
'I'm afraid you've forgotten something, Hole,' Ivarsson whinnied. 'You saw yourself that the bank robber was holding the bottle in his bare hands. If it was Trond Grette, it must be his prints on the bottle.'
Harry motioned towards Weber.
'Glue,' said the experienced detective.
'I beg your pardon?' The Chief Superintendent turned to Weber.
'An old trick used by bank robbers. You spread a little glue over your fingertips, let it harden and, bingo, no prints.'
The Chief Superintendent shook his head. 'But where has this accountant, as you call him, learned these tricks?'
'He was the little brother of one of the most professional bank robbers Norway has seen,' Beate said. 'He knew Lev's methods and style inside out. Amongst other things, Lev kept video recordings of his raids at his home in Disengrenda. Trond had taught himself his brother's techniques so well that even Raskol was deceived into thinking he recognised Lev Grette. On top of that, there is the physical similarity of the two brothers, which meant that computer manipulation of the videos showed the robber could have been Lev.'
'Shit!' Halvorsen exclaimed involuntarily. He ducked and sent a fearful glance at Bjarne Mшller, but Mшller was sitting with mouth wide open, staring blankly in front of him as if a bullet had passed through his head.
'You haven't put down the gun, Harry. Can you explain?'
Harry attempted to breathe regularly even though his heart was running amok. Oxygen to the brain, that was crucial. He tried not to look at Beate. The wind puffed up thin, blonde strands of her hair. Muscles in the thin neck were straining and her shoulders had begun to tremble.
'Elementary,' Harry said. 'You'll shoot us both. You have to give me a better deal than that, Trond.'
Trond laughed and rested his cheek against the green butt of the gun. 'What do you say to this deal, Harry? You've got twenty-five seconds to think through the alternatives and put down the weapon.'
'The usual twenty-five?'
'Correct. I suppose you recall how quickly the time went. Think fast, Harry.'
'Do you know what put the idea in my head about Stine knowing the robber?' Harry shouted. 'They were standing too close. Much closer than you and Beate now. It's odd, but, even in life-and-death situations, people respect others' intimate spaces if they can. Isn't that strange?'
Trond placed the barrel under Beate's chin and raised her face. 'Beate, would you be so kind as to count for us?' He was using the theatrical tone again. 'From one to twenty-five. Not too fast and not too slow.'
'I was wondering about something,' Harry said. 'What did she say before you shot her?'
'Would you really like to know, Harry?'
'Yes, I would.'
'Beate has two seconds to start counting. One…'
'Count, Beate!'
'One.' Her voice was a dry whisper. 'Two.'
'Stine pronounced the final death sentence for herself and Lev,' Trond said.
'Three.'
'She said I could shoot her, but I should spare him.'
Harry felt his throat constrict and his grip on the gun weaken.
'Four.'
'In other words, he would have shot Stine however long the branch manager took to put the money in the bag?' Halvorsen asked.
Harry nodded gloomily.
'Since you seem to know everything, I take it you also know his escape route,' Ivarsson said. The tone was intended to be sarcastic and amusing, but the irritation shone through all too clearly.
'No, but I assume he took the same route back. Up Industrigata, down Pilestredet, into the building site where he took off the balaclava and stuck the POLITI label on the back of the boiler suit. When he was back in Focus, he was wearing a cap and sunglasses, and failed to attract the attention of the centre staff since they didn't recognise the photos of him. He went into the changing room and put on the sports gear he had been wearing when he arrived from work, then joined the general hubbub in the fitness rooms, did a bit of cycling, maybe lifted a few weights. Then he showered, went to the reception desk and reported his squash racquet missing. The girl who took his details gave the exact time as 16.02. The alibi was cemented and he went into the street, heard the sirens and drove home. Possibly.'
'I don't know if I understand the purpose of the police labels,' the Chief Inspector said. 'We don't even have boiler suits in the force.'
'Elementary psychology,' Beate said and her cheeks glowed when she saw the Chief Superintendent's raised eyebrow. 'I mean…not elementary in the sense that it's…erm, obvious.'
'Go on,' the Chief Superintendent said.
