Mшller was massaging a stiff knee. The concerned expression was back. 'Probably not.'
'Mm,' said Harry, standing in the doorway to the House of Pain.
'Mm,' said Beate, twisting round on her chair and glancing at the pictures rolling across the screen.
'Suppose I ought to thank you for great teamwork.'
'Same to you.'
Harry stood fingering his bunch of keys. 'Anyway,' he said. 'I don't think Ivarsson will be pissed off for very long. After all, he bathed in some of the glory as it was his idea to make us a team.'
Beate smiled faintly. 'For as long as it lasted.'
'Don't forget what I said about you-know-who.'
'No.' Her eyes flashed.
Harry pushed his shoulders forward. 'He's a bastard. It would be unconscionable of me not to tell you.'
'Lovely to know you, Harry.'
Harry let the door close behind him.
Harry unlocked the door to his flat, put down his bag and the plastic Playstation carrier in the middle of the hall floor and went to bed. Three dreamless hours later he was awoken by the telephone ringing. He turned over and saw it was 19.03 on his alarm clock; he swung his legs out of bed, shuffled into the hallway, picked up the telephone and said: 'Hi, Шystein,' before the other person could even introduce himself.
'Hello, you in Oslo, I'm at the airport in Cairo,' Шystein said. 'We said we'd speak now, didn't we?'
'You're punctuality personified,' Harry said with a yawn. 'And you're drunk.'
'Not drunk, no,' Шystein slurred indignantly. 'Just had a couple of Stellas. Or was it three? Have to watch your fluids in the desert, y'know. I'm clear-headed and sober, Harry.'
'That's good to hear. I hope you have more good news.'
'As the doctor says, there's good news and bad news. I'll tell you the good news first…'
'Right.'
A long pause followed, during which all Harry could hear was a crackling noise over what sounded like heavy breathing.
'Шystein?'
'Yes?'
'I'm standing here, getting as excited as a child at Christmas.'
'Hey?'
'The good news?'
'Oh, yes. Um, well, I've got the client's number, Harry. No problemo, as they say here. It was a Norwegian mobile phone number.'
'Mobile? Is that possible?'
'You can send wireless e-mails all over the world. You just connect your computer to a mobile which in turn connects to the server. That's pretty damn old news, Harry.'
'OK, but has this client a name?'
'Er…of course. But the guys in El Tor don't have it. They just bill the Norwegian telephone operator, Telenor in this case, who in turn invoices the end client. So I rang Information in Norway and got the name.'
'Yes?' Harry was fully awake now.
'Now we've come to the not quite such good news.'
'OK?'
'Have you checked your telephone bill recently, Harry?'
It took a few seconds before it clicked. 'My mobile phone. Is the bastard using my mobile phone?'
'You no longer have it, I suppose?'
'No, I lost it that evening…with Anna. Fuck!'
'And it never occurred to you it might be a good idea to cancel your contract?'
'Occurred to me?' Harry groaned. 'Nothing sensible has occurred to me since this shit started, Шystein. Sorry, I'm freaking out here. It's all so simple and obvious. That was why I didn't find my phone at Anna's. And that's why he's laughing.'
'Apologies for ruining your day.'
'Hang on a moment,' Harry said, suddenly in high spirits. 'If we can prove he has my phone, we can also prove he was at Anna's after I left!'
'Yippee!' screeched the receiver. And then a more cautious: 'If it means you're happy, anyway? Hello? Harry?'
'I'm still here. I'm thinking.'
'It's good to think. You keep thinking. I've got a date with Stella. Well, several actually. And if I'm going to make the Oslo flight…'
'All the best, Шystein.'
Harry stood with the receiver in his hand, weighing up whether to hurl it into the mirror or not. When he woke up next day, he hoped he had dreamed the conversation with Шystein. In fact he had. Six or seven versions of it.
Raskol sat with his head bowed, resting on his hands, as Harry talked. He neither moved nor interrupted while Harry described how they had found Lev Grette and how his own mobile phone was the reason they still had no evidence against Anna's murderer. When Harry had finished, Raskol folded his hands and slowly raised his head: 'You've solved your case then, but mine remains unresolved.'
'I don't see them as your case and mine, Raskol. My responsibility-'
'I do, though, Spiuni,' Raskol cut in. 'I run a military organisation.'
'Mm. What exactly do you mean by that?'
Raskol closed his eyes. 'Have I told you about the time King Wu invited Sun Tzu to teach the ladies of the court the arts of war, Spiuni?'
'Well, no.'
Raskol smiled. 'Sun Tzu was an intellectual and he began by precisely and pedagogically explaining marching instructions to the women. When the drums rolled, they didn't march, they just giggled and laughed. 'It's the general's fault if the commands are not understood,' Sun Tzu said and explained once more. But the same happened when he gave the order to march. 'It's the officer's fault if an order is understood but not obeyed,' he said and ordered two of his men to pick out two of the leaders of the courtesans. They were lined up and beheaded in front of the other terrified women. When the king heard that his two favourite concubines had been executed, he fell ill and had to take to his bed for several days. When he got up again, he put Sun Tzu in control of his armed forces.' Raskol opened his eyes again. 'What does this story teach us, Spiuni?'
Harry didn't answer.
'Well, it teaches us that in a military organisation the logic has to be total and absolutely consistent. If you relax your demands, you're left with a court of giggling concubines. When you came to ask for another 40,000 kroner, you got it because I believed the story of the photograph in Anna's shoe. Because Anna is a gypsy. When we gypsies travel, we leave a patrin at forks in the road. A red scarf tied around a branch, a chipped bone, they all have different meanings. A photograph means someone has died. Or will die. You weren't to know, so I trusted what you said.' Raskol placed his hands on the table, palms upwards. 'But the man who took the life of my brother's daughter is free and when I look at you now I see a giggling concubine, Spiuni. Absolute consistency. Give me his name, Spiuni.'
Harry breathed in. Two words. Four syllables. If he revealed Albu's name, what sentence would be passed on
