'Yes, I would,' Ivarsson said. The assembled officers craned their heads. He cleared his throat. 'Unfortunately, I don't have the privilege to be able to say, as you did, Bjarne, that I am no public speaker. Because I am.' More laughter. 'And from my experience as a speaker at the successful conclusion of other cases, I know it is tiring to thank all and sundry. Police work is, as we all know, teamwork. Beate and Harry had the honour of scoring the goal, but the team did the groundwork.'
With disbelief, Harry watched the assembly nod in agreement.
'So, thank you, everyone.' Ivarsson passed his gaze over the officers, with the evident intention of making each individual feel noted and thanked. Then, more upbeat, he shouted: 'Let's crack open the champagne sharpish, shall we!'
Someone passed him the bottle and after giving it a good shake he started to loosen the cork.
'I can't be bothered with this,' Harry whispered to Beate. 'I'm off.'
She sent him a reproachful look.
'Watch out!' The cork popped and flew up to the ceiling. 'Everyone take a glass!'
'Sorry,' Harry said. 'See you tomorrow.'
He walked through the office and collected his jacket. In the lift on the way down, he leaned against the wall. He had only slept a couple of hours in Albu's chalet last night. At six in the morning, he had driven to the railway station in Moss, found a telephone box and the number of Moss police and reported the body in the sea. He knew they would ask Oslo police for assistance. When he arrived in Oslo at eight, he sat in Kaffebrenneriet in Ullevеlsveien and drank a cortado until he was sure the case had been given to others and he could go to his office in peace.
The lift doors slid open and Harry went out through the swing doors. Into the cold, clear autumn air of Oslo, reported to be more polluted than the air in Bangkok. He told himself there was no rush and forced himself to slow down. He didn't want to think about anything today, just sleep and hope he wouldn't dream. Hope tomorrow all the doors would have closed behind him.
All except one. The one which would never close, the one he didn't want to close. He wasn't going to think about that until tomorrow, though. Then he would walk with Halvorsen along the river Akerselva. Stop by the tree where they had found her. Reconstruct what happened for the hundredth time. Not because they had forgotten anything, but to get the feeling back, the smell in your nostrils. He was dreading it already.
He took the narrow path across the lawn. The short cut. He didn't look at the grey prison building on the left. Where Raskol had presumably packed away the chess set for the time being. They would never find anything in Larkollen or anywhere else to point to the gypsy or any of his henchmen, even if Harry himself took on the case. They would have to keep going for as long as was necessary. The Expeditor was dead. Arne Albu was dead. Justice is like water, Ellen had once said. It always finds a way. They knew it wasn't true, but at least it was a lie they could find solace in every now and then.
Harry heard the sirens. He had heard them for a while. The white cars with rotating blue lights passed him and disappeared down Grшnlandsleiret. He tried not to think why they had been called out. Probably nothing to do with him. If it was, it would have to wait. Until tomorrow.
Tom Waaler realised he was too early. Residents of the pale yellow block did other things than sit at home during the day. He had just pressed the bottom button in the row. He turned to walk away when he caught the caged, metallic sound of a voice: 'Hello?'
Waaler spun round. 'Hello, is that…?' He looked at the nameplate beside the button. 'Astrid Monsen?'
Twenty seconds later he was on the landing looking at a scared, freckled face peering up at him from behind a security chain.
'May I come in, frшken Monsen?' he asked, baring his teeth in a David Hasselhoff special.
'Rather you didn't,' she squeaked. She probably hadn't seen Baywatch.
He gave her his ID.
'I've come to ask if there is anything we ought to know about Anna Bethsen's death. We're not so sure it was a suicide any more. I understand a colleague of mine has been conducting a private investigation and I was wondering if you had spoken to him.'
Tom Waaler had heard that animals, especially predators, can smell fear. It didn't surprise him. What surprised him was that not everyone could smell fear. Fear had the same transitory, bitter odour that cow piss had.
'What are you frightened of, frшken Monsen?'
Her pupils dilated even further. Waaler's antennae were whirring now.
'It's very important you help us,' Waaler said. 'The most important aspect of the relationship between the police and the general public is honesty, don't you agree?'
Her eyes went walkabout and he took a risk: 'I believe my colleague may be involved in the case somehow.'
The chin dropped and she sent him a helpless look. Bingo.
They sat down in the kitchen. The brown walls were covered in children's drawings. Waaler guessed she must have been an auntie to loads of kids. He took notes as she talked.
'I heard a crashing noise in the corridor, and when I went out a man was on all fours on the landing outside my door. He had obviously had a fall so I asked him if he needed any help, but I didn't really get a proper answer. I went upstairs and rang Anna Bethsen's bell, but no answer there, either. When I went back down I helped him to stand up. All the things from his pockets were strewn everywhere. I found his wallet with his name and address. Then I helped him into the street, hailed an unoccupied taxi and gave the driver the address. That's all I know.'
'And you're sure it's the same person who visited you later? Harry Hole, that is?'
She gulped. And nodded.
'That's fine, Astrid. How did you know he'd been at Anna's?'
'I heard him arrive.'
'You heard him arrive and you heard him go into Anna's?'
'My study is right next to the corridor. You can hear everything that goes on there. This block's quiet; not much happens here.'
'Did you hear any other movements near Anna's flat?'
She hesitated. 'I thought I heard someone creeping up to Anna's after the policeman had gone. But it sounded like a woman. High heels, you see. They make a different sound. But I think it was fru Gundersen on the third.'
'Oh?'
'She usually creeps in when she's had a few at Gamle Major.'
'Did you hear any shots?'
Astrid shook her head. 'The walls between flats are well insulated.'
'Do you remember the number of the taxi?'
'No.'
'What was the time when you heard the crashing in the corridor?'
'A quarter past eleven.'
'Are you absolutely sure, Astrid?'
She nodded. Took a deep breath.
Waaler was surprised by the sudden firmness in her voice as she said: 'He killed her.'
He could feel his pulse quicken. A tad. 'What makes you say that, Astrid?'
'I knew something was wrong when I heard Anna was supposed to have committed suicide that night. There was that person lying dead drunk on the stairs, wasn't there, and she didn't answer the door. I considered contacting the police, but then he came here…' She looked at Tom Waaler as if she was drowning and he was a
