Sivertsen. Have you thought about that? Instead of that you’re in a standard detention cell where anyone with a police badge can walk in and out as they like. As a detective I could have taken you out, told the guard on duty that I was taking you for questioning, signed you out with some scrawl and then given you a plane ticket to Prague. Or – as in this case – to hell. Who do you think arranged for you to be here, Sivertsen? How do you feel, by the way?’
Sivertsen gulped. Crack. Major crack.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he whispered.
Harry shrugged his shoulders.
‘Waaler restricts what he tells his underlings and, as you know, I’m curious by nature. Do you, like me, want to see the big picture, Sivertsen? Or are you one of those who believe that you’ll get the full enlightenment when you’re dead? Fine. My problem is that, in my case, that’s still quite a long wait…’
Sivertsen went pale.
‘Another smoke?’ Harry asked. ‘Or are you beginning to feel nauseous?’
Sivertsen opened his mouth, seemingly on cue, tossed his head to the side and the next moment yellow vomit splattered against the brick wall. He sat gasping for breath.
Harry glared at the drips that had ricocheted onto his trousers, went to the sink, tore paper off the roll, tore off another piece and gave it to Sivertsen. Sivertsen dried his mouth. Then his head slumped forward and he hid his face in his hands. His voice was tearful as he finally opened up:
‘When I came into the hallway… I was confused, but, naturally, I understood that he was playacting. He winked at me and twisted his head in such a way that I was meant to interpret the shouts as meant for someone else. It took me a few seconds to understand the scene. What I thought was the scene. I thought… I thought he wanted it to sound as if I was armed so that he had a reason for letting me get away. He had two guns. I thought the other one was for me. So that I was armed in case anyone saw us. I just stood there waiting for him to give me the gun. Then that bloody woman came and ruined everything.’
Harry had taken up his stance with his back to the wall again.
‘So you admit that you knew the police were after you in connection with the courier killings?’
Sivertsen shook his head.
‘No, no, I’m no murderer. I thought I’d been arrested for smuggling arms. And the diamonds. I knew that Waaler was in charge of all of this and that was why everything was going so smoothly. And that was why he was trying to let me get away. I have to…’
More vomit splashed on the floor, a greener colour this time.
Harry handed him more paper.
Sivertsen began to sob.
‘How much time do I have left?’
‘That depends,’ Harry said.
‘On what?’
Harry stubbed out his cigarette on the floor, put his hand into his pocket and played his trump card.
‘Do you see this?’
He held up a white pill between his thumb and first finger. Sivertsen nodded.
‘If you take this within ten minutes of drinking Joseph’s Blessing there is a reasonable chance that you’ll survive. I got this from a friend who works with pharmaceutical products. Why, I’m sure you’re wondering. Well, because I want to strike a deal with you. I want you to testify against Tom Waaler and to say everything you know about his arms smuggling dealings.’
‘Yes, yes. Just give me the pill.’
‘But can I trust you, Sivertsen?’
‘I swear.’
‘I need a carefully considered answer, Sivertsen. How do I know that you won’t change sides again as soon as I’m out of sight?’
‘What?’
Harry put the pill back in his pocket.
‘The seconds are ticking away. Why should I trust you, Sivertsen? Give me one good reason.’
‘Now?’
‘The Blessing stops you breathing. Extremely painful according to those who have seen people take it.’
Sivertsen blinked twice before he began to speak:
‘You have to trust me because that’s the logical follow-on. If I don’t die this evening, Tom Waaler will know that I’ve uncovered his plan to kill me. And then there’s no way back. He’ll have to get me before I get him. I simply don’t have a choice.’
‘Well done, Sivertsen. Go on.’
‘I haven’t got a chance in here. I’ll be done for long before they come to get me early tomorrow. My only chance is if Waaler is exposed and put behind bars as soon as possible. And the only person who can help me is… you.’
‘Bullseye. Congratulations,’ Harry said, getting up. ‘Hands behind your back, please.’
‘But…’
‘Do as I say. We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Get the pill…’
‘The pill’s called Flunipam and it’s only really any good for insomnia.’
Sven gawped at Harry in disbelief.
‘You…’
Harry was ready for the attack. He stepped to the side and punched hard and low. Sivertsen made a sound like air being deflated from a beach ball and folded in the middle.
Harry held him up with one hand and secured the handcuffs with the other.
‘I wouldn’t be too worried, Sivertsen. I emptied the contents of Waaler’s ampoule down the sink last night. Any complaints about the taste of the water you’ll have to take up with Oslo Water.’
‘But… I…’
They both looked down at the vomit.
‘Eyes too big for your belly,’ Harry said. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
The back of the chair in the duty room rotated slowly. A half-closed eye hove into view. Then it reacted, and the loose folds of skin slid back to reveal a large, glaring eye. ‘Griever’ Groth shifted his fat body surprisingly quickly out of the chair.
‘What’s this?’ he barked.
‘The prisoner from cell number nine,’ Harry said nodding towards Sivertsen. ‘He’s needed for questioning on the sixth floor. Where do I sign for him?’
‘Questioning? I haven’t been told about any questioning.’
The Griever had taken up a stance a short way back from the reception desk with his arms crossed and his legs wide apart.
‘As far as I’m aware, we don’t usually tell you about that kind of thing, Groth,’ Harry said.
The Griever’s eyes darted in confusion from Harry to Sivertsen and back again.
‘Relax,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just a few changes to the plans. The prisoner won’t take his medicine. We’ll find another way.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course not, and if you want to avoid hearing any more, I suggest you put the signing-out book on the desk now, Groth. We’ve got a lot to do.’
The Griever stared at him with his grieving eye while rubbing the other.
Harry concentrated on breathing and hoped that his pounding heart would not be visible from the outside. All of his plans could collapse like a house of cards at this point. Handy theme for metaphors. He had a terrible hand of cards. Not one single ace. The only thing he could hope for was that Groth’s addled brain would connect in the way he anticipated. An anticipation that was loosely based on Aune’s fundamental principle that man’s ability to think rationally when self-interest was at stake was inversely proportionate to intelligence.
The Griever grunted.
