Klaus asked him why they had specifically come to him. After all, there were other people who had more experience of this than he. The sweat froze on his back and he began to shiver a little in the air-conditioned reception area.
‘Because we know that you’ll keep your mouth shut about this, Torkildsen. Just as we will keep our mouths shut to your superiors and colleagues about the time you were literally caught with your trousers down in Stens Park in January 1987. The undercover policewoman said you were stark naked under the coat. Must have been damned cold…’
Torkildsen swallowed hard. They had said that it would be taken off public records after a few years.
He swallowed again.
It seemed absolutely impossible to trace the mobile phone. It was switched on; he knew that as he received a signal every half-hour, but it came from a different place every time, as if it were trying to tease him.
He concentrated on the addresses on the list. One was an internal number at Kjolberggata 21. He checked the number. It was Krimteknisk, the Forensics department.
Beate picked up the phone as soon as it rang.
‘Well?’ said a voice at the other end.
‘Not looking good so far,’ she said.
‘Mm.’
‘I have two men developing the photographs and they’ll land on my desk the second they’re finished.’
‘And no Sven Sivertsen.’
‘If he was by the Fountain in Frogner Park when Barbara Svendsen was killed, he was unlucky. He’s definitely not in any of the photographs I’ve seen and we’re talking close on a hundred so far.’
‘White, short-sleeved shirt and blue -’
‘You’ve said all that before, Harry.’
‘No faces even similar?’
‘I’ve got a good eye for faces, Harry. He isn’t in any of the photos.’
‘Mm.’
She waved in Bjorn Holm with a new stack of photographs stinking of developer reagent. He dumped them down on her desk, pointed to one, gave a thumbs-up and disappeared.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve just got some new ones in. They’re from the group who were there on Saturday at five o’clock. Now let me see…’
‘Come on.’
‘Yes indeed. Gosh… Guess who I’m sitting looking at now?’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Sven Sivertsen as large as life, as tall as ever. In profile in front of Vigeland’s six giants. Looks as if he’s walking past.’
‘Has he got a brown polythene bag in his hand?’
‘The picture is cut off too high to see.’
‘OK, but at least he was there.’
‘Yes, but no-one was killed on a Saturday, Harry. So that’s no alibi for anything.’
‘It means that at least something of what he said is true.’
‘Well, the best lies are ninety per cent truth.’
Beate could feel the lobes of her ears getting warm as she realised that that was a direct quote from The Gospel According to Harry. She had even used his intonation.
‘Where are you?’ she added quickly.
‘As I said, it’s best for us both that you don’t know.’
‘Sorry, slipped up there.’
Pause.
‘We… er, we’ll keep checking the photos,’ Beate said. ‘Bjorn’s got hold of a list of tourist groups who were in Frogner Park at the times of the other murders.’
Harry rang off with a grunt, which Beate interpreted as a ‘thank you’.
Harry put his thumb and first finger in the corners of his eyes on each side of the ridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. Including the two hours he had slept this morning, he had had six hours’ sleep in the last three days. And he knew it might be a long time before he had any more. He had dreamed about streets. He had seen the map slide into his view and he had dreamed about street names in Oslo. Sons gate, Nittedalgata, Sorumgata, Skedsmogata, all the twisting little streets in Kampen. And then he had dreamed it was night, snow was falling and he was walking along a street in Grunerlokka (Markveien? Toftes gate?) and a red sports car was parked there with two people in it. As he drew closer, he saw that one person was a woman with the head of a pig, wearing an old-fashioned dress. He called her name, he called out ‘Ellen’, but when she turned round and opened her mouth to answer, it was full of gravel and the gravel spilled out.
Harry stretched his stiff neck from side to side. ‘Listen,’ he said, attempting to focus on Sven Sivertsen, who was lying on a mattress on the floor. ‘The person I just talked to on the phone has set some machinery in motion for your and my sake that could lead to her not only losing her job, but also being imprisoned for acting as an accomplice. I need something that can give her peace of mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I want her to see a copy of one of the pictures you have of you and Waaler in Prague.’
Sivertsen laughed.
‘Are you hard of hearing, Harry? This is the only card I have to bargain with, I’m telling you. If I play it now, you can just cancel Operation Save Sivertsen.’
‘We may do that sooner than you imagine. They’ve found a picture which proves you were in Frogner Park on Saturday. But nothing for the day Barbara Svendsen was killed. Rather odd considering that the Japanese have had the Fountain under flash attack all summer, don’t you think? It’s bad news for your story anyway. That’s why I want you to ring your girl and get her to mail or fax the picture to Beate Lonn in Forensics. She can censor Waaler’s face if you think you have to keep what you claim is your trump card, but I want to see a picture of you and someone else in that square, someone who could be Tom Waaler.’
‘Vaclav Square.’
‘Whatever. She’s got an hour to do it, starting now. If not, our agreement is history. Understand?’
Sivertsen fixed Harry with a long stare before he answered.
‘I don’t know if she’ll be at home.’
‘She doesn’t work,’ Harry said. ‘Worried, pregnant girlfriend. How is she not going to be at home waiting for a telephone call from you? Let’s hope so anyway, for your sake. Fifty-nine minutes left.’
Sivertsen’s gaze took in a whistle-stop tour of the room, but rested on Harry again in the end. He shook his head.
‘I can’t, Hole. I can’t drag her into this. She’s innocent. For the moment, Waaler knows nothing about her or where we live, but if this fails I know he’ll find out. And then he’ll go after her as well.’
‘And what will she think about being left alone to bring up a child while the father’s serving a life sentence for four murders? You’re caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, Sivertsen. Fifty-eight.’
Sivertsen put his face in his hands.
‘Fuck…’
When he looked up again Harry was holding out the mobile phone.
He bit his bottom lip. Then he took the phone, punched in the number and pressed the red phone against his ear. Harry checked his watch. The second hand was stuttering its way round. Sivertsen shifted with unease. Harry counted 20 seconds.
‘Well?’
‘She may have gone to her mother’s in Brno,’ Sivertsen said.
‘Pity. For you,’ Harry said with his eyes still on his watch. ‘Fifty-seven.’
He heard the phone fall to the floor. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of Sivertsen’s contorted face before feeling a hand close around his neck. Harry brought both arms up quickly. He hit Sivertsen’s wrists and Sivertsen lost his grip. Then Harry lunged at the face ahead of him and hit something; he felt it give way. He struck again and felt warm sticky blood running between his fingers and made a bizarre association: that the blood was like freshly
