move during the day and be seen by one of the two groups hidden in the snow. But if he came by night, without being noticed before he reached the cabin, the three of them would have to tackle the situation on their own.
Kaja and Kolkka took a bedroom each; Harry slept in the sitting room. The morning had passed without unnecessary chit-chat; even Kaja had been quiet. Concentrated.
From the reflection in the window Harry watched Kolkka assemble the gun, aim at the back of his head and fire a practice shot. Twenty hours left. Harry hoped the killer would waste no time.
While Bjorn Holm was taking the light blue hospital clothes from Adele’s wardrobe he felt Geir Bruun’s eyes on his back from the doorway.
‘Why don’t you just take everything?’ Bruun said. ‘Then I won’t have the bother of throwing it out. Where’s your colleague, Harry, by the way?’
‘He’s gone skiing in the mountains,’ Holm said patiently, putting the garments individually in the plastic bags he had brought along.
‘Really? Interesting. He didn’t strike me as the skiing type. Where?’
‘Can’t say. Talking of skis, what was Adele wearing when she went to Havass? There’s no ski gear here.’
‘She borrowed it from me, of course.’
‘She borrowed ski stuff from you?’
‘You sound so surprised.’
‘You didn’t strike me as… the skiing type.’ Holm noticed that his words projected an innuendo that had not been intentional and felt his neck glow.
Bruun chuckled and twirled round in the doorway. ‘Right, I’m more
… the clothes type.’
Holm cleared his throat and – without knowing why – made his voice go deeper. ‘May I have a look?’
‘Ooh, goodness me,’ Bruun lisped, seeming to revel in Holm’s discomfort. ‘Come on, let’s go and see what I’ve got.’
‘Half past four,’ Kaja said, passing the pot of stew to Harry for the second time. Their hands didn’t touch. Nor did their eyes. Nor their words. The night they had shared in Oppsal was as distant as a two-day-old dream. ‘According to the script, I’m supposed to be standing on the south side now, smoking a cigarette.’
Harry nodded and passed the pot to Kolkka who scraped it out before shovelling down the contents.
‘OK,’ Harry said. ‘Kolkka, will you take the west-facing window? The sun’s low now, so check for any glinting of binoculars.’
‘Not until I’ve eaten,’ he answered slowly in Swedish and with emphasis, shoving yet another fully loaded fork into his mouth.
Harry cocked an eyebrow. Glanced at Kaja and motioned for her to go.
When she was outside Harry sat by the window and combed the plateau and the ridges. ‘So Bellman employed you when no one else would, did he?’ He said it softly, but the silence in the room was so complete he could have whispered it.
A few seconds passed with no response. Harry assumed Kolkka was processing the fact that Harry had engaged him on a personal matter.
‘I know about the rumour that was spread after you were given the boot by Europol. You had beaten up an ex-con during questioning. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘That’s my business,’ Kolkka said, lifting the fork to his mouth. ‘But he might not have shown me sufficient respect.’
‘Mm. The interesting thing was that Europol spread the rumour themselves. So that the rumour would make things easier for them. And for you, I suppose. And of course for the parents and solicitors of the girl you were questioning.’
Harry heard the chewing behind him stop.
‘So that they got their compensation on the quiet without having to drag you and Europol into a courtroom. The girl avoided having to sit in the witness box and say that when you were in her room asking her about the friend who had been raped, you got so excited by the answers that you started to touch her up. Fifteen years old, it says in Europol’s internal files.’
Harry could hear Kolkka breathing heavily.
‘Let’s assume that Bellman also read the files,’ Harry continued. ‘Was given access via contacts and roundabout methods. Like me. He waited a bit before contacting you. Waited until the anger was out of you, until all the air was gone, until you were on the wheel rim, punctured. And then he picked you up. Gave you a job and gave you back some of the pride you had lost. And knew you would repay him with loyalty. He buys when the market is at the bottom, Kolkka. That’s how he gets his bodyguards.’
Harry turned to Jussi Kolkka. The Finn’s face was white.
‘You’re bought, but you’re hardly paid, Jussi. Slaves like you don’t gain respect, not from Massa Bellman and not from me. Christ, you don’t even have any self-respect, man.’
Kolkka’s fork fell to his plate with an almost deafening clatter. He got up, slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a gun. He strode towards Harry and leaned over him. Harry didn’t budge, just calmly looked up.
‘So how are you going to find your respect again, Jussi? By shooting me?’
The Finn’s pupils were quivering with rage.
‘Or by working yourself to hell?’ Harry looked out at the snowy expanse again.
Heard Kolkka’s heavy breathing. Waited. Heard him turn. Heard him move away. Heard him sit down by the west-facing window.
The radio crackled. Harry grabbed the microphone.
‘Yes?’
‘Soon be dark.’ It was Bellman’s voice. ‘He’s not coming.’
‘Still keep a lookout.’
‘What for? It’s clouded over and without moonlight we can’t see a-’
‘If we can’t see, neither can he,’ Harry said. ‘So keep a lookout for a head torch.’
The man had switched off the head torch. He didn’t need any light, he knew where the ski trail he was following led. To the Tourist Association cabin. And his eyes would get used to the dark, he would have large, light-sensitive pupils before he arrived. There it was, the log wall with black windows. As though no one were at home. The new snow creaked as the man kicked off and slid down the last few metres. He stopped and listened to the silence for a couple of seconds before soundlessly unclipping his skis. He took out the large, heavy Sami knife with the intimidating boat-shaped blade and the smooth, varnished yellow wooden hilt. It was as good at cutting down branches for a fire as carving up a reindeer. Or slitting throats.
The man opened the door as quietly as he could and entered the hall. Stood listening at the sitting-room door. Silence. Too silent? He pressed the handle and threw open the door while standing back against the wall next to the doorway. Then – to make the target as elusive and small as possible – he crouched down and rushed into the darkness with the knife to the fore.
He glimpsed the figure of the dead man sitting on the floor with his head hanging and arms still embracing the stove.
He returned the knife to its sheath and switched on the light by the sofa. It hadn’t struck him until now that the sofa was identical to the one at the Havass cabin. The Tourist Association must have got a discount on a job lot. But the sofa cover was old, the cabin had been closed for several years, and it was in much too dangerous an area: there had been accidents with people plunging down cliff faces while trying to find the cabin.
Next to the wood burner, the dead man’s head rose slowly.
‘Sorry to burst in on you like this.’ He checked that the chains holding the dead man’s hands shackled around the stove were as they should be.
Then he began to unpack his rucksack. He had pulled his hat down and had been in and out of the shop in Ustaoset in a flash. Biscuits. Bread. Papers. Which had more about the press conference. And this witness at the Havass cabin.
