Death In Oslo

Warren Scifford and Adam Stubo were standing outside the door to Hanne Wilhelmsen’s flat in Krusesgate, arguing at the tops of their voices.

‘We’ll wait,’ Adam said, furious. ‘A patrol car will be here any second!’

Warren pulled his arm out of the Norwegian’s firm grip.

‘It’s my president,’ he hissed back. ‘It is my responsibility to find out if my country’s top leader is behind that door. My life depends on it, Adam! She is the only one who believes me! No way am I waiting for a gang of trigger-happy uniformed-’

‘Hello,’ said a hoarse voice. ‘Who’s that?’

The door opened ten centimetres or so. At about face height there was a taut steel safety chain, and an old woman stared out at them with wild, wide-open eyes.

‘Don’t open it,’ Adam said immediately. ‘Please, woman, please close the door now!’

Warren kicked the door. The woman jumped back with a stream of oaths. The chain was still intact. Adam grabbed hold of Warren’s jacket, but it slipped out of his hand and he lost his balance. He made a desperate attempt to grab Warren’s trouser leg, but the older man was much fitter. When he pulled his leg loose, he also planted a powerful foot right in Adam’s groin, which made the Norwegian collapse and black out. The old woman inside stopped her carry-on when another kick to the door made the chain come loose. The door flew open and hit the woman, who was thrown backwards and landed on a shoe rack.

Warren stormed in with his gun in his hand. He stopped by the first door and pulled himself in to the wall before shouting: ‘Helen! Helen! Madam President, are you there?’

No one answered. With his gun raised, he moved on and went into the next room.

It was a large sitting room. There was a woman in a wheelchair sitting by the window. She didn’t move and her face was expressionless. However, he did notice that she was looking at a door at the back of the big room. There was another woman sitting on the sofa, with her back to him and a child on her lap. She pulled the child tightly to her and looked terrified.

The child wailed.

‘Warren.’

Madam President came in.

‘Thank God,’ Warren said and took two steps closer as he put his gun back in its holster. ‘Thank God you’re alive!’

‘Stay where you are.’

‘What?’

He stopped instantly when she pulled out a gun and pointed it at him.

‘Madam President,’ he whispered. ‘It’s me! Warren!’

‘You betrayed me. You betrayed America.’

‘Me? I haven’t-’

‘How did you find out about the abortion, Warren? How could you use that against me, you who-’

‘Helen…’

He tried to move closer, but quickly stepped back when she raised the gun again and said: ‘I was tricked to leave the hotel by a letter.’

‘I swear… I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

‘Hands above your head, Warren.’

‘I-’

‘Put your hands above your head!’

He reluctantly put his hands in the air.

‘Verus amicus rara avis,’ Helen Bentley said. ‘That’s how the letter was signed. No one else knows about the inscription. Only you and me, Warren. Just us.’

‘I lost the watch! It was… stolen! I…’

The child was screaming like it was possessed.

‘Joanna,’ the President said. ‘Take your daughter with you and go into Hannah’s office. Now.’

Johanne got up and ran across the room. She didn’t even look in the man’s direction.

‘If your watch was stolen, Warren, what is that you’re wearing on your left arm?’

She cocked the gun.

In slow motion, as if to avoid provoking a reaction, he turned his head to look. His sweater had slid down his arms when he raised his hands. He was wearing a watch around his wrist, an Omega Oyster with diamonds for numbers and an inscription on the back.

‘It’s… You see… I thought it was…’

He let his hands fall.

‘Don’t,’ the President warned him. ‘Lift them up again.’ He looked at her. His arms were hanging loosely by his sides. His palms were open and he started to lift them towards her in a peremptory, pleading gesture.

Madam President fired.

The bang made Hanne Wilhelmsen jump. The echo thundered in her ears and she felt her hearing vanish into a drawn-out whistling sound for a few seconds. Warren Scifford lay motionless on his back on the floor, with his face up. She rolled over to him and put her finger on his pulse. Then she sat up and shook her head.

Warren smiled and raised his eyebrow, as if he had thought of something amusing at the moment of death, an irony that no one else could share.

Adam Stubo stood in the doorway. He was holding his balls and his face was white. When he saw the dead body, he groaned and stumbled forward.

‘Who are you?’ the President asked calmly; she was still standing in the middle of the room with the gun in her hand.

‘He’s a good guy,’ Hanne said, quick as a flash. ‘Police. Johanne’s husband. Don’t…’

The President raised her gun and handed it to Adam by the butt.

‘Then it’s best that you look after this. And if it’s not too much bother, I’d like to phone my embassy now.’

The noise of sirens grew in the distance.

And got louder and louder.

XV

Al Muffet carried his dead brother down into the cellar and put the body in an old chest that had presumably been in the house since it was built. It wasn’t long enough. Al had to put Fayed in sideways, bending his knees and neck, like a foetus. Having to pull and struggle with the body repulsed him, but he finally managed to force the lid down again. His brother’s suitcase was at the back of the cupboard under the stairs. Neither Fayed nor his belongings would be staying there for very long. The most important thing was to remove all traces before the girls came home from school. His daughters did not need to see their dead uncle. Nor their father being arrested. He had to send them away. He could make the excuse of an unexpected conference or an important meeting out of town, and arrange for them to stay with their dead mother’s sister in Boston. They were too young to stay at home on their own.

Then he would ring the police.

But first he had to make sure that the girls had somewhere to stay.

The biggest problem was the car that Fayed had hired. It took Al a long time to find the keys. They were under the bed. Maybe they had been lying on the bedside table, and had been knocked off when he was trying to get Fayed to tell what he knew about the disappearance of President Bentley.

Al Muffet sat on the steps outside his picturesque New England house with his face in his hands.

What have I done? What if I made a mistake? What if this is all due to an arbitrary and fatal misunderstanding? Why didn’t you say anything, Fayed? Couldn’t you just have answered me before it was too late?

He could drive the car into the old, dilapidated barn. The girls had no reason to go there; as far as he knew, no wild cats had had any kittens recently. Only kittens could tempt Louise into the barn, which was full of spiders and