Nemesis

45

The Art of War

Raskol straightened up and Harry began:

'This summer my neighbour, Ali Niazi, received a letter from someone purporting to owe rent from the time he lived in the building several years ago. Ali couldn't find his name in the list of occupants, so he wrote to him telling him to forget it. The name was Eriksen. I rang Ali yesterday and asked him to dig up the letter he had received. It turned out the address was Sorgenfrigata 17. Astrid Monsen told me that Anna's letter box had had another name sticker on it for a few days this summer. Name of Eriksen. What was the point of the letter? I rang the locksmith. They had, in fact, received an order for a key to my flat. I had the papers faxed over. The first thing I noticed was that the order was made a week before Anna's death. The order was signed by Ali, chairman and key-man of our housing co-op. The forged signature on the order form was no more than passable. Done by a no more than passable painter, imitating the signature on a letter she had received, for instance. But it was good enough for the locksmith, who promptly ordered a key for Harry Hole's flat from Trioving. And Harry Hole had to appear personally, show ID and sign for the key, believing he was signing for a spare key for Anna. You could kill yourself laughing, couldn't you?'

Raskol didn't seem to have any problems restraining himself.

'Between our meeting and the evening meal she rigged all this up. Arranged an e-mail account via a server in Egypt and wrote the e-mails on the laptop, pre-programming their delivery dates. During the day she unlocked the door to our cellar and found my storeroom. She used the same key to get into my flat to look for an easily recognisable personal item which she could plant at Alf Gunnerud's. She chose the photo of Sis and me. Next item on the agenda was a visit to her ex-lover and dealer. Alf Gunnerud must have been a little surprised to see her again. What did she want? Buy or borrow a gun maybe? Because she knew he had one of the weapons Oslo appears to be full of right now, with the manufacturer's serial number filed off. He found her a gun, a Beretta M92F, while she went to the toilet. He thought she was in there for a long time. And when she eventually came out, she was suddenly in a hurry and had to leave. At least we can imagine that was how it might have happened.'

Raskol's jaws were clenched so hard Harry could see his lips narrow. Harry leaned backwards. 'The next job was to break into Albu's chalet and plant the key to her flat. That was child's play; she knew the chalet key was in the outside lamp. While she was there she unstuck the photograph of Vigdis and the children from the photo album and took it with her. And so everything was ready. She only had to wait now. For Harry to come to the meal. The menu was tom yam with japone chilli, Coke and morphine hydrochloride. The latter ingredient is particularly popular as a date-rape drug, as it is liquid and relatively tasteless, the dosage simple and the effect unpredictable. The victim will wake up with a big hole in their memory, which they think is caused by alcohol since they have all the symptoms of a hangover. And in many ways you could say I was raped. I was so befuddled she had no problem taking my mobile out of my jacket pocket before shoving me out of the door. After I had gone, she left as well and went to my room in the cellar, where she connected the mobile to the laptop. When she came home, she sneaked up the stairs. Astrid Monsen heard her, but thought it was fru Gundersen from the third floor. Then she prepared herself for the last performance before leaving the rest of the action to take care of itself. Of course, she knew I would investigate the case, officially or otherwise, so she left me two patrins. She held the gun in her right hand, knowing I knew she was left-handed. And she placed the photo in the shoe.'

Raskol's lips moved, but not a sound passed them.

Harry ran a hand across his face. 'The last brushstroke of the masterpiece was to pull the trigger of a gun.'

'But why?' whispered Raskol.

Harry shrugged. 'Anna was a person of extremes. She wanted to avenge herself on the people she thought had taken from her what she lived for. Love. The guilty parties were Albu, Gunnerud and me. And your family. In short: hatred won.'

'Bullshit,' Raskol said.

Harry turned and took down the photograph of Raskol and Stefan from the wall and placed it on the table between them. 'Hasn't hatred always won in your family, Raskol?'

Raskol knocked back his head and drained the glass. Then he beamed.

Harry recollected the seconds afterwards as a video on fast forward. When they were over, he was lying on the floor, held in a neck lock by Raskol, with alcohol in his eyes, the smell of Calvados in his nose and the jagged edge of the broken bottle against his neck.

'There's only one thing more dangerous than excessively high blood pressure, Spiuni,' Raskol whispered. 'And that's excessively low blood pressure. So keep still.'

Harry swallowed and tried to speak, but Raskol squeezed harder and it turned into a groan.

'Sun Tzu is absolutely clear on love and hatred, Spiuni. Both love and hatred win in wars. They're inseparable like Siamese twins. Rage and compassion are the losers.'

'Then we're both about to lose,' Harry groaned.

Raskol tightened his grip again. 'My Anna would never have chosen death.' His voice quivered. 'She loved life.'

Harry wheezed the words: 'Like-you-love-freedom?'

Raskol loosened his grip and with a whine Harry drank air down into his aching lungs. His heart hammered in his head, but the traffic noise outside returned.

'You made your choice,' Harry wheezed. 'You gave yourself up in order to do penance. Incomprehensible to others, but it was your decision. Anna did the same.'

Raskol pressed the bottle against Harry's neck as he tried to move. 'I had my reasons.'

'I know,' Harry said. 'Doing penance is almost as strong an instinct as taking revenge.'

Raskol didn't answer.

'Did you know Beate Lшnn also made a decision? She realised nothing would bring her father back. There is no rage left. She asked me to pay her respects and tell you she forgives you.' A spike of glass scraped against his skin. It sounded like a fountain-pen nib writing on rough paper. Hesitantly writing the last word. Only the full stop was missing. Harry swallowed. 'Now it's your turn to choose, Raskol.'

'Choose between what, Spiuni? Whether you live or die?'

Harry breathed in, trying to keep his panic at a distance. 'Whether you want to set Beate Lшnn free or not. Whether you will tell her what happened on the day you shot her father. Whether you will set yourself free.'

'Me?' Raskol laughed his soft laughter.

'I've found him,' Harry said. 'That is, Beate Lшnn found him.'

'Found whom?'

'He lives in Gothenburg.'

Raskol's laughter stopped abruptly.

'He's lived there for nineteen years,' Harry went on. 'Ever since he discovered you were Anna's real father.'

'You're lying,' Raskol yelled and raised the bottle over his head. Harry felt his mouth go dry and closed his eyes. On opening them again, he saw Raskol's glassy eyes. They breathed in unison; their chests rose and fell together.

Raskol whispered. 'And…Maria?'

Harry had to try twice before he got a sound from his vocal cords. 'No one has heard from her. Someone told Stefan they'd seen her with an itinerant group in Normandy several years ago.'

'Stefan? Have you spoken to him?'

Harry nodded.

'Why did he want to speak to a Spiuni like you?'

Harry tried to shrug, but was unable to move. 'Ask him yourself…'

'Ask…' Raskol stared at Harry in disbelief.

'Simon went to fetch him yesterday. He's sitting in the caravan next door. The police have a couple of issues outstanding, but the officers have been warned not to touch him. He wants to talk to you. The rest is up to you.'

Harry put his hand between the bottle and his neck. Raskol made no attempt to stop him as he stood up. He only asked: 'Why have you done this, Spiuni?'

Harry shrugged. 'You made sure the judges in Moscow allowed Rakel to keep Oleg. I'm giving you a chance to hold onto the only person you have left.' He took the handcuffs out of his jacket pocket and put them on the table. 'Whatever you decide, I consider we're quits now.'

'Quits?'

'You saw to it that mine returned. I have done the same for you.'

'I hear what you say, Harry, but what does it mean?'

'It means I'm going to tell everything I know about Arne Albu's murder. And we'll be after you with everything we possess.'

Raskol raised an eyebrow. 'It would be easier for you if you let it drop, Spiuni. You know you won't get anything on me, so why try?'

'Because we're the police,' Harry said. 'And not giggling concubines.'

Raskol's eyes didn't let go. Then he made a brief bow.

Harry turned in the doorway. The thin man sat bent over the plastic table with the shadows hiding his face.

'You've got until midnight, Raskol. Then the officers will take you back.'

An ambulance siren cut through the traffic noise in Finnmarkgata, rose and sank as if seeking a pure tone.