Police

19

It was evening and the kitchen windows in the yellow wooden house in Oppsal where Beate Lønn had just finished her daily conversation with her son were brightly lit. Afterwards she had talked to her mother-in-law and agreed that if the boy still had a temperature and was coughing, they would have to postpone the journey home for a few days. The in-laws would love to have him for a bit longer in Steinkjer. Beate unhooked the plastic leftovers bag in the cupboard under the sink and was putting it in one of the white rubbish bags when the phone rang. It was Katrine, and she didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.

‘There was a piece of chewing gum under the driver’s seat in Mittet’s car.’

‘Right. .’

‘It was removed, but it hasn’t been sent for DNA testing.’

‘I wouldn’t have sent it either if it was under the driver’s seat. It was Mittet’s. Listen, if you tested every single thing you found at a crime scene, the queue would make waiting times-’

‘But Ståle was right, Beate! People don’t stick gum under their own dining-room tables. Or in their own cars. According to Mittet’s wife, he didn’t even chew gum. And no one else drove the car except him. I think the person who left the gum was leaning across the driver’s seat when he did it. And according to the report the murderer was sitting in the passenger seat and leaned across Mittet to fasten his hands to the wheel with the ties. The car has been in the river, but according to Bjørn the DNA in the spit can-’

‘Yes, I know where you’re going,’ Beate interrupted. ‘You’ll have to ring someone in Bellman’s investigative unit and tell them.’

‘But don’t you understand?’ Katrine said. ‘This could lead us straight to the murderer.’

‘Yes, of course I understand, and the only place this is leading us is straight to hell. We’ve been taken off the case, Katrine.’

‘I can just drop by the Evidence Room and have the chewing gum sent for testing,’ Katrine said. ‘Check it against the register. If there’s no match, no one needs to know. If there’s a match we’ve solved the case. No one’s going to say a bloody word about how we did it. Yes, I’m all ego now. For once we could get the credit, Beate. You and I. The women. And we deserve it, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Yes, it’s tempting, and it won’t ruin anyone else’s work, but-’

‘No buts! For once we can take the liberty of using our elbows. Or do you want to see Bellman standing there with that smug smile being honoured for our work again?’

Silence. A long silence.

‘You say no one needs to know anything,’ Beate said. ‘But all requisition orders for potential forensic clues from the Evidence Room have to be registered at the requests hatch. If they discover we’ve been sticking our noses into the Mittet file, it won’t be long before a note lands on Bellman’s desk to that effect.’

‘Hm, I hear you,’ Katrine said. ‘Unless my memory’s playing tricks on me, the Krimteknisk boss — who on occasion needs to test evidence outside of the Evidence Room’s opening hours — has her own key.’

Beate groaned aloud.

‘I promise there won’t be any trouble,’ Katrine hastened to add. ‘Listen, I’ll pop round to yours now, borrow the key, find the gum, cut off a tiny chunk, put everything back nicely and tomorrow morning the chunk’s tested at the Institute. If they ask, I’ll say it’s for another case. Yes? OK?’

The head of Krimteknisk weighed up the pros and cons. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t OK at all. She took a deep breath.

‘As Harry used to say,’ Katrine said. ‘Just get the ball, for Christ’s sake.’

Rico Herrem lay in bed watching TV. It was five o’clock in the morning, but he had lost track of time and couldn’t sleep. The programme was a repeat of one he saw yesterday. A Komodo dragon was lolloping across a beach. The long lizard tongue flashed out, swept round and was retracted. It was following a water buffalo it had given an apparently harmless bite. Had been following it for several days. Rico had turned down the sound so that all that could be heard was the wheeze of the air-conditioning unit which couldn’t make the hotel room cold enough. Rico had already felt the sniffles coming on the flight. Classic. Air conditioning and summer clothes on the way to a hot country, and the holiday becomes a headache, a runny nose and a high temperature. But he had time; he didn’t have to go home for a long while. Why should he? He was in Pattaya, the paradise of all pervs and criminals on the run. Everything he wanted was here, outside his hotel door. Through the mosquito net by the window he could hear the traffic and voices gabbling away in a foreign language. Thai. He couldn’t understand a word. He didn’t need to. Because they were there for him, not vice versa. He had seen them when he was driven here from the airport. They lined up outside the go-go bars. The young. The very young. And further down the alleys, behind the trays they sold chewing gum from, the much too young. But they would still be there when he was back on his feet. He listened for waves breaking, even though he knew the cheap hotel he had moved into was a long way from the beach. But they were out there as well. Them and the scorching hot sun. And the drinks and the other farangs who were there on the same mission as him and could give him some tips about how to go about things. And about the Komodo dragon.

Last night he had dreamt about Valentin again.

Rico stretched out his hand for the bottle of water on the bedside table. It tasted of his own mouth, death and contagion.

He had been given two-day-old Norwegian newspapers with the Western breakfast he’d hardly touched. There hadn’t been anything about Valentin being arrested yet. It wasn’t difficult to surmise why. Valentin wasn’t Valentin any more.

Rico had wondered whether he should tell them. Ring, get hold of that policewoman, Katrine Bratt. Tell her he had changed. Rico had seen that down here you could get that kind of thing done for a few thousand Norwegian kroner at one of the private clinics. Ring Bratt, leave an anonymous message that Valentin had been seen near Fiskebutikken and that he’d had comprehensive plastic surgery. Without asking for anything in return. Just to help them catch him. To help him sleep at night without dreaming about him.

The Komodo dragon had crouched a few metres from the waterhole where the water buffalo had settled down in the cooling mud, apparently unaffected by the three-metre-long, carnivorous monster just lying in wait.

Rico could feel the nausea rising and swung his legs out of bed. His muscles ached. Jesus, this was full-blown flu.

When he returned from the bathroom it was with bile acid still burning in his throat and two decisions made. He would visit one of those clinics and get himself some of that strong medicine they wouldn’t give you in Norway. The second was that when he had it and felt a bit better, he would ring Bratt. Give her a description. So that he could sleep.

He turned up the volume with the remote control. An enthusiastic voice explained in English that it had long been thought that the Komodo dragon killed through the bacteria-infected spit that was injected into the victim’s bloodstream with a bite, but now it had been discovered that in fact the poison in the lizard’s glands stopped the victim’s blood from coagulating so it slowly bled to death from what seemed to be an innocent wound.

Rico shivered. Closed his eyes to sleep. Rohypnol. The thought had occurred to him. That this wasn’t flu at all, but withdrawal symptoms. And Rohypnol was probably something they had on the room-service menu here in Pattaya. His eyes opened wide. He couldn’t breathe. For a moment in sheer, utter panic, Rico writhed around as if fighting an invisible attacker. It was just the same as at Fiskebutikken; there was no oxygen in the room! Then his lungs got what they wanted, and he fell back onto his bed.

He stared at the door.

It was locked.

There was no one else here. No one. Just him.