Harry stood in the middle of the hotel room, bathed in the morning light. Apart from the phone covering his right ear he was naked. In the room across the yard the woman sat watching him with sleepy eyes, her head angled as she slowly chewed a slice of bread.
“Hans Christian wasn’t told until he turned up at work fifteen minutes ago,” Rakel said. “They released Oleg late yesterday afternoon. Someone else has confessed to the murder of Gusto Hanssen. Isn’t that fantastic, Harry?”
Yes, indeed, thought Harry. It was fantastic. As in unbelievable.
“Who confessed?”
“Someone named Chris Reddy, alias Adidas. He’s a junkie. He shot Gusto because he owed him money for amphetamines.”
“Where’s Oleg now?”
“We don’t know. We’ve only just been told.”
“Think, Rakel! Where could he be?” Harry’s voice sounded sterner than he had meant.
“What … what’s the matter?”
“The confession. The confession’s the matter, Rakel.”
“What about it?”
“Don’t you understand? The confession’s a fabrication!”
“No, no, no. Hans Christian says it’s detailed and extremely credible. That’s why they’ve already released Oleg.”
“This Adidas says he shot Gusto because he was owed money. So he’s an ice-cold, cynical murderer. Who suffers pangs of conscience and simply has to confess?”
“But when he saw the wrong person was about to be convicted for—”
“Forget it! A desperate drug addict has one thing in his head: getting high. There isn’t any room for a conscience, believe me. This Adidas is so desperate that, for suitable compensation, he’s more than willing to confess to a murder and then withdraw his confession later, after the main suspect has been released. Don’t you see the plot here? If the cat knows it can’t get close to the caged bird …”
“Stop!” Rakel screamed, in tears now.
But Harry didn’t stop. “… the bird has to come out of the cage.”
He heard her crying. Knew that he had probably put into words what she had half-considered herself.
“Can’t you say something to reassure me, Harry?” He didn’t answer.
“I don’t want to be frightened anymore,” she whispered.
Harry took a deep breath. “We’ve managed before, and we’ll manage again, Rakel.”
He hung up. And it struck him again. He had become a brilliant liar.
The woman in the window on the other side waved lazily to him with three fingers.
Harry ran a hand over his face.
Now it was just a question of who found Oleg first, Harry or them.
Think.
Oleg had been released yesterday afternoon, somewhere in Østland. A drug addict with a craving for violin. He would have made a beeline for Oslo, Plata, if he didn’t have reserves stashed away. He wouldn’t be able to get into Hausmanns Gate; the crime scene was still sealed off. So where would he sleep, with no money, no friends? Urtegata? No, Oleg knew he would be seen there, and rumors would fly.
There was only one place Oleg could be.
Harry glanced at his watch. It was vital he got there before the bird had flown.
T
HE STADIUM WAS
as deserted as the last time he was at Valle Hovin. The first thing Harry saw as he rounded the corner to the dressing-room area was that one of the panes at street level had been smashed. He peered in. Glass was scattered across the floor. So he strode to the door, unlocked it with the key he still had and entered.
And was struck by a freight train.
Harry gasped for air as he lay floundering on the floor with something on top of him. Something stinking, wet and desperate. Harry twisted away, tried to get out of the grip. He resisted his reflex action to hit out; instead he grabbed an arm, a hand, bent it backward. Struggled to his knees while using this grip to force the assailant’s face to the ground.
“Ow. Shit! Let go!”
“It’s me. It’s Harry, Oleg.”
He let go and helped Oleg up, dropped him onto the dressing-room bench.
The boy looked dreadful. Pale. Thin. Bulging eyes. And he stank of an indefinable mixture of dental surgery and excrement. But he wasn’t high.
“I thought …” Oleg said.
“You thought I was them.”
Oleg covered his face with his hands.
“Come on,” Harry said. “Let’s go outside.”
They sat in the stands. Sat with the pale light shining on the cracked concrete deck. Harry thought of all the times he had sat there watching Oleg skate, hearing the steel blades singing before they bit into the ice again, the floodlights’ reflections on the sea-green and eventually milky-white surface.
They sat close, as if there were a crush in the stands.
Harry listened to Oleg’s breathing for a while before beginning.
“Who are they, Oleg? You have to trust me. If I can find you, so can they.”
“And how did you find me?”
“Process known as deduction.”
“I know what it is. Eliminate the impossible and see what you’re left with.”
“When did you get here?”
Oleg shrugged. “Last night sometime. Nine-ish.”
“Why didn’t you call your mother when you were released? You know it’s seriously dangerous for you out here now.”
“She would only have taken me somewhere, hidden me. She and that Nils Christian.”
“Hans Christian. They’re going to find you, you know.”
Oleg looked down at his hands.
“I thought you’d come to Oslo for a fix,” Harry said. “But you’re clean.”
“I have been for more than a week.”
“Why?”
Oleg didn’t answer.
“Is it her? Is it Irene?”
Oleg looked at the concrete, as if he could see himself down there. Could hear the high, singing tone as he pushed off on one skate. He nodded slowly. “I’m the only person who’s trying to find her. She has no one else but me.”
Harry didn’t say anything.
“The jewelry box I stole from Mom …”
“Yes?”
“I sold it for dope. Apart from the ring you bought her.”
“Why didn’t you sell that as well?” Oleg smiled. “First of all, it isn’t worth much.”
“What?” Harry sat up with a horrified expression. “Was I conned?”
Oleg laughed. “A gold ring with a black nick in it? That’s called verdigris copper. With a little lead added for weight.”
“So why didn’t you leave it?”
“Mom didn’t wear it anymore. So I wanted to give it to Irene.”
“Copper, lead and gold paint.”
Oleg shrugged. “It felt right. I remember how happy Mom was when you put it on her finger.”
“What else do you remember?”
“Sunday. Vestkanttorget. The sun angling down and us wading through rustling autumn leaves. You and Mom smiling and laughing at something. I wanted to hold your hand. But of course I wasn’t a little boy anymore. You bought the ring at a stall where they sold secondhand goods.”
“You can remember all this?”
“Yes. And I thought if Irene was only half as happy as Mom …”
“Was she?”
Oleg looked at Harry. Blinked. “I don’t remember. We must have been high when I gave it to her.”
Harry gulped.
“He’s got her,” Oleg said.
“Who?”
“Dubai. He’s got Irene. He’s holding her hostage so I won’t talk.”
Harry stared at Oleg, who bowed his head.
“That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
“You
know
this? And they’ve threatened you with what will happen to Irene if you talk?”
“They don’t need to. They know I’m not stupid. Besides, they’ve got to shut her up as well. They’ve got her, Harry.”
Harry shifted position. He remembered they used to sit exactly like this before important races. Heads bowed, in silence, in a kind of communal concentration. Oleg hadn’t wanted any advice. And Harry didn’t have any. But Oleg had liked just sitting there.
Harry coughed. This was not Oleg’s race.
“If we’re to have a chance of saving Irene you have to help me find Dubai,” Harry said.
Oleg looked at Harry. Tucked his hands under his thighs and fidgeted with his feet. The way he used to do. Then he nodded.
“Start with the murder,” Harry said. “Take all the time you need.”
Oleg closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then he opened them again.
“I was high—I’d shot up violin by the river behind our place on Hausmanns Gate. It was safer. If I had a fix in the flat and some of the others were desperate, they would jump on me to steal it. You understand?”
Harry nodded.
“The first thing I saw, coming up the stairs, was the door to the office opposite. It had been broken into. Again. I didn’t think any more about it. I went into our sitting room and there was Gusto. And a man in a balaclava. He was pointing a gun at Gusto. And I don’t know if it was the dope or what talking, but I knew it wasn’t a robbery. Gusto was going to be killed. So I reacted instinctively. I threw myself at his gun hand. But I was too late and he managed to fire one shot. I fell to the ground and when I looked up again I was lying beside Gusto with a gun barrel at my head. The man didn’t say a word, and I was sure I was going to die.” Oleg stopped, took a deep breath. “But it was as if he couldn’t make up his mind. Then he drew a finger across his throat to indicate what would happen if I blabbed.”
Harry nodded.
“He repeated the message and I indicated that I understood. Then he left. Gusto was bleeding like a stuck pig, and I knew he needed help fast. But I didn’t dare move—I was sure the man with the gun was still standing outside because I hadn’t heard his steps on the stairs. And that if he saw me he might change his mind and shoot me, after all.”
Oleg’s feet were pumping up and down.
“I tried taking Gusto’s pulse, tried talking to him, said I would get help. But he didn’t answer. And then I couldn’t feel his pulse anymore. And I couldn’t stand being there any longer. I fled.” Oleg straightened up as though he had a pain in his back, folded his hands and put them behind his head. As he went on his voice became thicker. “I was high, couldn’t think straight. I went down to the river. I thought about swimming. Perhaps I would be lucky and drown. Then I heard the sirens. And then they were there … And all I could think of was the finger across the throat. And that I had to keep my mouth shut. Because I know what they’re like, those people—I’ve heard them talking about what they do.”
“And what do they do?”
“They go for where you’re most vulnerable. At first I was frightened for Mom.”
“But it was simpler to take Irene,” Harry said. “No one would react to a girl off the street disappearing for a while.”
Oleg looked at Harry. Swallowed. “So you believe me?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s easy to pull the wool over my eyes as far as you’re concerned, Oleg. I suppose that’s how it is when you’re … when you … you know.”
Tears came into Oleg’s eyes. “But … but it’s so utterly implausible. All the evidence …”
“Things are falling into place,” Harry said. “The residue on your arm you got when you threw yourself forward. His blood when you took his pulse. And that was when you left your fingerprints on him. The reason no one saw anyone else leave after the shooting is that the killer went into the office, out of the window and down the fire escape facing the river. That was why you didn’t hear any footsteps on the stairs.”
Oleg had fixed pensive eyes somewhere on Harry’s chest. “But why was Gusto killed? And who killed him?”
“I don’t know. But I think he was killed by someone you know.”
“Someone I know?”
“Yes. That’s why he used gestures instead of speaking. So that you wouldn’t recognize his voice. And the balaclava suggests he was frightened others in the drug world might recognize him as well. He could be someone most of you living there had seen before.”
“But why did he spare me?”
“No idea.”
“I don’t understand it. They tried to kill me in prison later. Even though I hadn’t uttered a word.”
“Perhaps the killer hadn’t been given detailed instructions about what to do with possible witnesses. He hesitated. On the one hand, you might recognize him by his shape, body language, gait if you’d seen him lots of times before. On the other, you were so high you probably weren’t taking in a great deal.”
“Dope saves lives?” Oleg said with a tentative smile.
“Yes. Though his boss may not have agreed with his decision when he delivered the report afterward. But by then it was too late. So to make sure you didn’t blab they kidnapped Irene.”
“They knew I would keep my mouth shut for as long as they had Irene, so why kill me?”
“I turned up,” Harry said.
“You?”
“Yes. They knew I was here in Oslo from the second I landed. They knew I was the one who could make you talk. Having Irene wasn’t enough. So Dubai gave orders that you were to be silenced in prison.”
Oleg nodded slowly.
“Tell me about Dubai,” Harry said.
“I’ve never met him. But I think I’ve been to his house once.”
“And where’s that?”
“I don’t know. Gusto and I were picked up by his lieutenants and driven to a house, but I was blindfolded.”
“You know it was Dubai’s house?”
“That’s what Gusto told me. And it smelled occupied. Sounded like a house with furniture, carpets and curtains, if you—”
“I do. Go on.”
“We were led into a cellar and that was when the blindfold was taken off. A dead man lay on the floor. They said that was what they did to people who tried to trick them. Take a good look, they said. Then we had to tell them what had happened at Alnabru. Why the door hadn’t been locked when the police arrived. And why Tutu had disappeared.”
“Alnabru?”
“I’m coming to that.”
“OK. This man, how had he been killed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he have stab wounds to the face? Or was he shot?”
“Well, I didn’t know what he’d died of until Peter stepped on his stomach. Then water ran out of the corners of his mouth.”
Harry moistened his lips. “Do you know who the dead man was?”
“Yes. An undercover cop who used to hang around where we were. We called him Beret Man because of the cap he wore.”
“Mm.”
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
Oleg’s feet were drumming wildly on the concrete. “I don’t know much about Dubai. Not even Gusto would talk about him. But I do know that if you try to catch him you’ll die.”