Текст книги "Phantom"

Автор книги: Jo Nesbo

Соавторы: Jo Nesbo,Jo Nesbo
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

24

It started to rain at about five, and when Harry rang the bell of the large house at six it was as dark as a Christmas night in Hoyenhall. The house bore all the signs of being newly built; there were still the remains of building materials stacked beside the garage, and under the steps he saw paint pots and insulation packaging.

Harry saw a figure move behind the decorative bevelled glass and felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

Then the door opened, quick, fierce, the movements of a man who has nothing to fear from anyone. Nevertheless, he stiffened when he saw Harry.

‘Evening, Bellman,’ Harry said.

‘Harry Hole. Well, I must say.’

‘Say what?’

Bellman chuckled. ‘It’s a surprise to see you here at my door. How did you find out where I live?’

‘Everyone knows the monkey, but the monkey knows no one. In most other countries the head of Organised Crime would have a bodyguard, did you know that? Am I interrupting anything?’

‘Not at all,’ Bellman said, scratching his chin. ‘I’m wondering whether to invite you in or not.’

‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘it’s wet out here. And I come in peace.’

‘You don’t know what the word means,’ Bellman said, pulling back the door. ‘Wipe your feet.’

Mikael Bellman led Harry through the hall, past the tower of cardboard boxes, a kitchen in which there were as yet no white goods, and into a living room. Not luxurious in the way he had seen some houses in Oslo West, but solid and spacious enough for a family. The view of Kv?rner Valley, Oslo Central Station and the city centre was fantastic. Harry noticed that.

‘The plot cost nearly as much as the house,’ Bellman said. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess. We’ve just moved in. We’re having a housewarming party next week.’

‘And you forgot to ask me?’ Harry said, taking off his wet jacket.

Bellman smiled. ‘I can offer you a drink now. What about-’

‘I don’t drink,’ Harry smiled back.

‘Oh, damn,’ Bellman said without any sign of remorse, ‘one forgets so quickly. See if you can a find a chair somewhere, and I’ll see if I can find a coffee pot and two cups.’

Ten minutes later they were sitting by the windows overlooking the terrace and the view. Harry got straight down to business. Mikael Bellman listened without interrupting, even when Harry could see disbelief in his eyes. When Harry had finished Bellman summed up.

‘So you think that the pilot, Tord Schultz, was trying to smuggle violin out of the country. He was arrested, but released after a burner carrying police ID had exchanged the violin for potato flour. And that Schultz was executed in his home after release, probably because his employer had discovered that he’d visited the police and was scared he would tell what he knew.’

‘Mm.’

‘And you support your claim that he had been to Police HQ with the fact that he had a visitor’s pass with Oslo Politidistrikt written on?’

‘I compared it with the pass I got when I visited Hagen. The print on the bar of the ‘H’s is faint on both. Definitely the same printer.’

‘I won’t ask you how you got hold of Schultz’s visitor’s pass, but how can you be so certain that this was not a normal visit? Perhaps he wanted to explain the potato flour, make sure we believed him.’

‘Because his name has been deleted from the visitors’ book. It was important that this visit was kept secret.’

Mikael Bellman sighed. ‘It’s what I’ve always thought, Harry. We should have worked with each other, not against each other. You would have liked Kripos.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Before I say anything else, I have a favour to ask you. Please keep quiet about what I’m going to tell you.’

‘OK.’

‘This case has already put me in an embarrassing situation. It was me Schultz visited. And, you’re quite right, he did want to tell me what he knew. Among other things he told me what I had long suspected: that we have a burner among us. Someone, I believe, who works at HQ, close to Orgkrim cases. I told him to wait at home while I spoke to my superior. I had to tread warily so as not to alarm the burner. But caution often means things move slowly. I spoke to the retiring Chief of Police, but he left it to me to find a way to tackle this.’

‘Why?’

‘As I said, he is retiring. He has no wish to have a case involving a corrupt police officer as a parting gift.’

‘So he wanted to keep it under wraps until he was gone?’

Bellman stared into his coffee cup. ‘It’s very likely that I will be the new Chief of Police, Harry.’

‘You?’

‘And I might as well kick off with a shit case, he probably thought. The problem is I was too slow on the trigger. I racked my brains. We could have got Schultz to reveal the burner’s identity straight away. But then all the others would have gone into hiding. I thought, what if we put a wire on Schultz, make him lead us to the others we were after first? Who knows, perhaps all the way to the present Mr Big in Oslo.’

‘Dubai.’

Bellman nodded. ‘The problem was: who could I trust at HQ and who couldn’t I? I had just hand-picked a small group of officers, checked them out thoroughly, then news came in of an anonymous tip-off…’

‘Tord Schultz had been found dead,’ Harry said.

Bellman eyed him sharply.

‘And now,’ Harry said, ‘your problem is that if it gets out you’ve slipped up that could put a spoke in your appointment as Chief of Police.’

‘Well, there is that,’ Bellman said. ‘But that’s not what worries me most. The problem is that nothing of what Schultz told me can be used. We’re no further than before. This alleged policeman who visited Schultz in his cell and may have exchanged the dope…’

‘Yes?’

‘He identified himself as a policeman. The inspector at Gardermoen appears to remember his name was Thomas something or other. We have five Thomases at Police HQ. None of them at Orgkrim, by the way. I sent over the photos of our Thomases, but he didn’t recognise any of them. So, for all we know, the burner may not even be in the police.’

‘Mm. So a person with false police ID. Or, more likely, someone like me, an ex-policeman.’

‘Why?’

Harry shrugged. ‘It takes a policeman to trick a policeman.’

The front door clicked.

‘Darling!’ Bellman called. ‘We’re in here.’

The lounge door opened, and the sweet, suntanned face of a woman in her thirties appeared. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, and Harry was reminded of Tiger Woods’s ex-wife.

‘I’ve dropped the kids off at Mum’s. Are you coming, honeybunch?’

Bellman coughed. ‘We have a visitor.’

She tilted her head. ‘I can see that, honey.’

Bellman looked at Harry with a resigned what-can-you-do? expression.

‘Hi,’ she said and sent Harry a teasing look. ‘Dad and I have got another load on the trailer. Feel like…?’

‘Bad back and a sudden longing for home,’ Harry mumbled, draining his coffee cup and jumping to his feet.

‘One more thing,’ Harry said as he and Bellman stood outside in the porch. ‘The visit I told you about, to the Radium Hospital?’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a man there, a scientist. Martin Pran. Just a gut instinct, but I wonder if you could check him out for me.’

‘For you?’

‘Sorry, old habit. For the police. For the country. For humanity.’

‘Gut instinct?’

‘By and large that’s all I have to offer as far as this case is concerned. If you could let me know what you find…’

‘I’ll consider it.’

‘Thank you, Mikael.’ Harry could feel how strange the man’s Christian name felt on his tongue. Wondered if he’d ever said it before. Mikael opened the door to the rainy weather, and cold air gusted in.

‘Sorry to hear about the boy,’ Bellman said.

‘Which one?’

‘Both.’

‘Mm.’

‘Know what? I met Gusto Hanssen once. He came here.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes. A stunningly attractive boy. The kind…’ Bellman searched for the words. Gave up. ‘Were you in love with Elvis when you were a boy? Man crush, as the Americans say.’

‘Well,’ Harry said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. ‘No.’

He could have sworn he saw a flicker of red in Mikael Bellman’s white pigment stains.

‘The boy had that kind of face. And charisma.’

‘What did he want here?’

‘To talk to a policeman. I had a gang of colleagues helping out. When you only have a police salary you have to do most things yourself, you know.’

‘Who did he talk to?’

‘Who?’ Bellman looked at Harry, although his eyes were fixed elsewhere, on something he had seen. ‘I don’t remember. These dopeheads are always ready to grass on somebody if it’ll give them a thousand kroner for a shot. Goodnight, Harry.’

Harry was walking through Kvadraturen. A camper van stopped further up the street by a black prostitute. The door opened and three boys – they couldn’t have been older than twenty – jumped out. One filmed while a second turned to the woman. She shook her head. Probably didn’t want to do a gang-bang film which would go on YouPorn. They had Internet where she came from as well. Family, relatives. Perhaps they thought the money she sent home was from her waitressing job. Or perhaps they didn’t, and preferred not to ask. As Harry went closer one of the boys spat on the tarmac in front of her and said in a shrill, drunken voice: ‘Cheap nigger ass.’

Harry met the black woman’s tired gaze. They nodded as if they both saw something they recognised. The two other boys noticed Harry and straightened up. Big, well-fed boys. Apple cheeks, biceps from a fitness studio, maybe done a year’s kick-boxing or karate.

‘Good evening, kind folk,’ Harry smiled, without slowing his pace.

Then he was past and heard the camper door slam and the engine rev up.

It was the same tune that always rang out. ‘Come As You Are’. The invitation.

Harry slowed his pace. For a moment.

Then he increased it again, walked on without a backward glance.

Harry was woken next morning by the ringing of his mobile. He sat up, squinted into the light from the curtainless window, stretched out his arm for the jacket hanging over the chair, rummaged through the pockets until he found the phone.

‘Speak.’

‘It’s Rakel.’ She was breathless with excitement. ‘They’ve released Oleg. He’s free, Harry!’

25

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 a 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 un-believe-able.

‘Who confessed?’

‘Someone called 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 any more,’ she whispered.

Harry took a deep breath. ‘We’ve managed before, and we’ll manage again, Rakel.’

He rang off. 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 Ostland. 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 rumours 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.

The 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 goods 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 backwards. 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 sports stand. 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 stand.

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 ring 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 jewellery box I stole from Mum…’

‘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? That’s called verdigris copper. With a bit of lead added for weight.’

‘So why didn’t you leave it?’

‘Mum didn’t wear it any more. So I wanted to give it to Irene.’

‘Copper, lead and gold paint.’

Oleg shrugged. ‘It felt right. I remember how happy Mum 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 Mum smiling and laughing at something. I wanted to hold your hand. But of course I wasn’t a little boy any more. You bought the ring at a stall where they sold house-clearance goods.’

‘You can remember all this?’

‘Yes. And I thought if Irene is only half as happy as Mum…’

‘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 in 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 fetch help. But he didn’t answer. And then I couldn’t feel his pulse any more. 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, I 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 speaking about what they do.’

‘And what do they do?’

‘They go for where you’re most vulnerable. At first I was frightened for Mum.’

‘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 recognise his voice. And the balaclava suggests he was frightened others in the drugs world might recognise him as well. He could be someone most of you living there have 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 recognise 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 afterwards. 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, do you?’

‘That’s what Gusto told me. And it smelt 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. Have 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.’