Harry Hole 02 - Cockroaches (36 page)

‘I can see someone I know,’ he said in English and gesticulated behind him.

The driver was sceptical, suspicious that the
farang
was going to run off without paying.

‘Back in a minute,’ Løken said, squeezing out of the door.

One day less to live, he thought as he breathed in enough CO
₂
to knock out a family of rats, and walked calmly through the traffic towards the Toyota. One headlamp must have hit something because the light shone straight into his face. He prepared his speech, already looking forward to seeing their surprised faces. Løken was only a couple of metres away and could make out the two people in the car. Suddenly he was unsure of himself. There was something about their appearance that wasn’t right. Even taking into account that policemen were not generally the smartest, they did at least know that discretion was the first commandment when you were tailing someone. The man in the passenger seat was wearing sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had set some time ago, and the giant in the driver’s seat was very conspicuous. Løken was about to turn back when the car door opened.

‘Hey, mister,’ a soft voice said. This was a mess. Løken tried to get back to the taxi, but a car had squeezed in and blocked the way. He looked back at the Corolla. The Chinese man was coming towards him. ‘Hey, mister,’ he repeated as cars in the opposite lane began to move. It sounded like whispering in a hurricane.

Løken had once killed a man with his bare hands. He had smashed his larynx with a rabbit chop, the precise way they had been taught at the training camp in Wisconsin. But that was a long time ago, he had been young. And terrified. Now he wasn’t, he was only angry.

It probably wouldn’t make any difference.

When he felt the two arms around him and his feet were off the ground he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. He tried to shout, but the air his vocal cords needed to vibrate had been squeezed out of him. He saw the starry sky rotating slowly before it was hidden by an upholstered car ceiling.

He felt hot, tingling breath on his neck and looked through the Corolla windscreen. The man with the sunglasses was standing by the taxi and passing some notes through the driver’s window. The grip on Løken loosened and in one long, trembling breath he inhaled the filthy air as if it were spring water.

The taxi driver rolled up the window and the man with the sunglasses was on his way back towards them. He had just removed his sunglasses, and as he stepped into the light from the damaged headlamp, Løken recognised him.

‘Jens Brekke?’ he whispered in astonishment.

48

Friday 24 January

‘JENS BREKKE?’ LIZ
burst out.

Harry nodded.

‘Impossible! What about his alibi, the goddamn foolproof tape showing he called his sister at eight?’

‘Yes, he
did
call her, but not from his office. I asked why on earth he would ring his workaholic sister at home during work hours. He said he’d forgotten what time it was in Norway.’

‘And?’

‘Have you ever heard of a currency broker who
forgets
what time it is in another country?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Everything became clear when I saw that Klipra had a similar machine to Brekke’s. After shooting Klipra he called his sister’s answerphone, knowing there was no one there, from Klipra’s office and took the tape with him. It shows when he rang, but not where from. We never considered the possibility that the tape may be from another recorder. But I can prove a tape was removed from Klipra’s office.’

‘How?’

‘Do you remember that early on the afternoon of the seventh of January a call was made to Klipra on the ambassador’s mobile phone? It’s not on any of the tapes in his office.’

Liz laughed. ‘That asshole fabricated a watertight alibi and sat in prison waiting to play the trump card so it would look as convincing as possible?’

‘I think I can hear admiration in your voice, Inspector.’

‘It’s purely professional. Do you think he planned it all from the beginning?’

Harry looked at his watch. His brain had begun to Morse through a message that something was wrong.

‘If there’s one thing I’m confident of it’s that everything Brekke has done was planned. He hasn’t left a single detail to chance.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Well,’ he said, placing an empty glass against his face, ‘he told me. He hates risks. He won’t play unless he knows he’s going to win.’

‘I guess you’ve worked out how he killed the ambassador too, then?’

‘First of all, he followed the ambassador down into the underground car park. The receptionist can vouch for that. Then, he took the lift back up. The girl who he asked out in the lift can vouch for that. Probably he killed the ambassador in the car park, stabbed him in the back with the Sami knife as the ambassador was getting into the car, took his keys and dumped him in the boot. Then he locked the car, went over to the lift and waited until someone pressed the button so that he could be sure to have another witness on his way back up.’

‘He even asked her out so that she would remember him.’

‘Right. If someone else had appeared he would have concocted some other plan. Then he blocked all incoming calls to make it look as if he was busy, took the lift down again and drove to Klipra’s in the ambassador’s car.’

‘But if he killed the ambassador in the parking lot he would have been caught on camera.’

‘Why do you think that CCTV tape went missing? Of course no one had tried to sabotage Brekke’s alibi. He made Jim Love give him the tape. The evening we met him at the boxing match he was in a rush to get back to the office. Not to talk to American clients but to meet Jim Love so that he could get in and record over him killing the ambassador. And reprogramme the timer so that it would look as if someone was trying to sabotage his alibi.’

‘Why didn’t he just remove the original tape?’

‘He’s a perfectionist. He knew some bright young detective would realise sooner or later that the recording and the time didn’t match.’

‘How?’

‘Because he used another evening’s tape to record over the scene in question. Sooner or later the police would talk to employees in the building who could testify that they had driven past the camera between five o’clock and half past on the seventh of January. The proof that the tape has been tampered with is of course that they’re
not
on the recording. The rain and the wet tyre tracks meant we clicked faster than we would otherwise have done.’

‘So you were no smarter than he wanted you to be?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Nope. But I can live with that. Jim Love couldn’t. He received his payment in poisoned opium.’

‘Because he was a witness?’

‘As I said, Brekke doesn’t like taking risks.’

‘But what about the motive?’

Harry puffed out his cheeks. It sounded like a juggernaut braking.

‘Do you remember us wondering if the right to dispose of over fifty million kroner for six years was a good enough motive for killing the ambassador? It wasn’t. But to have it for the rest of his life was a good enough motive for Jens Brekke to kill three people. According to the will, Runa would inherit the money when she was of age, but as it doesn’t say anything about what happens if she dies, the money will obviously follow the line of inheritance. That is, the fortune will belong to Hilde Molnes. The will doesn’t prevent her from gaining access now.’

‘How’s Brekke going to make her give him the money?’

‘He doesn’t have to do a thing. Hilde Molnes has six months left to live. Long enough for her to marry him, and just long enough for Brekke to play the perfect gentleman.’

‘So he got rid of the husband and the daughter so he can inherit the fortune when she dies?’

‘Not only that,’ Harry said. ‘He’s spent the money already.’

Liz furrowed her brow.

‘He’s taken over an almost bankrupt company called Phuridell. If what Barclays Thailand thinks will happen happens, the company could be worth twenty times what he paid.’

‘So why would the others sell?’

‘According to George Walters, the boss of Phuridell, “the others” are a couple of small-time shareholders who refused to sell their block of shares to Ove Klipra when he became the majority shareholder because they knew something big was brewing. But after Klipra disappeared off the scene they were informed the dollar debt could crack the company, so they happily accepted Brekke’s offer. The same is true of the firm of solicitors administering Klipra’s estate. The total purchase price is around a hundred million kroner.’

‘But Brekke hasn’t got the money yet.’

‘Walters says that half of the money is due on signature, the other half in six months. How he’s going to pay the first half, I don’t know. He must have scraped together the money some other way.’

‘And what happens if she doesn’t die within six months?’

‘For some reason I believe Brekke’s going to make sure it happens. He mixes her drinks . . .’

Liz gazed into the air thoughtfully. ‘Didn’t he think it would seem suspicious if he turned up as the new owner of Phuridell at this exact moment?’

‘Yes, that’s why he bought the shares in the name of a company called Ellem Ltd.’

‘Someone could have found out he was behind it.’

‘He isn’t, on the surface. The company’s been set up in Hilde’s name. But of course he inherits it when she dies.’

Liz shaped her lips into a soundless ‘O’. ‘How did you work all this out?’

‘With the help of Walters. But I had a suspicion when I saw Phuridell’s list of shareholders at Klipra’s house.’

‘Really?’

‘Ellem.’ Harry smiled. ‘At first it made me suspect Ivar Løken. His nickname from the Vietnam War was LM. But the solution was even more banal.’

‘I give up.’

‘If you reverse Ellem it’s Melle. Hilde Molnes’s maiden name.’

Liz looked at Harry as if he were an attraction in the zoo.

‘You’re not real,’ she mumbled.

Jens looked at the papaya he was holding in his hand.

‘Do you know what, Løken? When you take a bite from a papaya it tastes of vomit. Have you noticed that?’

He sank his teeth into the flesh. The juice ran down his cheek.

‘And then it tastes of cunt.’

He leaned back and laughed.

‘You know, a papaya costs five baht here in Chinatown – as good as nothing. Everyone can afford it. Eating a papaya is one of the so-called simple pleasures. And as with other simple pleasures you don’t appreciate them until they’re gone. It’s like . . .’ Jens gesticulated as if he was searching for a suitable analogy. ‘Like being able to wipe your arse. Or have a wank. All that’s required is at least one hand.’

He lifted Løken’s severed hand by the middle finger and held it in front of his face.

‘You’ve still got one. Think about it. And think about
all
the things you can’t do without hands. I’ve already given it some thought, so let me help. You can’t peel an orange, you can’t thread bait onto a fish hook, you can’t caress a woman’s body or button up your own trousers. Yes, you can’t even shoot yourself, in case you should be tempted to do that. You’ll need someone to help you with everything. Everything. Give it some thought.’

Blood dripped from the hand, bounced on the edge of the table and spattered Løken’s shirt with small red dots. Jens put the hand down. The fingers pointed to the ceiling.

‘On the other hand, with both hands intact there is no limit to what one can do. You can strangle a person, roll a joint and hold a golf club. Do you know how far medical science has advanced today?’

Jens waited until he was sure Løken wasn’t going to answer.

‘They can sew a hand back on without damaging so much as a nerve. They go up into your arm and pull down nerves like rubber bands. Within six months you’ll barely know that once it had been severed. Of course that depends on whether you can get to a doctor fast enough and you remember to take the hand with you.’

He passed behind Løken’s chair, rested his chin on his shoulder and whispered in his ear:

‘Look what a nice hand. Beautiful, isn’t it? Almost like the hand in the Michelangelo painting. What’s it called?’

Løken didn’t answer.

‘You know, the one they used in the Levi’s ad.’

Løken had fixed his gaze on a point in the air above him. Jens sighed.

‘Obviously neither of us is an art connoisseur, eh? Well, perhaps I’ll buy a few famous pictures when this is over, see if that can stimulate some interest. By the way, how much time do you think we have before it’s too late to sew on the hand? Half an hour? An hour? Perhaps longer if we’d put it in ice, but I’m afraid we’ve run out today. Fortunately for you, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive from here to Answut Hospital.’

He took a deep breath, put his mouth close to Løken’s ear and yelled:

‘WHERE ARE HOLE AND THE WOMAN?’

Løken gave a start and bared his teeth in a painful grin.

‘Sorry,’ Jens said. He picked a bit of papaya off Løken’s cheek. ‘It’s just that it’s rather important for me to get hold of them.’

A hoarse whisper stirred Løken’s lips. ‘You’re right . . .’

‘What?’ Jens said. He leaned close to his mouth. ‘What did you say? Speak up, man!’

‘You’re right about papayas. They do stink of vomit.’

Liz folded her hands on top of her head.

‘The Jim Love stuff. I can’t quite picture Brekke in the kitchen mixing prussic acid into opium.’

Harry smirked. ‘Brekke said the same about Klipra. You’re right. He had someone to help him, a pro.’

‘You don’t exactly put out a want ad for people like that, do you.’

‘Nope.’

‘Maybe someone he just happened to meet? He goes to some pretty shady places. Or . . .’ She paused when she saw him watching her. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘What is it?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? It’s our old friend Woo. He and Jens have been working together all along. It was Jens who ordered him to bug my phone.’

‘It seems like too much of a coincidence that the same guy who was working for Molnes’s creditors was also working for Brekke.’