The Lion's Mouth (46 page)

“Yes, we are doing that, in a sense. At least, I think we can rule out the possibility that he killed her. But the suicide may still have a connection to the case.
In a different way!”

No one uttered a word, and they had all stopped eating.

“My point is,” Hanne said, clearing more space in front of her. “My point is that the order of events can sometimes confuse us. We’re searching for a pattern, for a logical connection, where nothing of the kind exists!”

Drumming the pen on the table, she tilted her head to one side. Her hair fell across her face, and Billy T. turned to her and coiled the strands behind her ear.

“You look so sweet when you’re enthusiastic,” he murmured, kissing her on the cheek.

“Idiot. Listen to this, then. If you’re still sober enough. In addition to two dead people, and a number of peculiar items that have led us astray but have now been located, we have also almost experienced a government crisis. Isn’t that true, Øyvind?”

Øyvind Olve’s eyes blinked behind his small glasses. He had listened to the conversation with interest, but it came as a surprise that he was expected to contribute something.

“Well,” he said hesitantly, toying with his fork. “Actually there have been two. The first had to do with forming the new government. And that went tolerably well. From a political point of view, we have obtained a lot of ammunition for the election. Our friends in the political center weren’t exactly falling over themselves to take over the reins of power.”

He paused for a moment, and Severin took advantage of the opportunity. He had drunk too much, and knew it was not wise. He was not used to alcohol, and took a big slug of Farris mineral water.

“But you said
two
crises,” he insisted. “What was the other one?”

“The health scandal, of course. Not exactly a government crisis, but it has been tough. All the same, we’ve ridden that one out now. Tryggve made a fairly good job of the preliminary report to Parliament. In addition, it acted like pure Valium on our good friends in the opposition that there were non-socialist as well as
social-democratic governments in power in 64 and 65. We gave the East Germans good iron ore, and got bad vaccines in return. As far as I’m concerned, the entire vaccine issue is an example of the cynicism that reigned supreme during the Cold War. No one escaped it. Not even a few hundred babies.”

The table went completely quiet and they could hear little toddling steps descending the stairs.

“In a way, those babies were war victims.” Øyvind sighed, suddenly thirsty for more wine. “They are war victims as much as anybody.”

A two-year-old stood in the doorway beside the huge, impressive soapstone fireplace. He was wearing blue pajamas adorned with footballs, and rubbing his eyes.

“Daddy! Hansillem can’t sleep.”

“I’ll tell Hansillem some lovely bedtime stories,” Billy T. volunteered, getting to his feet.

“Billitee.” The child smiled, holding out his arms.

“It’ll take five minutes, max,” Billy T. said before he disappeared. “Don’t say anything important!”

“Hanne,” Håkon said quickly; it stung him slightly that the little boy had been so easily pacified by Billy T. “Of the two theories … if you had to choose between the Brage–guard line of enquiry and the Pharmamed one, which would you choose? Because one really rules out the other, doesn’t it? And to be honest, I’ve …”

He began to clear away the plates. “Anyone for dessert?”

“What have you got?” Hanne said, giving him a hand.

“Ice cream and Spanish strawberries.”

“Yes, please,” Severin responded. “Both! You said you had a problem?”

“Hanne, of course, has said that the Security Service Chief’s original theory is too over the top,” Håkon said, standing in the center of the room with three plates in each hand. “And we’re
actually agreed on that. It sounds too much like a cops and robbers story. To think that a large company in a democratic country would send a team of killers to visit the Prime Minister of a friendly country, and a close ally into the bargain!”

“It’s true, you have a point,” Hanne said, after placing strawberries and ice cream on the table and handing round the dessert plates. “But you should never let yourself be constrained by your imagination. I have to confess that I had problems when the Mannesmann affair came to light.”

She anticipated Tone-Marit’s question.

“As you’d expect, Statoil, being a key player in both the national and international oil industry, spends billions buying goods and services. These contracts are worth their weight in gold, and the company directors put a great deal of time and effort into preventing corruption in their own ranks. Nevertheless, there was one person who allowed himself to be bribed by an enormous German conglomerate. The Statoil employee received generous gifts, and the Mannesmann company was awarded contracts to supply steel pipes for oil platforms. I didn’t think such things were possible, at least not in Norway. Not in Germany either, for that matter. The moral is: there are no morals. Other than making money. And if we take, for example, the thalidomide case …”

She could have bitten off her tongue. As she said it, she recalled something Billy T. had told her many years earlier. Severin Heger’s sister had been born without arms or legs. And only one ear.

“It’s okay,” Severin said, taking another drink. “It’s quite all right, Hanne.”

Embarrassed, she stirred her ice cream, which had started to melt.

“Didn’t you hear me, Hanne? I said it’s all right.”

“Well. Thalidomide, which was sold in Norway under the brand name Neurodyn, was a medicine for pregnancy sickness. Among
other things. I seem to remember that it also had a certain sedative effect. It was produced in West Germany in the fifties, and only after more than ten thousand children had been born with significant disabilities did a German geneticist discover there was a connection between the medicine the mothers had taken and the serious damage caused to the fetuses.”

“How on earth do you know all this stuff?” Tone-Marit murmured.

“I know
everything
,” Hanne whispered, looking her straight in the eye. “Absolutely everything!”

Øyvind laughed heartily, but Hanne did not allow herself to be knocked off course.

“Naturally, it was a catastrophe for the producers. Lawsuits for huge compensation sums, followed by bankruptcy. Even though the company produced a number of other quite excellent medicines, no one would touch the organization afterward. And don’t you think, my dear friends …”

Her hand gesture included them all, even a big yellow alligator sitting on the chair beside the window.

“… that they’re quaking in their boots down at Pharmamed right now! Even though it was a long time ago.
Even
though they’re under different ownership. The name is tarnished. For a long time to come, the word ‘Pharmamed’ will be linked with the wicked, tragic deaths of infant children.”

For some time, the only sound to be heard was the scraping of spoons against the household’s expensive glass bowls.

“But,” Severin said unexpectedly, “although in principle …”

He slurred slightly: “principle” was a difficult word.

“Although I really agree with you, that is to say that you should never exclude anything at all and that money is a powerful motive for most things, but—”

Billy T. came crashing into the room.

“Have I missed anything?”

“Is he asleep?” Håkon asked.

“Like a log. I told him two scary stories. He was paralyzed with fear, and now he’s sleeping soundly. Where are you?”

“I have to tell you, unfortunately, that the Pharmamed line of enquiry has to be shelved,” Severin said. “At least, there was nothing suspicious about Himmelheimer being in Oslo this spring. He was busy with … other things, so to speak.”

“No more, Severin,” Billy T. said softly, sending him a warning look. “We’re not all police officers here, you know.”

“That guy there,” Severin said, pointing to Øyvind Olve, “is well used to big secrets. He’s worked with the Prime Minister. But listen to this then …”

He took an enormous gulp of red wine.

“When we were checking out this Hans Himmelheimer guy, we went to the SAS Hotel. Staff, room service, telephone records … everything. He didn’t make any suspicious calls. Two home to his dear wife in Germany, four to the Pharmamed office. But do you know what, his wife at home did not know that there were
two
people staying in Herr Himmelheimer’s hotel room. As well as himself, this guy Hans had signed in a
Frau
!”

“His mistress,” Billy T. muttered.

“Exactly! And now you’ll have to guess. I can tell you that she’s Norwegian. But then you’ll probably name two million one hundred and eighty-seven other Norwegian women before you arrive at the right one.”

No one felt compelled to participate in a guessing game, and Billy T. frowned with impatience.

“His
Frau
was Little Lettvik!”

“That can’t be true,” Billy T. said.

“That woman at
Kveldsavisen?”
Øyvind asked.

“It’s just not possible,” Hanne murmured.

“Little Lettvik,” Håkon repeated.

Tone-Marit burst out laughing, her eyes again becoming two narrow lines above her cheekbones.

“Shhhh,” Severin said, moving his palms up and down on the tabletop. “I must ask you to be really quiet. They have known each other for years. Met at university here in Oslo, at Blindern, in 1964, at a time when Little Lettvik’s name suited her rather better. Since then they’ve met up every so often, when Hans has been at conferences abroad. At home in Leipzig he has a wife and three teenage children, but when he’s abroad having fun, his companion has been Little Lettvik. Sweet, really.”

He emptied his glass and held it out to Billy T., who eagerly poured him another.

“We pulled her in for interview. She hummed and hawed a great deal about protecting her sources and all that shit, so we didn’t get very much out of her. But there’s absolutely no doubt that she somehow got the information from him. Probably fooled him completely. Perhaps a little spot of pillow talk?”

“So that’s how her newspaper managed to crack the case so bloody fast,” Hanne said thoughtfully. “I wondered about that. To be quite honest, I was ever so slightly impressed.”

“Anyway,” Severin said, with a deep sigh. “Hans Himmelheimer didn’t do anything in Oslo other than attend two meetings and spend the rest of his time in bed with Little Lettvik. We’ve managed to discover that much. And we’re not one iota closer to substantiating that Pharmamed had anything whatsoever to do with the murder.”

It had started raining. Håkon stood up to put a log on the fire. The blue streak of lightning that suddenly illuminated the window overlooking the dark, wet, spring garden was followed immediately by a clap of thunder that startled them all. Huddling closer together, they all leaned in toward the table to create an
intimate atmosphere that made them feel like better friends than they actually were. Even Tone-Marit smiled when Billy T. stroked her back in a friendly gesture after she was startled by the deafening crash.

“I hate thunder,” she said, almost apologetically.

“But why at a hotel? Little Lettvik lives on her own, surely?” Håkon Sand scratched his head.

“Lettvik said that, as a matter of principle, she never lets a man step across her threshold,” Severin explained. “After meeting her, that seems entirely convincing.”

“But if Pharmamed is no longer a useful line of enquiry—” Hanne began.

“The bottom line is, there is quite simply
nothing
to build on there,” Severin interrupted. “Which doesn’t mean, of course, that we shouldn’t make further enquiries. But I …”

He gulped, and swallowed.

“… I don’t believe there’s anything to find there. The gun was at the guard’s apartment – we know that – but how would the guard have come into contact with Pharmamed? If they were behind the murder, it would all have been far more professional. A different gun, and at the very least a different sort of accomplice from that scruffy guy. No, forget about Pharmamed.”

“Forget the guard as well,” Billy T. broke in. “I’ve been obsessed by him for three weeks, but, think about it – he’s an odd character. He lets his girlfriend, who is
fifteen
, persuade him to send the gun back to us. He goes on holiday to Tromsø –
Tromsø
! He’d have fled to Bolivia or somewhere like that if he had really killed Volter. I think the guard was telling the truth, in fact, when he told Kaja what happened. Why would he lie to her? He obviously relied on her so much that he entrusted her with the shawl and the gun. If he had murdered Volter, he would
never
have sent back the revolver. It sounds quite incredible that he could have pinched it
from a dead Prime Minister, but on the other hand … he’s one of the most repulsive characters I’ve ever encountered. If anyone could have done such a thing, it would be him. But he was a fucking coward. Just like that Adonis, Brage. No. Forget the guard. I hate to say it, but it wasn’t him.”

“But listen to this, everyone.”

Hanne had switched to Farris, and as she raised the glass to her face, she could feel the bubbles in the mineral water tickling her skin.

“If we’re going to shelve Benjamin Grinde – and that old hag Ruth-Dorthe Nordgarden, who has kicked up a row, but clearly done nothing else. And Pharmamed. And the guard. And him too, that poor Nazi fucker who’s cooped up down in our backyard, then … then there’s nobody left!”

“Some personal enemy that we just haven’t discovered yet,” Billy T. said. “It means days and months of hard slog, and probably we’ll never get to the bottom of it. We’re not good enough. Pure and simple. Now I’d like some music. Real music.”

He stood up to prod Håkon in the back.

“Opera, Håkon, do you have anything like that? Puccini?”

“I think we have
Tosca
over there. You’ll need to look.”

“Tosca
’s fine! She killed for the sake of love. That’s why most people commit murder, I have to tell you, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Is that why you’re so fond of opera?” Tone-Marit asked. “Because they all kill one another? Don’t you get enough of that at work?”