Nemesis

Harry slotted the album back in, pulled out another and began to flip through.

'Right,' he said after a while. He pressed the album to his face. 'Here we are.'

'What's that?'

Harry set the album on the table in front of Halvorsen and pointed to one of six photographs attached to the black page. A woman and three children smiled up at them from a beach.

'That's the same photo I found in Anna's shoe,' Harry said. 'Smell it.'

'I don't need to. I can smell the glue from here.'

'Right. He's just stuck the picture in. If you move the photo a little, you can feel the glue is still soft. Smell the photo.'

'OK.' Halvorsen put his nose against the smiles. 'It smells…of chemicals.'

'What sort of chemicals?'

'Photos always smell when they've just been developed.'

'Right again. And what can we conclude from that?'

'That, erm…he likes sticking in photos.'

Harry looked at his watch. If Albu drove straight home, he would be there in an hour.

'I'll explain in the car,' he said. 'We've got the evidence we need.'

***

It was raining when they drove out onto the E6. The lights from oncoming traffic reflected on the wet tarmac.

'Now we know where the photo Anna had in her shoe came from,' Harry said. 'At a guess, I'd say Anna saw her chance to take it out of the album when she was last at the chalet.'

'But what was she going to do with it?'

'God only knows. So that she could see what stood between her and Albu perhaps. To understand better. To have something to stick pins in.'

'And when you showed him the photo, did he know where it was from?'

'Naturally. The wheel marks of the Cherokee by the chalet are the same as those before. They show he was here a couple of days ago, possibly yesterday.'

'To wash the floor and wipe all the fingerprints?'

'And to check what he already suspected-that one photo was missing from the album. So when he got home, he found the negative and took it to a chemist.'

'Probably a shop where they develop photos in an hour. Then he went back to the chalet today to stick it where the old one had been.'

'Mm.'

The rear wheels of the lorry in front of them were sending a sheet of dirty, oily water over their windscreen, and the wipers were working overtime.

'Albu has gone to great lengths to cover the traces of his escapades,' Halvorsen said. 'But do you think he took Anna Bethsen's life?'

Harry stared at the logo on the rear doors of the lorry: AMOROMA

– ETERNALLY YOURS. 'Why not?'

'He doesn't exactly strike me as a murderer. A well-educated, straight-down-the-line type of guy. Reliable father with spotless record and a business he built up himself.'

'He's been unfaithful.'

'Who hasn't?'

'Yes, who hasn't,' Harry repeated slowly. And exploded in a fit of sudden irritation: 'Are we going to stay behind this lorry and take its crap with us all the way to Oslo, or what?'

Halvorsen checked the mirror and moved into the left-hand lane. 'And what would his motive be?'

'Let's ask, shall we?' Harry said.

'What do you mean? Drive to his place and ask? Reveal that we've acquired evidence by illegal means and get fired at the same time?'

'You don't have to go. I'll do it on my own.'

'And what do you think you'll achieve by doing that? If it gets out that we entered his chalet without a warrant, there is not a judge in this land who wouldn't boot the case out of court.'

'That's precisely why.'

'Precisely…Sorry, these puzzles are beginning to take their toll, Harry.'

'Because we don't have anything we can use in a court of law, we have to turn up the heat to find something we can use.'

'Shouldn't we take him in for questioning, give him the good chair, serve espresso and run the tape?'

'No. We don't need a load of lies on tape when we can't use what we do know to prove he's a liar. What we need is an ally. Someone who can expose him on our behalf.'

'And that is?'

'Vigdis Albu.'

'Aha. And how…?'

'If Arne Albu has been unfaithful, the chances are that Vigdis will want to dig deeper into the matter. And the chances are that she's sitting on the information we need. And we know a couple of things which could help her to find out even more.'

Halvorsen slanted the mirror so that he wouldn't be dazzled by the headlamps of the lorry right up their boot. 'Are you sure this is a smart idea, Harry?'

'No. Do you know what a palindrome is?'

'No idea.'

'Word or words that can be read forwards and backwards. Look at the lorry in your mirror. AMOROMA. It's the same word whichever way you read it.'

Halvorsen was about to say something, but thought better of it and just shook his head in despair.

'Drive me to Schrшder's,' Harry said.

***

The air was stiff with sweat, cigarette smoke, rain-drenched clothing and orders for beer shouted from the tables.

Beate Lшnn sat at the table where Aune had been sitting. She was as difficult to spot as a zebra in a cowshed.

'Have you been waiting long?' Harry asked.

'Not long at all,' she lied.

In front of her was a large beer, untouched and already flat. She followed his gaze and dutifully raised the glass.

'There's no obligation to drink alcohol here,' Harry said, making eye contact with Maja. 'It just seems like it.'

'In fact, it's not bad,' Beate took a tiny sip. 'My father said he didn't trust people who didn't drink beer.'

The coffee pot and cup arrived in front of Harry. Beate blushed to the roots of her hair.

'I used to drink beer,' Harry said. 'I had to stop.'

Beate studied the tablecloth.

'It's the only vice I've got rid of,' Harry said. 'I smoke, lie and hold grudges.' He lifted his cup in toast. 'What do you suffer from, Lшnn? Apart from being a video junkie and remembering the face of everyone you've ever seen?'

'There's not a lot more.' She raised her glass. 'Apart from the Setesdal Twitch.'

'Is it serious?'

'Fairly. Actually, it's called Huntingdon's Disease. It's hereditary and was normal for Setesdal.'

'Why there of all places?'

'It's a…narrow dale surrounded by high fells. And a long way from anywhere.'

'I see.'

'Both my mother and father come from Setesdal and at first my mother didn't want to marry him because she thought he had an aunt with the Setesdal Twitch. My auntie would suddenly lash out with her arms, so people used to keep their distance.'

'And now you've got it?'

Beate smiled. 'My father used to tease my mother about it when I was small. Because when Dad and I played knuckles, I was so fast and hit him so hard that he thought it had to be the Setesdal Twitch. I just found it so funny I wished…I had the Twitch, but one day my mother told me you can die from Huntingdon's Disease.' She sat fidgeting with her glass.

'And the same summer I learned what death meant.'

Harry nodded to an old sailor on the neighbouring table, who didn't return the greeting. He cleared his throat: 'What about grudges? Do you suffer from them, too?'

She looked up at him. 'What do you mean?'

Harry shrugged. 'Look around you. Humanity can't survive without it. Revenge and retribution. That's the driving force for the midget who was bullied at school and later became a multi-millionaire, and the bank robber who thinks he has been short-changed by society. And look at us. Society's burning revenge disguised as cold, rational retribution-that's our profession, isn't it.'

'That's the way it has to be,' she said, avoiding his gaze. 'Society wouldn't work without punishment.'

'Yes, of course, but there's more to it than that, isn't there. Catharsis. Revenge cleanses. Aristotle wrote that the human soul is purged by the fear and compassion that tragedy evokes. It's a frightening thought that we fulfil the soul's innermost desire through the tragedy of revenge, isn't it.'