Nemesis

The Chief Superintendent shook his head. 'But where has this accountant, as you call him, learned these tricks?'

'He was the little brother of one of the most professional bank robbers Norway has seen,' Beate said. 'He knew Lev's methods and style inside out. Amongst other things, Lev kept video recordings of his raids at his home in Disengrenda. Trond had taught himself his brother's techniques so well that even Raskol was deceived into thinking he recognised Lev Grette. On top of that, there is the physical similarity of the two brothers, which meant that computer manipulation of the videos showed the robber could have been Lev.'

'Shit!' Halvorsen exclaimed involuntarily. He ducked and sent a fearful glance at Bjarne Mшller, but Mшller was sitting with mouth wide open, staring blankly in front of him as if a bullet had passed through his head.

***

'You haven't put down the gun, Harry. Can you explain?'

Harry attempted to breathe regularly even though his heart was running amok. Oxygen to the brain, that was crucial. He tried not to look at Beate. The wind puffed up thin, blonde strands of her hair. Muscles in the thin neck were straining and her shoulders had begun to tremble.

'Elementary,' Harry said. 'You'll shoot us both. You have to give me a better deal than that, Trond.'

Trond laughed and rested his cheek against the green butt of the gun. 'What do you say to this deal, Harry? You've got twenty-five seconds to think through the alternatives and put down the weapon.'

'The usual twenty-five?'

'Correct. I suppose you recall how quickly the time went. Think fast, Harry.'

'Do you know what put the idea in my head about Stine knowing the robber?' Harry shouted. 'They were standing too close. Much closer than you and Beate now. It's odd, but, even in life-and-death situations, people respect others' intimate spaces if they can. Isn't that strange?'

Trond placed the barrel under Beate's chin and raised her face. 'Beate, would you be so kind as to count for us?' He was using the theatrical tone again. 'From one to twenty-five. Not too fast and not too slow.'

'I was wondering about something,' Harry said. 'What did she say before you shot her?'

'Would you really like to know, Harry?'

'Yes, I would.'

'Beate has two seconds to start counting. One…'

'Count, Beate!'

'One.' Her voice was a dry whisper. 'Two.'

'Stine pronounced the final death sentence for herself and Lev,' Trond said.

'Three.'

'She said I could shoot her, but I should spare him.'

Harry felt his throat constrict and his grip on the gun weaken.

'Four.'

***

'In other words, he would have shot Stine however long the branch manager took to put the money in the bag?' Halvorsen asked.

Harry nodded gloomily.

'Since you seem to know everything, I take it you also know his escape route,' Ivarsson said. The tone was intended to be sarcastic and amusing, but the irritation shone through all too clearly.

'No, but I assume he took the same route back. Up Industrigata, down Pilestredet, into the building site where he took off the balaclava and stuck the POLITI label on the back of the boiler suit. When he was back in Focus, he was wearing a cap and sunglasses, and failed to attract the attention of the centre staff since they didn't recognise the photos of him. He went into the changing room and put on the sports gear he had been wearing when he arrived from work, then joined the general hubbub in the fitness rooms, did a bit of cycling, maybe lifted a few weights. Then he showered, went to the reception desk and reported his squash racquet missing. The girl who took his details gave the exact time as 16.02. The alibi was cemented and he went into the street, heard the sirens and drove home. Possibly.'

'I don't know if I understand the purpose of the police labels,' the Chief Inspector said. 'We don't even have boiler suits in the force.'

'Elementary psychology,' Beate said and her cheeks glowed when she saw the Chief Superintendent's raised eyebrow. 'I mean…not elementary in the sense that it's…erm, obvious.'

'Go on,' the Chief Superintendent said.

'Trond Grette knew, of course, that the police would search for anyone wearing a boiler suit observed in the area. He, therefore, had to have something on his boiler suit which would cause all the police swarming around to pay little attention to this unidentified person in Focus. The public always shies away from the police.'

'Interesting theory,' Ivarsson said with a sour smile and the tips of two fingers under his chin.

'She's right,' the Chief Superintendent said. 'Everyone has a fear of authority. Go on.'

'But, to be absolutely sure, he pretended to be a witness and volunteer information about a man he had seen walking past the fitness room wearing a boiler suit with POLITI on.'

'Which was a stroke of genius in itself,' Harry said. 'Grette told us this as if he was unaware that the police strip ruled the man out of our inquiries. Of course, it also strengthened Trond Grette's credibility in our eyes that he volunteered information which-seen from his point of view-might place him on the murderer's escape route.'

'Eh?' said Mшller. 'Repeat that one more time, Harry. Slowly.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Oh, never mind,' Mшller said. 'I've got a headache.'

***

'Seven.'

'But you didn't do what she asked,' Harry said. 'You didn't spare your brother.'

'Of course not,' Trond said.

'Did he know you had killed her?'

'I had the pleasure of telling him myself. On the mobile. He was waiting in Gardemoen airport. I told him if he didn't get on the plane, I would go after him too.'

'And he believed you when you said you'd killed Stine?'

Trond laughed. 'Lev knew me. He didn't doubt it for a second. While I was giving him the details, he was reading about the raid on teletext in the business lounge. He switched off his phone when I heard them call his flight. His and Stine's. Hey, you!' He put the gun to Beate's head.

'Eight.'

'He must have thought he had a safe passage home,' Harry said. 'Didn't know about the contract in Sгo Paulo, though, did he.'

'Lev was a thief, but a naive thief. He should never have given me the secret address in d'Ajuda.'

'Nine.'

Harry tried to ignore Beate's robotic monotones. 'Then you sent instructions to the hired killer, and the suicide letter. Which you wrote with the same handwriting style you used to do Lev's essays.'

'Bravo,' Trond said. 'Good work, Harry. Apart from the fact that they had been sent before the bank job.'

'Ten.'

'Well,' Harry said, 'the contract killer also did good work. It really did look as if Lev had hanged himself. Even though the missing little finger business was perplexing. Was that the receipt?'

'Let's put it this way. A little finger fits nicely in a standard envelope.'

'Didn't think you could stand the sight of blood, Trond?'

'Eleven.'

Harry heard a distant rumble of thunder over the whistling, roaring wind. The field and the paths around them were deserted. Everyone had taken shelter from the looming storm.

'Twelve.'

'Why don't you just give yourself up?' Harry said. 'You know it's hopeless.'

Trond chuckled. 'Of course it's hopeless. That's the point, isn't it. No hope. Nothing to lose.'

'Thirteen.'

'So what's the plan, Trond?'

'The plan? I have two million kroner from the bank job and I'm planning a long-if not happy-life in exile. The travel plans have had to be put forward, but I was prepared for that. The car has been packed and ready ever since the robbery. You can choose between being shot or handcuffed to the fence.'

'Fourteen.'