‘He turned Oleg into a junkie, Beate.’ Harry’s voice was low, and he spoke without looking up from the cup.
They sat in silence listening to the expensive Holmenkollen silence.
‘Was it Asayev who shot you in the head?’ Beate asked at length.
Harry ran his finger over the new scar at the side of his forehead. ‘What makes you think it’s a bullet wound?’
‘Well, what do I know about gunshot wounds? I’m just a forensics officer.’
‘OK. It was a guy who had worked for Asayev,’ Harry said. ‘Three shots at close range. Two in the chest. The third in the head.’
Beate looked at Harry. Knowing he was telling the truth. But it wasn’t the whole truth.
‘And how did you survive that?’
‘I’d been walking round with a bulletproof vest on for two days. So it was about time it did something useful. But the shot to the head knocked me out. And would have killed me if. .’
‘If. .?’
‘If the guy who shot me hadn’t run to the A amp;E in Storgata. He badgered a doctor to come along, and he saved me.’
‘What? Why haven’t I heard any of this?’
‘The doctor bandaged me up on the spot and wanted to send me to hospital, but I woke up in time and made sure I was sent home instead.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want any fuss. How’s Bjørn these days? Got himself a girl?’
‘This guy. . first of all he tried to shoot you and then he saved your life? Who-?’
‘He didn’t try to shoot me, it was an accident.’
‘Accident? Three shots is no accident, Harry.’
‘If you’re going cold turkey and holding an Odessa, it can happen.’
‘Odessa?’ Beate knew the weapon. The cheap copy of the Russian Stechkin. In pictures the Odessa looked like it had been welded together by a schoolboy of average skill in a metalwork class, the clumsy, illegitimate progeny of a pistol and a machine gun. But it was popular with Russian Urkas and professional criminals because it could fire both single shots and salvos. The slightest pressure on an Odessa and you had suddenly let off two rounds. Or three. It struck her that the Odessa had the rare Makarov 9x18mm calibre bullets, the same ammunition that had killed Gusto Hanssen.
‘I’d like to see that weapon,’ she said slowly, watching Harry’s eyes automatically wander around the living room. She turned. She couldn’t see anything there, just an ancient black corner cupboard.
‘You didn’t say who the guy was,’ Beate said.
‘It’s not important,’ Harry said. ‘He’s long been outside your jurisdiction.’
Beate nodded. ‘You’re protecting someone who almost took your life.’
‘All the more credit to him that he saved it.’
‘Is that why you’re protecting him?’
‘How we choose who we protect is often a riddle, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Beate said. ‘Take me for example. I protect police officers. As I’m handy at facial recognition I questioned the bartender at Come As You Are, the place where this drug dealer of Asayev’s was killed by a tall blond guy with a scar running from his mouth to his ear. I showed the bartender some photos and talked and talked. And as you know, the visual memory is child’s play to manipulate. Witnesses no longer remember what they thought they remembered. In the end, the bartender was sure the man in the bar wasn’t the Harry Hole I showed him in the photos.’
Harry looked at her. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Thanks.’
‘I was going to say no thanks were necessary,’ Beate said, lifting the cup to her mouth. ‘But they are. And I have a suggestion as to how you could thank me.’
‘Beate. .’
‘I protect police officers. You know it’s a personal matter for me when officers die on active duty. Jack. And my father.’ She noticed she automatically touched her earring. The button off her father’s uniform jacket, which she’d had recast. ‘We don’t know whose turn it is next, but I intend to do whatever I can to stop this bastard, Harry. Whatever I can. Do you understand?’
Harry didn’t answer.
‘Sorry, of course you understand,’ Beate said under her breath. ‘You have your own dead to grieve for.’
Harry rubbed the back of his right hand against the coffee cup as if he was cold. Then he got up and walked to the window. Stood there for a while before he spoke.
‘As you know, a murderer came here and tried to kill Oleg and Rakel. And it was my fault.’
‘That’s a long time ago, Harry.’
‘It was yesterday. It will always be yesterday. Nothing has changed. But I’m trying anyway. To change myself.’
‘And how’s it going?’
Harry shrugged. ‘Up and down. Have I told you I never remembered to buy Oleg a birthday present? Even though Rakel reminded me weeks in advance. There was always some case or other supressing my memory. Then I would come up here, find the place all done up for a party and have to leave at once, the old trick as always.’ Harry drew one corner of his mouth into half a smile. ‘I said I had to go and buy some cigarettes, so I jumped in the car, raced to the nearest petrol station, bought a couple of CDs or something. Rakel and I had a deal. When I came in the door Oleg stood there looking at me with those dark, accusatory eyes of his. But before he could search me, Rakel hurried over to give me a hug, as if she hadn’t seen me for years. And while she had her arms round me she tugged the CDs, or whatever the present was, from the back of my trousers, hid it and left the room while Oleg frisked me. Ten minutes later Rakel had wrapped the present, attached a gift tag, the whole caboodle.’
‘And?’
‘And this year Oleg got a properly wrapped present from me. He said he didn’t recognise the writing on the tag. I said that was because it was mine.’
A smile flitted across Beate’s face. ‘Sweet story. Happy ending and all that.’
‘Listen, Beate. I owe those two people everything, and I still need them. And I’m so lucky that they need me, too. As a mother, you know what a blessing and a curse it is to be needed.’
‘Yes. And what I’m trying to say is we need you, too.’
Harry walked back. Leaned across the table to her. ‘Not like these two do, Beate. And no one is irreplaceable at work, not even. .’
‘No, that’s true, we’ll manage to replace the ones that have been killed. One was retired anyway. And we’ll find enough people to take over after the next officers have been butchered as well.’
‘Beate. .’
‘Have you seen these?’
Harry didn’t look down at the pictures she had taken from her bag and laid on the kitchen table.
‘Crushed, Harry. Not a bone left intact. Even I had problems identifying them.’
Harry stayed standing. Like a party host signalling that it was late. But Beate stayed where she was. Sipped from her cup. Didn’t budge. Harry sighed. She took another sip.
‘Oleg’s going to study law when he gets back from the clinic, isn’t he? And afterwards apply to Police College.’
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘From Rakel. I spoke to her before coming here.’
Harry’s bright blue eyes darkened. ‘You what?’
‘I rang her in Switzerland and told her what this was about. It was quite improper and I apologise. But, as I said, I will do whatever it takes.’
Harry’s lips moved, muttering silent imprecations. ‘And what did she answer?’
‘That it was up to you.’
‘Yes, she probably did.’
‘So now I’m asking you, Harry. I’m asking you for Jack Halvorsen’s sake. Ellen Gjelten’s sake. I’m asking you for all the dead officers’ sakes. But above all I’m asking you for those who are still alive. And for those who may become police officers.’
She watched Harry’s jaw muscles flexing furiously.
‘I didn’t ask you to manipulate witnesses for my sake, Beate.’
‘You never ask for anything, Harry.’
‘Well, it’s late, so I’m asking you to-’
‘-leave now.’ She nodded. Harry had a look that made people obey. Then she got up and went into the hall. Put her coat on, buttoned it. Harry stood in the doorway watching her.