‘Right. What do you think it hit then?’
‘The steel sheet behind the paper target on the firing range in Økern.’
‘What on earth would make you believe that?’
‘It’s not so much what I believe as what I know, Bellman. I got the ballistics girls to go up there and run a test with your gun. And guess what? The test bullet looked identical to the one in the evidence box.’
‘And what made you think of the firing range precisely?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? That’s where police officers fire most of the shots that are not meant to hit people.’
Mikael Bellman slowly shook his head. ‘There’s more. What is it?’
‘Well,’ Harry said, taking out his packet of Camel, holding it out to Bellman, who shook his head, ‘I thought about how many burners I know in the police. And do you know what? I could only think of one.’ Harry took the half-smoked cigarette, lit it and took a long, rasping drag. ‘Truls Berntsen. And as chance would have it I’ve spoken to a witness who recently saw you practising together on the range. The bullets drop into a container after they’ve hit the steel plate. It would be simple for someone to take a used bullet after you’d gone.’
‘Do you suspect that our mutual colleague Truls Berntsen planted false evidence to incriminate me, Harry?’
‘Don’t you?’
Bellman looked as if he was about to say something, but changed his mind. He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what Berntsen’s up to, Hole. And, to be honest, I don’t think you do, either.’
‘Well, I don’t know how honest you are, but I do know the odd fact about Berntsen. And Berntsen knows the odd fact about you too. Isn’t that true?’
‘I have an inkling you’re insinuating something, but I have no idea what, Hole.’
‘Oh yes, you do. But not much that can be proved, I would assume, so let’s give it a miss. What I’d like to know is what Berntsen is after.’
‘Your job, Hole, is to investigate the police murders, not to take advantage of the situation to conduct a personal witch-hunt against me or Truls Berntsen.’
‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘It’s no secret that you and I have had our differences, Harry. I suppose you see this as a chance to get your own back.’
‘What about you and Berntsen? Any differences there? You’re the one who suspended him on suspicion of corruption.’
‘No, that was the Appointments Board. And that misunderstanding is about to be rectified.’
‘Oh?’
‘In fact, it was my mistake. The money that went into his account came from me.’
‘From you?’
‘He built the terrace on our house, and I paid him in cash, which he put into his account. But I wanted the money back because of faults in the construction. That was why he didn’t declare the sum to the tax authorities. He didn’t want to pay tax on money that wasn’t his. I sent the information to the Fraud Squad yesterday.’
‘Faults in the construction?’
‘The concrete base is damp and smells. When the Fraud Squad picked up on the mysterious sum of money, Truls was labouring under the misapprehension that it would put me in a tricky position if he said where he got the money from. Anyway, it’s all sorted now.’
Bellman rolled up his jacket sleeve and the dial of his TAG Heuer watch shone in the darkness. ‘If there are no further questions about the bullet from my gun I have other things to do, Harry. And I suppose you do too. Lectures have to be prepared, for example.’
‘Well, I’m spending all my time on this now.’
‘You used to spend all your time on this.’
‘Meaning?’
‘We have to make savings where we can, so I’m going to order, with immediate effect, that Hagen’s alternative little group stops using consultants.’
‘Ståle Aune and me. That’s half the group.’
‘Fifty per cent of staffing costs. I’m congratulating myself on the decision already. But as the group is barking up the wrong tree I think I’ll cancel the whole project.’
‘Have you got that much to fear, Bellman?’
‘You don’t have to fear anything when you’re the biggest animal in the jungle, Harry. And I am, after all-’
‘-the Chief of Police. You certainly are. The Chief.’
Bellman got up. ‘I’m glad that’s sunk in. And I know that when you begin to pull in trusted colleagues like Berntsen, this is not an impartial investigation but a personal vendetta stage-managed by a bitter, alcoholic former policeman. And as Chief of Police it is my duty to protect the reputation of the force. So you know what I’ll answer when I’m asked why we shelved the case of the Russian who got a corkscrew inserted around his carotid artery at Come As You Are, don’t you? I’ll answer that we have to prioritise investigations, and that the case is nowhere near shelved, it’s just not a priority at this moment. And even if everyone with a toe in the police force knows the rumours about who was responsible for it, I will pretend I haven’t heard them. Because I’m the Chief of Police.’
‘Is that supposed to be a threat, Bellman?’
‘Do I need to threaten a PHS lecturer? Have a good evening, Harry.’
Harry watched Bellman sidle along the row down to the fence, buttoning up his jacket as he went. He knew he should keep his mouth shut. This was a card he had decided to hold back in case it was needed. But now he had been told to pack everything in, there was nothing left to lose. All or nothing. He waited until Bellman had one leg over the fence.
‘Did you ever meet René Kalsnes, Bellman?’
Bellman froze mid-stretch. Katrine had run a cross-check on Bellman and Kalsnes without coming up with a single hit. And if they had so much as shared a restaurant bill, bought a cinema ticket online, had seats near each other on a plane or a train she would have found it. But, well, he froze. Stood with one leg on either side of the fence.
‘Why such a stupid question, Harry?’
Harry took a drag on his cigarette. ‘It was fairly well known that René Kalsnes sold sex to men whenever the opportunity arose. And you’ve watched gay porn online.’
Bellman hadn’t moved; he had evidently committed himself. Harry couldn’t see the expression on his face in the darkness, only the white patches shining in the same way his watch dial had.
‘Kalsnes was known as a greedy cynic without a moral bone in his body,’ Harry said, studying the cigarette glow. ‘Imagine a married man, with significant social standing, being blackmailed by someone like René. Perhaps he had some photos of them having sex. That would sound like a motive for murder, wouldn’t it? But René might have talked about the married man and afterwards someone might come forward and reveal that there was a motive. So the married man gets someone to commit the murder. Someone he knows very well, someone he already has a hold over, someone he trusts. The murder is committed while the married man has a perfect alibi, a meal in Paris, for example. But afterwards the two childhood friends fall out. The hit man is suspended from his job and the married man refuses to tidy up for him even though, as the boss, he is actually in a position to do this. So the hit man takes a used bullet from the married man’s gun and puts it in the evidence box. Either out of sheer revenge or to pressurise the married man into giving him his job back. You see, it’s not so easy for someone unfamiliar with the art of burning to have this bullet removed again. Did you know, by the way, that Truls Berntsen reported his service pistol missing a year after Kalsnes was shot? I found his name on a list I was given by Katrine Bratt a couple of hours ago.’ Harry inhaled. Closed his eyes so that the glow would not affect his night vision. ‘What do you say to that, Chief of Police?’
‘I say: thank you, Harry. Thank you for concluding my deliberations on closing down the alternative group. It will be done first thing in the morning.’
‘Does that mean you’re claiming you never met René Kalsnes?’