Cockroaches(20)

The other message was from Bjarne Møller. He wished Harry luck, no more than that. It sounded as if he didn’t like talking to answerphones.

Harry lay on the bed blinking into the darkness. He hadn’t bought the six-pack after all. And the B12 shots were still in his suitcase. After bar-hopping in Sydney he had taken to his bed with no feeling in his legs, but one vitamin shot and he had got up like Lazarus. He sighed. When was it he had actually decided? When he was told about the job in Bangkok? No, it was before that. Several weeks ago he had set a deadline: Sis’s birthday. God knows why he had taken the decision. Perhaps he was just sick of not being present. Days came and went without him noticing. Something like that. He was tired of the discussion about why old Bardolph didn’t want to drink now. When Harry took a decision it was unshakable; it was inexorable and final. No compromises, no prevarication. “I can stop any day I like.” How often had he heard men at Schrøder’s trying to convince themselves that they weren’t long-term full-blooded alkies? He was as full-blooded as any of them, but he was the only one he knew who could actually stop whenever he wanted. The birthday wasn’t for a few weeks, but as Aune had been right about this trip being a good starting point Harry had even brought it forward. Harry groaned and rolled over onto his side.

He wondered what Sis was doing, if she had dared to venture out in the evenings. If she had rung Dad as she had promised. And if she had, if he’d managed to talk to her, beyond answering with a yes or a no.

Three o’clock passed, and even though it was only nine in Norway he hadn’t slept much over the last thirty-six hours and ought to have fallen asleep without a problem. However, every time he closed his eyes he had the image of a naked Thai boy illuminated by headlamps on his retina, so he preferred to keep them open for a while longer. Perhaps he should have bought the six-pack after all. When he did finally drop off, the morning rush hour over Taksin Bridge had already started.





8


Saturday, January 11


On the seventeenth floor, behind an oak door and two security checkpoints, Harry found a metal sign bearing the Norwegian lion. The receptionist, a young, graceful Thai woman with a small mouth, even smaller nose and two velvety brown eyes in a round face, bore a deep frown as she studied his ID card. Then she lifted the telephone, whispered three syllables and put it back down.

“Miss Wiig’s office is the second on the right, sir,” she said with such a beaming smile Harry considered falling in love on the spot.

“Come in,” Harry heard, after knocking on the door. Inside, Tonje Wiig was bent over a large teak desk, obviously busy making notes. She looked up, put on a light smile, raised a lean body dressed in a white silk suit from her chair and walked toward him with an outstretched hand.

Tonje Wiig was the opposite of the receptionist. A nose, mouth and eyes fought for room in a long face, and the nose appeared to carry the day. It was like a big tuber, but at least ensured there was a bit of space between her large, heavily made-up eyes. Not that Miss Wiig was ugly, no, some men might even claim the face had a certain classical beauty.

“So nice that you’re finally here, Officer. Shame that it’s in such sad circumstances.”

Harry had barely touched her bony fingers before they were withdrawn.

“We’d very much like to put this case behind us as fast as possible,” she said, rubbing one nostril carefully so as not to smudge her makeup.

“I appreciate that.”

“These have been difficult days for us, and it might sound heartless, but the world goes on and so do we. Some people believe that all we do is attend cocktail parties and enjoy ourselves, but nothing could be further from the truth, I can tell you. At this very moment I have eight Norwegians in hospital and six in prison, four of them for possession of narcotics. Have you seen the prisons here? Dreadful. Verdens Gang rings every day. It turns out that on top of everything else one of them is pregnant. And last month in Pattaya, a Norwegian man died after being thrown out of a window. Second time in a year. Terrible fuss.”

She shook her head in despair.

“And if someone loses their passport do you think they have travel insurance or money for a new ticket home? No, we have to take care of everything. So, as you know, it’s important we get things moving here.”

“It’s my understanding that you’re in charge now that the ambassador is dead.”

“I am the chargé d’affaires, yes.”

“How long will it be before a new ambassador is appointed?”

“Not long, I hope. Usually it takes a month or two.”