“Mine is right.” A flash of white teeth. “This device records all my conversations. It cost half a million kroner and has a satellite-controlled clock. Believe me: it’s accurate.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Who on earth pays half a million for a tape recorder?”
“More people than you imagine. Most currency brokers, among others. If you have an argument with a client about whether you said buy or sell on the phone, half a million is soon chicken feed. The recorder automatically adds a digital time code on this special tape.”
He held up something that looked like a VHS cassette.
“The time code cannot be tampered with and when a conversation has been recorded you can’t change the recording without destroying the time code. The only thing you can do is hide the tape, but then others would find out that tapes are missing for the period in question. The reason we’re so thorough is that the tapes would be valid evidence in a court case.”
“Does that mean you have a recording of your conversation with Molnes?”
“Of course.”
“Could we …?”
“Just a moment.”
It was peculiar to hear the very much alive voice of a person you had seen lying dead with a knife in his back.
“Four o’clock then,” the ambassador said.
It sounded toneless, almost sad. Then he rang off.
17
Monday, January 13
“How’s your back?” Liz asked with concern when Harry limped into the office for the morning meeting.
“Better,” he lied, straddling a chair.
Nho gave him a cigarette, but Rangsan coughed behind his newspaper and Harry refrained from lighting up.
“I have some news that might put you in a good mood,” Liz said.
“I am in a good mood.”
“First of all, we’ve decided to bring in Woo. See what we can get out of him if we threaten him with three years for assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duty. Mr. Sorensen claims he hasn’t seen Woo. He works freelance, apparently. We don’t have an address for him, but we know he usually eats at a restaurant next to Ratchadamnoen Stadium, the boxing arena. Those matches mean huge bets, and the loan sharks hang around there to find new customers and keep an eye on debts that still haven’t been settled. The other piece of good news is that Sunthorn has been making inquiries at hotels suspected of running escort agencies. The ambassador apparently frequented one of them—they remembered the car because of the diplomatic plates. They say he had a woman with him.”
“Fine.”
Liz was a bit disappointed by Harry’s lukewarm reaction.
“Fine?”
“He took Miss Ao to the hotel and gave her one there. So what? She wouldn’t invite him home, would she. As far as I can see, all we can learn from that is that Hilde Molnes has a motive to kill her husband. Or Miss Ao’s partner, if she has one.”
“And Miss Ao may have a motive if Molnes was about to drop her,” Nho said.
“Lots of good suggestions,” Liz said. “Where do we start?”
“Checking alibis,” the answer came from behind the newspaper.
In the meeting room at the embassy Miss Ao looked up at Harry and Nho with eyes red from crying. She had denied visiting any hotels point-blank, said she lived with her sister and mother, but she had been out on the night of the murder. She hadn’t been with anyone, she’d said, and came home very late, sometime after midnight. It was when Nho had tried to make her tell them where she had been that the tears started.
“It’s better if you tell us now, Miss Ao,” Harry said, closing the blinds to the hall. “You’ve already lied to us once. Now this is serious. You say you were out on the night of the murder but you didn’t meet anyone who could testify where you were.”
“My mother and sister—”
“Can testify that you returned home after midnight. That doesn’t help you, Miss Ao.”
Tears ran down the sweet doll face. Harry sighed.
“We’ll have to take you with us,” he said. “Unless you change your mind and tell us where you were.”
She shook her head, and Harry and Nho exchanged glances. Nho shrugged and took her arm, but she held her head against the table, sobbing. At that moment there was a light tap at the door. Harry opened it a fraction. Sanphet was outside.
“Sanphet, we—”
The chauffeur put a finger to his lips. “I know,” he whispered and beckoned Harry out.
Harry closed the door behind him. “Yes?”
“You’re questioning Miss Ao. You’re wondering where she was at the time of the murder.”
Harry didn’t answer. Sanphet cleared his throat and straightened his back.