Cockroaches(44)

“We won!” Liz yelled in his ear.


They were queuing to get their money from the bookmaker when Harry heard a familiar voice speaking Norwegian.

“Something tells me our officer has bet wisely and not just trusted his luck. In which case, congratulations.”

“Well,” Harry said, turning, “Inspector Crumley claims to be an expert, so perhaps that’s not so far from the truth.”

He introduced the inspector to Jens Brekke.

“And did you bet as well?” Liz asked.

“A friend of mine tipped me off that Ivan’s opponent had a bit of a cold. Strange what a huge effect that can have, eh, Miss Crumley?” Brekke beamed and turned to Harry. “I wonder if you could help me out of a fix, Hole. I’ve brought Molnes’s daughter with me and should drive her home, but one of my most important clients in the U.S. has called, and I have to go back to the office. It’s chaos, the dollar’s going through the roof and he’s got to get rid of a couple of busloads of baht.”

Harry looked in the direction where Brekke had nodded. Leaning against a wall, in a long-sleeved Adidas T-shirt, half hidden behind the crowds hurrying out of the stadium, stood Runa Molnes. Her arms were crossed and she was looking away.

“When I spotted you I remembered that Hilde Molnes had said you were staying in the embassy’s apartment down by the river. It won’t be such a big detour if you share a taxi. I promised her mother …”

Brekke waggled a hand to indicate that this kind of maternal concern was of course exaggerated, but nevertheless it would be best if the promise was kept.

Harry looked at his watch.

“Of course he can,” Liz said. “Poor girl. It’s no surprise that her mother’s a bit on edge at the moment.”

“Of course,” Harry said, forcing a smile.

“Great,” Brekke said. “Oh, one more thing. Could you pick up my winnings as well? That should cover the taxi. If there’s anything left, I suppose there’s a police fund for widows or something.”

He gave Liz a receipt and was gone. Her eyes widened when she saw the figures.

“The question is: Are there are enough widows?” she said.





19


Monday, January 13


Runa Molnes did not seem particularly pleased to be accompanied home.

“Thanks, I can manage,” she said. “Bangkok is about as dangerous as Ørsta village on a Monday night.”

Harry, who had never been to Ørsta on a Monday night, hailed a taxi and held the door open for her. She clambered in reluctantly, mumbled an address and stared out of the window.

“I told him to drive to River Garden,” she said after a while. “That’s where you get out, isn’t it?”

“I think the instructions were that you get dropped first, frøken Molnes.”

“Frøken?” She laughed and looked at him with her mother’s black eyes. The eyebrows, which were growing together, gave her an elfin appearance. “You sound like my aunt. How old are you anyway?”

“You’re as old as you feel,” Harry said. “So I reckon I’m about sixty.”

She looked at him with curiosity now.

“I’m thirsty,” she said suddenly. “If you buy me a drink you can take me to my door afterward.”

Harry leaned forward, and started to give the driver Molnes’s address.

“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll insist on River Garden and he’ll think you’re trying it on. Do you want a scene?”

Harry tapped the driver on the shoulder, and Runa began to scream and the driver jumped on the brakes, banging Harry’s head against the ceiling. The driver turned, Runa inhaled to scream again and Harry held up his hands in surrender.

“OK, OK. Where then? Patpong’s on the way, I suppose.”

“Patpong?” She rolled her eyes. “You are old. Only dirty old men and tourists go there. We’re going to Siam Square.”

She exchanged a few words with the driver in what to Harry’s ears sounded like flawless Thai.

“Have you got a girlfriend?” she asked when she had a beer brought to the table, also after threatening a scene.

They were in a large, outdoor restaurant at the top of a broad, monument-like set of stairs packed with young people—students, Harry presumed—sitting and watching the slow-moving traffic and one another. She had cast a suspicious glance at Harry’s orange juice, but apparently, with her background, she was used to teetotallers. Or perhaps not. Harry had a feeling that not all the unwritten party rules had been observed in the Molnes family.

“No,” Harry answered, and added: “Why the hell does everyone ask me that?”