Cockroaches(71)

“Politiet!” he shouted and the man froze as Harry pressed the cold steel of the scissor blade against his warm face. For a while they stayed like that, locked around each other, two strangers in the inky darkness, both gasping for breath as if after a marathon.

“Hole?” the other man moaned.

Harry gathered that in his panic he had called out in Norwegian.

“I would appreciate it if you would let me go now. I’m Ivar Løken and I won’t try anything.”





33


Saturday, January 18


Løken lit a candle while Harry studied Løken’s gun, a specially built Glock 31. He had removed the magazine and put it in his pocket. The gun was heavier than any he had ever held.

“I got the gun when I was serving in Korea,” Løken said.

“I see. Korea. What were you doing there?”

Løken put the matches in a drawer and sat down at the table opposite Harry.

“Norway had a field hospital down there with the UN, and I was a young second lieutenant and thought I liked excitement. After the armistice in 1953 I continued to work for the UN, for the newly established Office of the High Commissioner for Refugees. Refugees streamed across the border from North Korea, and life was a trifle lawless. I slept with it under my pillow.” He pointed to the gun.

“I see. What did you do after that?”

“Bangladesh and Vietnam. Hunger, war and the Boat People. Afterward life in Norway seemed unbearably trivial, so I was unable to stick it out for more than a couple of years before I had to get out again. You know.”

Harry didn’t know. Nor did he know what to believe about this lean individual sitting in front of him. He looked like an old Indian chief, with an aquiline nose and intense, deep-set eyes. His hair was white, his face tanned and wrinkled. In addition, he seemed totally at ease in the situation, which put Harry even more on his guard.

“Why did you come back? And how did you get past my colleague?”

The white-haired Norwegian flashed a lupine grin, and a gold tooth glinted in the flickering candlelight.

“The car you came in doesn’t quite fit the neighborhood. We only have tuk-tuks, taxis and old wrecks parked here. I saw two people in the car, both sitting up a little too straight. So I walked around the corner and into the cafe where I could keep an eye on you. After a while I saw the car light come on and you get out. I reckoned one of you would keep watch and waited until your colleague returned. Then I finished my drink, flagged down a taxi, was driven to the underground car park and got the lift up. Nice little number of yours with the short circuit …”

“And normal people don’t notice parked cars in the street. Unless they have been trained to do so or are on their guard.”

“Well, first of all, Tonje Wiig is unlikely to win an Oscar for her dinner invitation performance.”

“So what are you really doing here?”

Løken reached out for the photos and equipment which were now strewn across the floor.

“Do you live from taking pictures of … that?” Harry said.

“Yep.”

Harry felt his pulse race. “Do you know how many years they’ll lock you up for that in Thailand? I’ve got enough here for ten years, I reckon.”

Løken laughed. A brief, dry laugh. “Do you think I’m stupid, Detective? You wouldn’t have needed to break in if you’d had a search warrant. If I risk being punished for what I have in this flat then what you and your colleague have just done has definitely got me off the hook. Any judge will rule as inadmissible the evidence you have acquired in this way. It’s not just irregular, it’s absolutely illegal. You might be looking at a prolonged stint inside yourself, Hole.”

Harry struck him with the gun. It was like switching on a tap—the blood poured out of Løken’s nose.

Løken didn’t move, just looked down at the flowery shirt and the white trousers as they were stained red.

“That’s genuine Thai silk, you know,” he said. “Not cheap.”

The violence should have put the brakes on him, but instead Harry could feel the fury growing.

“You can afford it, you fucking pedophile. I assume they pay you well for this shite.” Harry kicked the photos on the floor.

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Løken said, holding a white handkerchief to his nose. “It’s in line with the government wage scale. Plus an adjustment for living abroad.”

“What are you talking about?”

The gold tooth glinted again. Harry noticed he was squeezing the gun so hard his hand was beginning to ache. He was glad he’d removed the magazine.