“We’re back to square one,” Liz said. “Brekke’s got an alibi and we have to forget Løken for the moment. Oh, and a giant psychopath who tried to kill a visiting officer is on the loose.” She tipped her chair back and studied the ceiling. “Any suggestions, folks? If not, this meeting is over, you can do what the hell you like, but I’m still short a few reports and I’m counting on seeing them by early tomorrow at the latest.”
The officers shuffled out of the door. Harry stayed put.
“Well?”
“Nothing,” he said with an unlit cigarette bobbing up and down in his mouth. The inspector had imposed a smoking ban in her office.
“I can see there’s something.”
A faint smile curled the corners of Harry’s mouth. “That was what I wanted to know, Inspector. That you can see there is something.”
She had a serious wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Let me know when you have something to tell me.”
Harry took out his cigarette and put it back in the packet. “Yes,” he said, getting up. “I’ll do that.”
* * *
Jens leaned back in his chair and smiled, his cheeks flushed, his bow tie glittering. He reminded Harry of a birthday boy.
“I’m almost glad I was locked up for a while. It makes you appreciate the simple things so much more. Like a bottle of Dom Perignon 1985, for example.”
He snapped his fingers at the waiter, who hurried over to the table, lifted the dripping champagne bottle out of the cooler and filled his glass.
“I love it when they do that. Makes you feel like Superman. What do you say, Harry?”
Harry fingered the glass. “Fair enough. Not my thing actually.”
“We’re different, Harry.”
Jens made this declaration with a smile. He seemed to have filled out his suit again. Or else he had just changed into an almost identical one. Harry wasn’t sure.
“Some people need luxury like others need air,” Jens said. “An expensive car, nice clothes and a bit of good service are simply a must for me to feel, well, for me to feel that I exist. Can you understand that?”
Harry shook his head.
“Mmm.” Jens held the champagne glass by the stem. “I’m the decadent one of the two of us. You should trust your first impressions. I am a sack of shit. And for as long as there is room for us sacks of shit in this world I intend to continue being one. Skål.”
He savored the champagne in his mouth before swallowing. Then he grinned and groaned with delight. Harry had to smile and raised his own glass, but Jens gave him a look of disapproval.
“Water? Isn’t it time you began to enjoy life, Harry? You really don’t have to be so strict with yourself.”
“Sometimes you do.”
“Rubbish. All humans are basically hedonists, some just take longer to realize it. Have you got a woman?”
“No.”
“Isn’t it about time?”
“Certainly is. But I can’t see what that has to do with enjoying life.”
“True enough.” Jens peered into his glass. “Have I told you about my sister?”
“The one you rang?”
“Yes. She’s single, you know.”
Harry laughed. “Don’t imagine you owe me a debt of gratitude, Jens. I didn’t do much, apart from getting you arrested.”
“I’m not joking. Wonderful girl. She’s an editor, but I think she works too hard to have time to find herself a man. She also frightens them away. She’s like you, strict, a mind of her own. By the way, have you noticed that that’s what all Norwegian girls say after they’ve won some Miss Something-Or-Other award when they have to describe themselves to journalists: that they’ve got a mind of their own? Minds of their own seem to be two a krone.”
Jens looked pensive.
“My sister took my mother’s name when she came of age. And when she came of age, she did it with a vengeance.”
“I’m not so sure your sister and I would be a great match.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I’m a coward. What I’m looking for is a self-effacing woman in a social profession who is so beautiful no one has dared tell her.”
Jens laughed. “You can marry my sister with a clear conscience. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like her; she works so hard you won’t see much of her anyway.”
“So why did you ring her at home and not at work? It was two in the afternoon when you called.”
Jens shook his head. “Don’t tell anyone, but I can never keep track of the time differences. Whether I have to add or subtract hours, I mean. It’s very embarrassing. My father says I’m pre-senile. Says it comes from my mother’s side.”