Cockroaches(8)
Harry closed the door to his flat, shouted that he was home and nodded with satisfaction when there was no answer. Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, but so long as they weren’t waiting for him in the kitchen when he came home there was a chance he would have an undisturbed night’s sleep.
4
Thursday, January 9
The cold snap came so suddenly that when Harry stepped out of the door he involuntarily gasped for breath. He looked up at the reddening sky between the houses and opened his mouth to release the taste of gall and Colgate.
In Holbergs plass he caught the tram rattling down Welhavensgate. He found a seat and opened the Aftenposten. Another pedophilia case. There had been three of them over recent months, all Norwegians caught red-handed in Thailand.
The leader reminded readers of the Prime Minister’s promise during his election campaign that he would intensify investigation of sexual crimes, including those involving Norwegians abroad, and demanded to know when the public would see any results.
Secretary of State Bjørn Askildsen, from the Prime Minister’s office, commented that they were working with the Thai government to further investigative powers.
“This is urgent!” the Aftenposten editor wrote. “People expect to see some action. It’s not right that a Christian minister can permit this outrage to continue.”
* * *
“Come in!”
Harry opened the door and looked straight into Bjarne Møller’s yawning mouth. He was leaning back in his chair with his long legs sticking out from under the desk.
“There you are. I was expecting you yesterday, Harry.”
“So I was told.” Harry sat down. “I don’t work when I’m drunk. Or vice versa. It’s a kind of principle I have.” This was intended to sound ironic.
“A police officer is a police officer twenty-four hours a day, Harry, sober or not. I had to persuade Waaler not to report you, you know.”
Harry shrugged, indicating that he’d said all he had to say on the subject.
“OK, Harry, we won’t discuss that now. I’ve got a job for you. A job which in my opinion you don’t deserve, but which I’m going to give you anyway.”
“Would it make you happy if I said I don’t want it?”
“Cut the Philip Marlowe stuff, Harry. It doesn’t suit you,” Møller replied brusquely. Harry smirked. He knew the PAS liked him. “I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“I assume from the fact that you send a car to get me in my free time it’s not to put me on traffic duty.”
“Exactly, so why don’t you let me finish?”
Harry gave a brief, dry chuckle and leaned forward in his chair. “Can we speak our minds, PAS?”
What mind? Møller almost asked, but limited himself to a nod.
“I’m not the man for important assignments right now, boss. I suppose you’ve seen how things are going at the moment. Or how things are not going. Or barely going. I do my job, the routine stuff, try not to get in anyone’s way and clock in and out in a sober condition. I’d give the job to one of the other boys if I were you.”
Møller sighed, laboriously drew up his legs and got to his feet.
“Can I speak my mind, Harry? Had it been up to me, someone else would have got the job. But they want you. So it would be a great favor to me, Harry …”
Harry looked up warily. Bjarne Møller had helped him out of enough scrapes over the last year for him to know that it was just a question of time before he had to start repaying the debt.
“Hang on! Who are they?”
“People in high positions. People who can make my life hell if they don’t get what they want.”
“And what will I get to take on the job?”
Møller knitted his brows as fiercely as he could, but he had always found it difficult to muster a stern expression on his open, boyish face.
“What do you get? You get your salary. For the duration. For Christ’s sake, what do you get!”
“Ah, I’m in the picture now, boss. Some of those high-up people reckon that officer who cleared up the case in Sydney last year must be one hell of a guy, and it’s your job to make him toe the line. Am I wrong?”
“Harry, please don’t push this one too far.”
“I’m not wrong. I wasn’t wrong yesterday when I saw Waaler’s face, either. That’s why I’ve already slept on it and this is my suggestion: I’m a good boy, I turn up for work, and when I’ve finished, you give me two detectives full-time for two months and complete access to all our data.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”