Cockroaches(80)

The police work he had been looking forward to when he took the job, leading investigations, had become a subsidiary matter. And still he hadn’t got to grips with hidden agendas, reading between the lines or career games. Now and then he wondered if he should still be there, but he knew Trine appreciated the higher salary band. And the boys wanted jump skis. Perhaps it was time they had the computers they had been asking for as well. Tiny snowflakes swirled against the windowpane. He had been such a good policeman.

The telephone rang.

“Møller.”

“Hole. Did you know all the time?”

“Hello? Harry, is that you?”

“Did you know I was chosen especially so that this investigation wouldn’t get off the ground?”

Møller lowered his voice. He had forgotten about jump skis and computers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I just want to hear you say you didn’t know people in Oslo suspected who the murderer was from the word go.”

“OK, Harry. I didn’t know … By which I mean I don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about.”

“The Police Commissioner and Dagfinn Torhus from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have known all along that the ambassador and a Norwegian by the name of Ove Klipra drove off in the same car from Klipra’s home half an hour before the ambassador arrived at the motel. They also know Klipra had a damn good motive for killing the ambassador.”

Møller sat down heavily. “And that is?”

“Klipra is one of the richest men in Bangkok. The ambassador was in severe financial difficulties, and he had even taken the initiative to start a highly illegal investigation of Klipra for child abuse. When the ambassador was found dead he had photos in his briefcase of Klipra with a boy. It’s not that hard to imagine the reason for his visit to Klipra. Molnes must have managed to convince Klipra that he was solo on this and he had taken the photos himself. Then he must have given him a price for ‘all copies.’ Isn’t that what they say? Of course it’s impossible to check how many copies Molnes had made, but Klipra probably realized that a blackmailer who is also an incurable gambler, like the ambassador, was bound to come knocking again. And again. So Klipra suggested a drive, got out at the bank and told Molnes to go to the motel and wait, he would follow with the money. When Klipra arrived he didn’t even have to look for the room, he could see the ambassador’s car parked outside, couldn’t he. Shit, the guy even managed to trace the knife back to Klipra.”

“Which guy?”

“Løken. Ivar Løken. An old intelligence officer who’s been operating here for several years. Employed by the UN, worked with refugees, he says, but what the hell do I know? I reckon he got most of his wages from NATO or something like that. He’s been spying on Klipra for months.”

“Didn’t the ambassador know that? I thought you said he initiated the investigation?”

“What do you mean?”

“You maintain the ambassador went there to blackmail Klipra even though he knew the intelligence guy was watching them.”

“Of course he knew. He got the copies of the photos from Løken, didn’t he. So? There’s nothing suspicious about the Norwegian ambassador paying a courtesy visit to Bangkok’s richest Norwegian, is there.”

“Maybe not. What else did this Løken say?”

“He told me the real reason I was chosen for this job.”

“Which is?”

“The guys who knew about the investigation into Klipra took a risk. If they were caught all hell would break loose; there would be a political outcry, heads would roll, et cetera. So when the ambassador was found murdered and they had a pretty good idea who was responsible they had to ensure the murder inquiry didn’t cast any light on their investigations. They had to find a happy medium, do something, but not so much that their cover was blown. By sending a Norwegian police officer they couldn’t be accused of doing nothing. I was told that they couldn’t send a team of officers because the Thai force would take offense.”

Harry’s laughter merged with another conversation hurtling somewhere between earth and a satellite.

“Instead they picked a man they reckoned was the least likely to uncover anything at all. Dagfinn Torhus had done his research and found the perfect candidate, someone who definitely wouldn’t cause them any problems. Because he would probably spend his nights bent over a crate of beer and his days sleeping off a hangover. Harry Hole was perfect because he barely functions. They could justify the choice, if the question came up, by saying the officer in question had received enthusiastic recommendations after a similar job in Australia. If that wasn’t enough PAS Møller had vouched for him, and he should be the best person to judge, shouldn’t he.”