Harry suddenly felt old as well. Old and tired.
“So what were the lumps of plaster?” Løken asked.
“Just a wild idea. It struck me it was like the plaster on the screwdriver we found in the boot of Molnes’s car. Yellowish. Not completely white like normal whitewash. I’ll have the lumps analyzed and compared with the plaster in the car.”
“And what would that mean?”
Harry shrugged. “You never know what anything means. Ninety-nine percent of the information you gather during a case is worthless. You just have to hope you’re alert enough for the one percent under your nose.”
“True enough.” Løken closed his eyes and settled back in the chair.
Harry walked downstairs to the street and bought some noodle soup with king prawns from a toothless man wearing a Liverpool cap. He ladled it from a black cauldron into a plastic bag, tied a knot and bared his gums. In the kitchen Harry found two soup dishes. Løken woke up with a start when he shook him, and they ate in silence.
“I think I know who gave the order for the investigation,” Harry said.
Løken didn’t answer.
“I know you couldn’t wait to start the undercover work until the agreement with Thailand was signed and sealed. It was urgent, wasn’t it. Getting a result was urgent, that’s why you jumped the gun.”
“You don’t give in, do you.”
“Is that of any significance now?”
Løken blew on the spoon. “It can take a long time to gather evidence,” he said. “Maybe years. The time aspect was more important than anything else.”
“I’d bet there’s nothing in writing to trace back to the prime mover, that Torhus at the Foreign Office is alone, if it ever came out. Am I right?”
“Good politicians always make sure to cover their backs, don’t they? They have Secretaries of State to do the dirty work. And Secretaries of State don’t give orders. They just tell Directors what they have to do to accelerate a stalled career path.”
“Are you by any chance referring to Secretary of State Askildsen?”
Løken slurped a prawn into his mouth and chewed in silence.
“So what was dangled in front of Torhus to lead the operation? A job as Director General?”
“I don’t know. We don’t talk about that kind of thing.”
“And what about the Police Commissioner? Isn’t she risking quite a bit?”
“She’s probably a good Social Democrat, I suppose.”
“Political ambitions?”
“Maybe. Maybe neither of them is risking as much as you think. Having an office in the same building as the ambassador doesn’t mean—”
“That you’re on their payroll? So who do you work for? Are you a freelancer?”
Løken smiled at his image in the soup. “Tell me, what happened to that woman of yours, Hole?”
Harry looked at him in bewilderment.
“The one who stopped smoking.”
“I told you. She met an English musician and went to London with him.”
“And after that?”
“Who said anything happened after that?”
“You did. The way you talked about her.” Løken laughed. He had put down his spoon and slumped back in the chair. “Come on, Hole. Did she really stop smoking? For good?”
“No,” Harry said quietly. “But now she’s stopped. For good.”
He looked at the bottle of Jim Beam, closed his eyes and tried to remember the warmth of only one, the first drink.
Harry sat there until Løken fell asleep. Then he hitched his arms under the older man’s shoulders and took him to bed, covered him with a blanket and left.
The porter at River Garden was asleep as well. Harry considered waking him, but decided against it—everyone should get some sleep tonight. A letter had been pushed under Harry’s door. Harry left it unopened on the bedside table with the other one, stood by the window and watched a freighter glide beneath Taksin Bridge, black and soundless.
40
Tuesday, January 21
It was getting on for ten when Harry arrived at the office. He met Nho on his way out.
“Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” Harry yawned.
“The orders from your Police Commissioner in Oslo.”
Harry shook his head.
“We were told at the meeting this morning. The bigwigs have had a get-together.”
Liz jumped in her chair as Harry burst into her office.
“Good morning, Harry?”
“No, it isn’t. I didn’t get to bed until five. What’s this I hear about scaling down the investigation?”
Liz sighed. “Looks like our Chiefs have been having another powwow. Your Police Commissioner has been talking about budgets and personnel shortages and she wants you back, and our Police Chief’s starting to get twitchy because of all the other murder cases we dropped when this one came up. Of course they’re not talking about shelving the case, just downgrading it to normal priority.”