Cockroaches(89)

“Do you think that a refugee like him, someone who is already an outsider in society, has any scruples about using the means that are necessary to flourish, especially when the means are more or less accepted everywhere? Klipra has been in one of the world’s most corrupt industries in one of the world’s most corrupt countries for more than thirty years. Have you heard the song, ‘If it rains, I’m like everyone else, I get wet’?”

Jens shook his head.

“What I’m saying is that as a businessman Klipra plays according to the same rules as everyone else. These people have to make sure they don’t get their hands mucky, that’s why they hire other people to do their dirty work. I would guess Klipra doesn’t even know what Jim Love died of.”

Harry drew on his cigarette. It didn’t taste as good as he imagined it would.

“I see,” Jens said at length. “But there is an explanation for the bankruptcy, so I don’t understand why he would blame me. What happened was we bought the company from a multinational concern who hadn’t fixed the price of its dollar debt as they had dollars coming in from other daughter companies.”

“What?”

“To cut a long story short—as the company broke away and came into Klipra’s possession, the dollar came under incredible pressure. It was like a ticking bomb. I told him to fix the debt instantly by selling dollar futures, but he said he would wait because the dollar was overvalued. With normal currency fluctuations you could say that in the worst-case scenario he was taking a risk. But it was worse than a worst-case scenario. When the dollar almost doubled in value relative to the baht over three weeks, the company’s debt doubled as well. The company didn’t go bust in the course of the three weeks but three days!”

Jens stressed the latter so loudly that Hilde Molnes twitched and mumbled something in her sleep. He looked over with concern and waited until she had rolled onto her side and started to snore again.

“Three days!” he repeated in a whisper, and indicated how short the time was with his thumb and first finger.

“So you think it wouldn’t be reasonable of him to blame you?”

Jens shook his head. Harry stubbed out his cigarette; it had been an anticlimax.

“From what I know of Klipra, ‘reasonable’ isn’t in his vocabulary. You shouldn’t underestimate the streak of irrationality in human nature, Jens.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you bang in a nail and hit your thumb what do you throw at the wall?”

“The hammer?”

“Well, how does it feel to be a hammer, Jens Brekke?”


At half past five Harry called the police station, went through three people before finding someone who could speak acceptable English and she told him they hadn’t seen or heard anything.

“She’ll turn up,” she said.

“I’m certain she will,” Harry said. “I imagine she’s in some hotel. Before long she’ll be ringing for breakfast.”

“What?”

“I imagine … never mind. Thanks for your help.”

Jens accompanied him down the staircase. Harry gazed up at the sky; it was getting lighter.

“When all this is over I’d like to ask you a favor,” Jens said. He took a deep breath and smiled sheepishly. “Hilde has agreed to marry me and I need a best man.”

A couple of seconds passed before Harry realized what he meant. He was so taken aback he didn’t know what to say.

Jens was studying the tips of his shoes. “I know it sounds strange that we’re going to get married so soon after the death of her husband, but we have our reasons.”

“Yes, but—”

“You haven’t known me long? I know, Harry. However, I wouldn’t be a free man now if it weren’t for you.” He lifted his chin and smiled. “Give it some thought anyway.”

As Harry hailed a taxi in the street the sky over the rooftops to the east was lightening. The haze of exhaust fumes, which Harry had presumed disappeared during the night, had just settled between the houses to slumber. Now it was up with the sun and formed part of a magnificent red sunrise. They drove along Silom Road, and the pillars by the road cast long, silent shadows over the blood-drenched tarmac, like sleeping dinosaurs.


Harry sat in bed staring at the bedside table. He’d forgotten all about the letter until now. He picked up the most recent envelope and ripped it open with his key. Perhaps it was because the two envelopes were identical that he had assumed it was from Runa. It was typed, printed on a laser machine, brief and to the point:

Harry Hole. I can see you. Don’t come any closer. She will be returned safe and sound when you are on the plane home. I can find you anywhere. You are alone, very alone. Number 20.