“What exactly is ‘whatever had to be done’?”
“Let me put it this way, two have gone back home and one unfortunately never made it.”
“He jumped out of a window?” Harry suggested.
Bork gave a resounding laugh. “No, we don’t go that far. But it’s probably the first time the police have received an anonymous tip-off in Thai with a Nordland accent.”
Harry smiled. “Your son?” He motioned toward the photograph on the chest of drawers.
Bork looked a bit taken aback, but nodded.
“Looks like a nice lad.”
“He was then.” Bork smiled with sad eyes and repeated himself: “He was.”
Harry looked at his watch. The drive from Bangkok had taken almost three hours, but he had made his way like a learner driver until he had relaxed a little in the final kilometers. Perhaps he would make it back in just over two. He took three photos from his folder and placed them on the table. Løken had blown them up to 24 × 30 centimeters to achieve the full shock effect.
“We think Ove Klipra has a hideaway near Bangkok. Will you help us?”
43
Wednesday, January 22
Sis sounded happy on the phone. She had met a boy, Anders. He had just moved into Sogn, in the same corridor, and was one year younger than her.
“He’s got glasses too. But that doesn’t matter because he’s dead good-looking.”
Harry laughed and visualized Sis’s new catch.
“He’s absolutely crazy. He thinks they’ll let us have children together. Just imagine that.”
Harry just imagined that and knew there could be some difficult conversations in the future. But right now he was glad Sis sounded so content.
“Why are you sad?” The question came with an intake of breath, as a natural extension of the news that their father had been to visit her.
“Am I sad?” Harry asked, fully aware that Sis could always diagnose his state of mind better than he could himself.
“Yes, you’re sad about something. Is it the Swedish girl?”
“No, it’s not Birgitta. There is something that’s bothering me now, but it will soon be OK. I’ll sort it out.”
“Good.”
There was a rare silence, as Sis wasn’t speaking. Harry said they’d better ring off.
“Harry?”
“Yes, Sis?”
He could hear her preparing herself.
“Do you think we could forget all that now?”
“All what?”
“You know, the man. Anders and I, we … we’re having such a good time. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
Harry fell silent. Then he took a deep breath. “He attacked you, Sis.”
Tears were in her voice at once. “I know. You don’t have to tell me again. I don’t want to think about it anymore, I’m telling you.”
She sniffed, and Harry felt his chest constrict.
“Please, Harry?”
He could feel he was squeezing the phone. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it, Sis. Everything’s going to be fine.”
They had been lying in the elephant grass for almost two hours and waiting for the sun to set. A hundred meters away, at the edge of a copse, was a small house built in traditional Thai style with bamboo and wood, and featuring an open patio in the middle. There was no gate, only a little gravel path to the main door. Out front was what looked like a colorful birdcage on a pole. It was a phra phum, a shrine to the protective spirit of a place.
“The owner has to appease the spirits so that they don’t move into the house,” Liz said, stretching her legs. “So you have to offer them food, incense, cigarettes and so on to keep them happy.”
“And that’s enough?”
“Not in this case.”
They hadn’t heard or seen any signs of life. Harry tried to think about something else, not about what might be inside. It had only taken them an hour and a half by car from Bangkok, but still it was as though they had arrived in another world. They had managed to park behind a hut by the road, beside a pigpen, and had found a path leading up the steep, tree-clad slope to the plateau where Roald Bork had explained that Klipra’s little house was situated. The wood was verdant, the sky blue, and birds of all colors of the rainbow flew over Harry as he lay on his back listening to the silence. At first he had thought he had cotton wool in his ears before realizing what it was: he hadn’t had any silence around him since he left Oslo.
When darkness fell the silence was over. It had begun with scattered scraping and humming, like a symphony orchestra tuning their instruments. Then the concert started with quacking and cackling and soared in a crescendo when the howling and loud, piercing shrieks from the trees joined the orchestra.