Nemesis(114)
'Now I know, Harry,' she whispered. She thought she saw a hint of surprise in his eyes.
'You've been talking to Tom Waaler.' It sounded more like a statement than a question.
'You mean the detective who thinks he's God's gift to…hm. I talked to him. Told him everything I knew, of course. Shouldn't I have done, Harry?'
He shrugged.
'Have I put you in a tight spot, Harry?' She had tucked her legs beneath her on the sofa and regarded him with a concerned expression from behind her glass.
He didn't answer.
'Another drink?'
He nodded. 'At least, I have one piece of good news for you.' He followed her hand carefully as she filled his glass. 'I received an e-mail this evening from someone confessing to the murder of Anna Bethsen. The person in question lured me into thinking it was Arne.'
'That's great,' she said. She spluttered gin onto the table. 'Oh dear, must be a bit too strong.'
'You don't seem exactly surprised.'
'Nothing surprises me any longer. To be honest, I didn't think Arne had the guts to kill anyone.'
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. 'Nevertheless. Now I have proof Anna Bethsen was murdered. I sent the confession to a colleague of mine before leaving home this evening. As well as all the other e-mails I've received. That means I've laid all my cards on the table as far as my own role is concerned. Anna was an ex-girlfriend of mine. My problem is that I was with her the evening she was killed. I should have turned down her invitation right away, but I was stupid and careless and thought I could solve the case on my own and at the same time make sure I wasn't dragged into it. I was…'
'Stupid and careless. You've said that.' She observed him pensively as he stroked the sofa cushion beside him. 'Of course, that explains a great deal. However, I still can't see why it should be a crime to spend time with a woman you would like to…spend time with. You had better explain yourself, Harry.'
'Well.' He gulped down the shiny liquor. 'I woke up the next day and couldn't remember a thing.'
'I see.' She rose from the sofa, went over to him and stood opposite him. 'Do you know who he is?'
He rested his head against the back of the sofa and looked up at her. 'Who said it's a "he"?' His words were slightly slurred.
She stretched out a slim hand. He shot her a quizzical look.
'The coat,' she said. 'Then go straight into the bathroom and take a hot bath. I'll make coffee and find some dry clothes for you in the meantime. I don't think he would have objected. He was a reasonable man in many ways.'
'I…'
'Come on. Now.'
* * *
The hot embrace sent shivers of pleasure running through him. The caresses continued up over his thighs to his hips and covered him in gooseflesh. He groaned. Then he lowered the rest of his body into the boiling water and leaned back.
He could hear the rain outside and listened to catch Vigdis Albu's movements, but she had put a record on. Police. Greatest Hits, to cap it all. He closed his eyes.
Sting was sending out an SOS. Speaking of which, he reckoned Beate must have read the e-mail by now. She would have passed on the message and the fox hunt would have been called off. The alcohol had made his eyelids heavy, but every time he closed his eyes he saw two legs and hand-sewn Italian shoes sticking out of the steaming-hot bathwater. He fumbled behind his head for the glass he had placed at the edge of the bath. When he rang Beate from Schrřder's he had only had two large beers, and that was nowhere near the anaesthetisation he required. But where was the damn glass? He wondered if Tom Waaler was hunting him down anyway. Harry knew he was desperate to make this arrest. But Harry was not going to give himself up until he had all the details safely in place. From now on, he couldn't afford to trust anyone. He would sort it out. Just some time out first. Another drink. Borrow the sofa here tonight. A clear head. Tomorrow.
His hand hit the heavy crystal glass and it landed on the tiled floor with a dull crunch.
Harry swore and stood up. He almost fell but caught the wall at the last moment. He tied a thick, plush towel around his waist and went into the living room. The gin bottle was still on the coffee table. He found a glass in the bar cabinet and filled it to the brim. He could hear the coffee machine. And Vigdis's voice from the hall. He went back into the bathroom and carefully placed the glass beside the clothes Vigdis had laid out for him, a complete Bjřrn Borg collection in light blue and black. He cleaned the mirror with the towel and confronted his eyes in the condensation-free strip.
'You idiot,' he whispered.
He sat on the floor. A red rivulet crept down the grout between the tiles to the drain. He followed the rivulet back to his right foot where fresh blood was trickling between his toes. He stood up in the middle of the broken glass; he hadn't even noticed it. Hadn't noticed a thing. He looked in the mirror again and laughed.