Nemesis(121)

Harry nodded. At the edge of his vision he could see a patrol car driving slowly past. 'It was system keys I wanted to ask about. I'm wondering how an outsider can get hold of a copy of a system key like this. A Trioving key, for example.'





'They can't,' the boy said with the total conviction of someone who reads illustrated science magazines. 'Only Trioving can make a functional copy. So the only way is to falsify written authorisation from the housing committee. But even that would be found out when you come for the key because we will ask to see ID and check it against a list of flat-owners in the block.'





'But I collected one of these system keys. And it was a key for another person.'





The boy frowned. 'No, I remember quite clearly that you showed ID and I checked the name. Whose key was it you think you collected?'





In the reflection in the glass door behind the counter Harry saw the same police car passing in the opposite direction.





'Forget it. Is there any other way of getting a copy?'





'No. Trioving, who grind these keys, only receive orders from authorised dealers like ourselves. And, as I said, we check the documentation and keep an eye on keys ordered for all shared property and housing co-ops. The system should be pretty secure.'





'It sounds it, yes.' Harry rubbed his face with his hand in irritation. 'I rang some time back and was told a woman living in Sorgenfrigata had received three keys for her flat. One we found in her flat, the second she gave to the electrician who was supposed to be fixing something and the third we found somewhere else. The thing is, I don't believe she ordered the third key. Can you check that for me?'





The boy shrugged. 'Certainly I can, but why not ask her yourself?'





'Someone shot her through the head.'





'Ooops,' the boy said, without batting an eyelid.





Harry stood stock-still. He could sense something. The slightest of shivers. A draught from the door maybe? Enough to raise the hairs on the back of your neck. The sound of a tentative clearing of the throat. He hadn't heard anyone come in. Without turning, he tried to see who it was, but from that angle it was impossible.





'Police,' said a loud, high-pitched voice behind him. Harry swallowed hard.





'Yes?' said the boy, looking over Harry's shoulder.





'They're outside,' the voice said. 'They say the old lady down at number 14 has had a break-in. She needs a new lock right away, so they were wondering if we could send someone pronto.'





'Well, you can go with them, Alf. I'm caught up, as you can see.'





Harry listened intently until the footsteps had distanced themselves. 'Anna Bethsen.' He heard himself whispering. 'Can you check if she personally collected all the keys?'





'I don't need to. She must have done.'





Harry leaned over the counter. 'Can you check it anyway?'





The boy gave a deep sigh and disappeared into the back room. He returned with a file and flicked through. 'See for yourself,' he said. 'There, there and there.'





Harry recognised the delivery forms. They were identical to the ones he had signed himself when he came for Anna's key. But all the forms were signed by Anna. He was about to ask where the form with his own signature was when his eyes fell on the dates.





'It says here the last key was collected back in August,' he said. 'But that's a long time before I was here and…'





'Yes?'





Harry stared up into the air. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I've found what I needed.'





Outside, the wind had picked up. Harry rang from one of the telephone boxes in Valkyrie plass.





'Beate?'





* * *





Two seagulls headed into the wind above the tower of the Seamen's School and hovered there. Beneath the gulls lay Oslo fjord, which had gone an ominous green-black hue, and Ekeberg, where the two people on the bench were tiny dots.





Harry had finished talking about Anna Bethsen. About the time they met. About the last evening, some of which he recalled. About Raskol. Beate had finished telling him they had managed to trace the laptop. It had been bought three months ago from the Expert shop by the Colosseum cinema. The guarantee had been made out to Anna Bethsen. And the mobile phone connected to it was the one Harry maintained he had lost.





'I hate the scream of gulls,' Harry said.





'Is that all you've got to say?'





'At this very moment–yes.'





Beate stood up from the bench. 'I shouldn't be here, Harry. You shouldn't have rung me.'





'But you are here.' Harry gave up trying to light his cigarette in the wind. 'It means you believe me. Doesn't it?'





Beate's response was to fling out her arms angrily.





'I don't know any more than you do,' Harry said. 'Not even for certain that I didn't shoot Anna.'