Nemesis(129)

He checked everything was as it had been when he arrived and turned the sitting-room light off. Went to the toilet, stood in front of the bowl and unbuttoned. Waited. Christ, now he couldn't even do that. Then it flowed and he released a weary sigh. He pressed the handle, the water flushed and at that moment he froze. Wasn't that a car horn he had heard over the gushing water? He went into the hall and closed the toilet door to hear better. It was. A short, firm beep from the street. Gunnerud was on his way! Harry was already standing in the doorway when it struck him. Of course it had to strike him now, when it was too late. Flushing water. The Godfather. The gun. That's my favourite place.





'Fuck, fuck, fuck!'





Harry ran back into the toilet, grabbed the knob on top of the cistern and frantically began to loosen it. The rusty, red screw came into view. 'Faster,' he whispered. His heart accelerated as he twisted the knob and the damned rod went round and round with a groan but refused to come off. He heard a door slam down in the stairwell. Then it came off and he lifted the cistern lid. The harsh sound of porcelain on porcelain resounded in the semi-dark as the water continued to rise. Harry stuck his hand inside and his fingers brushed against the slippery coating of the tank. What the fuck? Nothing? He turned over the cistern lid, and there it was. Taped to the inside. He took a deep breath. Every notch, every indentation, every jagged edge of the key under the shiny tape was an old friend. It fitted Harry's front entrance, the cellar and his flat. The picture beside it was equally well known. The missing photograph in the mirror. Sis was smiling and Harry was trying to look tough. A summer tan and blissfully ignorant. However, Harry was not familiar with the white powder in the plastic bag attached by three broad pieces of black gaffer tape, but he was willing to bet a tidy sum it was diacetyl morphine, better known as heroin. A lot of heroin. Six years' unconditional, at least. Harry didn't touch anything, just replaced the lid and began to screw it back while listening for footsteps. As Beate had pointed out, the evidence would be worth diddly if it was discovered that Harry had been in the flat without a warrant. The knob was back in position and he ran for the door. Had no choice, opened the door and stepped onto the landing. Shuffling steps were on their way up. He closed the door quietly, peeped over the railings and saw a dark, thick mop of hair. In five seconds he would see Harry. Three long strides up to the fifth floor would be enough to keep Harry out of sight.





The man stopped abruptly when he spotted Harry sitting in front of him.





'Hi, Alf,' Harry said, looking at his watch. 'I've been waiting for you.'





The man stared at him with large eyes. A pale, freckled face was framed by greasy, shoulder-length hair with a Liam Gallagher cut around his ears. He did not remind Harry of a hard-bitten killer but a young lad frightened of more beatings.





'What do you want?' the man asked in a loud, high-pitched voice.





'I want you to come with me to Police HQ.'





The man reacted spontaneously. He swivelled, grabbed the railings and jumped down to the landing beneath. 'Hey!' Harry shouted, but the man had already disappeared from view. The heavy smack of feet as they hit the fifth or sixth step echoed up the stairwell.





'Gunnerud!'





Harry heard the downstairs door slam by way of response.





He reached inside his jacket pocket and realised he didn't have any cigarettes. Now it was the cavalry's turn.





* * *





Tom Waaler turned down the music, pulled the bleeping mobile phone from his pocket, pressed the green button and put the phone to his ear. At the other end he could hear breathing coming in quick, nervous pants, and traffic.





'Hello?' said the voice. 'Are you there?' It was the Knave. He sounded terrified.





'What's up, Knave?'





'Oh, God, there you are. All hell's broken loose. You've got to help me. Quick.'





'I don't have to do anything. Answer the question.'





'They've found us. There was a cop on the stairs waiting for me to come home.'





Waaler stopped at the zebra crossing before Ringveien. An old man, with strange, miniscule steps, was making his way across. He seemed to be taking for ever.





'What did he want?' Waaler asked.





'What do you think? To arrest me, I suppose.'





'And why haven't you been arrested?'





'I ran like fuck. Legged it straight away. But they're after me. Three police cars have driven by already. Do you hear? They'll get me unless—'





'Don't shout on the phone. Where were the other officers?'





'I didn't see any others. I just took off.'





'And you got away so easily? Are you sure the guy was a policeman?'