Nemesis(142)

She was open-mouthed.





'You hated her, didn't you.'





In the ensuing silence a tiny electronic ping was audible in another room.





'No. I didn't hate her.' Astrid hugged an enormous cup of green tea. 'She was just…different.'





'Different in what way?'





'The life she led. The way she was. She was lucky to be the way…she was.'





'And you didn't like that?'





'I…don't know. No, perhaps I didn't.'





'Why not?'





Astrid Monsen looked at him. For a long time. The smile flickered in and out of her eyes like an unsettled butterfly.





'It's not what you think,' she said. 'I envied Anna. I admired her. There were days when I wished I were her. She was the opposite of me. I sit inside here while she…'





Her eyes went to the window. 'She wore barely anything and stepped out into life, Anna did. Men came and went, she knew she couldn't have them, but she loved them, anyway. She couldn't paint, but she exhibited her pictures so the rest of the world could see for themselves. She talked to everyone as if she were justified in thinking they liked her. To me, too. There were days when I felt Anna had stolen the real me, that there was not enough room for the two of us and I would have to wait my turn.' She emitted the same nervous titter. 'But then she died. And I discovered it wasn't like that. I can't be her. Now no one can. Isn't that sad?' She directed her gaze at Harry. 'No, I didn't hate her. I loved her.'





Harry could feel his neck prickle. 'Can you tell me what happened the evening you found me in the corridor?'





The smile appeared and disappeared like an ailing neon light. As though a happy person occasionally appeared and peeped out of her eyes. Harry had a feeling a dam was about to burst.





'You were ugly,' she whispered. 'But in an attractive way.'





Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Mm. When you lifted me up, did you notice if I smelt of alcohol?'





She looked surprised. As though she hadn't thought of that before. 'No. Not really. You smelt…of nothing.'





'Nothing?'





She blushed a deep red. 'Nothing…in particular.'





'Did I lose anything on the stairs?'





'Like what, for example?'





'A mobile phone. Keys.'





'What keys?'





'You have to answer me.'





She shook her head. 'No mobile phone. And I put the keys back in your pocket. Why are you asking about all this?'





'Because I know who killed Anna. I just wanted to double-check the details first.'





44

Patrin





THE NEXT DAY THE LAST REMNANTS OF THE TWO-DAY-OLD snow were gone. At the morning meeting in the Robberies Unit, Ivarsson said if they were going to make any headway in the Expeditor case their best hope was another bank raid, but he added that unfortunately Beate's prediction that the Expeditor would strike sooner or later was incorrect. To everyone's surprise, Beate didn't seem to take this indirect criticism to heart. She shrugged and repeated confidently that it was just a question of time before the Expeditor cracked.





The same evening a police car slid into the car park in front of the Munch Museum and came to a halt. Four men stepped out, two uniformed officers plus two plain-clothes men who from a distance looked as if they were walking hand in hand.





'Apologies for the security precautions,' Harry said, jerking his head towards the handcuffs. 'It was the only way I could get permission to do this.'





Raskol hunched his shoulders. 'I think it irks you more than me that we're cuffed together, Harry.'





The group crossed the car park towards the football pitch and the caravans. Harry signalled to the officers to wait outside while he and Raskol entered the small caravan.





Simon was waiting inside. He had put out a bottle of Calvados and three glasses. Harry shook his head, unlocked the cuffs and crawled onto the sofa.





'Nice to be back?' Harry asked.





Raskol didn't answer, and Harry waited while Raskol's black eyes examined the caravan. Harry saw them stop by the photograph of the two brothers over the bed. He thought he detected a tiny twist of the gentle mouth.





'I've promised we'll be back in Botsen by twelve, so we have to get down to brass tacks,' Harry said. 'Alf Gunnerud did not kill Anna Bethsen.'





Simon looked across at Raskol, who was staring at Harry.





'And neither did Arne Albu.'





In the silence, the roar of the traffic in Finnmarkgata seemed to increase. Did Raskol miss the traffic noise when he lay in his cell at night? Did he miss the voice from the other bed, the smell, the sound of his brother's regular breathing? Harry turned to Simon: 'Would you mind leaving us alone?'





Simon turned to Raskol, who gave a brief nod. He closed the door after leaving. Harry folded his hands and raised his eyes. Raskol's eyes were shiny, as though he had a temperature.