Nemesis(145)

'It means I'm going to tell everything I know about Arne Albu's murder. And we'll be after you with everything we possess.'





Raskol raised an eyebrow. 'It would be easier for you if you let it drop, Spiuni. You know you won't get anything on me, so why try?'





'Because we're the police,' Harry said. 'And not giggling concubines.'





Raskol's eyes didn't let go. Then he made a brief bow.





Harry turned in the doorway. The thin man sat bent over the plastic table with the shadows hiding his face.





'You've got until midnight, Raskol. Then the officers will take you back.'





An ambulance siren cut through the traffic noise in Finnmarkgata, rose and sank as if seeking a pure tone.





46

Medea





HARRY CAREFULLY PUSHED OPEN THE BEDROOM DOOR. HE thought he could still smell her perfume, but the fragrance was so diffuse he wasn't sure if it came from the room or his memory. The large bed in the middle of the room imposed like a Roman galley. He sat on the mattress, placed his fingers on the cold, white bedsheet, closed his eyes and felt it pitch and roll. A slow, heavy ground swell. Was it here–like this–Anna had waited for him that evening? An angry buzz. Harry looked at his watch. Seven sharp. It was Beate. Aune rang a few minutes later and his double chins were flushed as he came up the stairs. He said a breathless 'Hello' to Beate and all three of them went into the sitting room.





'So you can say who these three portraits represent?' Aune said.





'Arne Albu,' Beate said, pointing to the picture on the left. 'Harry in the middle and Alf Gunnerud on the right.'





'Impressive,' Aune said.





'Well,' Beate said. 'An ant can distinguish between millions of other ant faces in an anthill. Proportionate to body weight, it has a much larger fusiform gyrus than I have.'





'I'm afraid then my own is extremely under-developed,' Aune said. 'Can you see anything, Harry?'





'I can certainly see a little more than when Anna first showed me. Now I know it's these three who have been indicted, by her.' Harry motioned towards the female figure holding the three lamps. 'Nemesis, the goddess of justice and vengeance.'





'Which the Romans pinched off the Greeks,' Aune said. 'They kept the scales, changed the whip for a sword, bound her eyes and called her Justitia.' He went to the lamp. 'When, in 600 BC, they began to think the system of blood revenge didn't work and decided to exact revenge from the individual and make it a public affair, it was precisely this woman who became the symbol of the modern constitutional state.' He stroked the cold, bronze woman. 'Blind justice. Cold-blooded vengeance. Our civilisation rests in her hands. Isn't she beautiful?'





'As beautiful as an electric chair,' Harry said. 'Anna's revenge wasn't exactly cold-blooded.'





'It was both cold-blooded and hot-blooded,' Aune said. 'Premeditated and impassioned at the same time. She must have been very sensitive. Psychologically damaged of course, but then we all are. Basically, it is just a question of the degree of damage.'





'And how was Anna damaged?'





'I never met her, so it will have to be a pure guess.'





'Go on then,' Harry said.





'On the subject of ancient gods, I assume you have heard of Narkissos, the Greek god who became so enamoured of his own reflection that he couldn't tear himself away? Freud introduced the concept of a narcissist to psychology, a person with an exaggerated sense of uniqueness, obsessed by the dream of boundless success. For the narcissist the need for revenge against those who have affronted him or her is often greater than all other needs. It is called the "narcissist's rage". The American psychoanalyst Heinz Kohut has described how such a person would seek to avenge the affront–which may seem a mere bagatelle to us–with whatever means they have at their disposal. For instance, what would seem on the surface to be a standard rejection might result in the narcissist working tirelessly, with a compulsive determination, to redress the balance, causing death if necessary.'





'Death to whom?' Harry asked.





'To all.'





'That's insane,' Beate burst out.





'In fact, that's what I'm saying,' Aune said drily.





They went into the dining room. Aune tested one of the old, upright chairs at the long, narrow oak table. 'They don't make them like this any more.'





Beate groaned. 'But why should she take her own life…just to get even? There must be other ways.'





'Of course,' Aune said. 'But suicide is often an act of revenge in itself. You want to inflict a sense of guilt on those who have failed you. Anna just ratcheted it up a few notches. Besides, there was every reason to suspect that she didn't want to live any longer. She was lonely, rejected by her lovers and her own family. She had failed as an artist and resorted to drugs, but that didn't help. She was, in sum, a deeply disappointed, unhappy person who chose premeditated suicide. And vengeance.'