'And that is?' Ivarsson asked, clearly irritated by the silence, which had become unbearable.
'Contract murder.'
Harry had felt like dragging it out even longer, but a glance from Beate told him he was already being melodramatic. 'When Lev came back to Oslo this autumn, it was for his own money. He wasn't broke at all and had no intention of robbing any bank. He had returned to take Stine with him to Brazil.'
'Stine?' Mřller exclaimed. 'His brother's wife?'
Harry nodded. The detectives present exchanged glances.
'And Stine was supposed to move to Brazil without telling anyone?' Mřller continued. 'Not her parents, not her friends? Without even giving notice to her employers?'
'Well,' Harry said, 'when you've decided to spend your life with a bank robber wanted by both the police and your colleagues you don't announce your plans and leave a forwarding address. There was only one person she had told, and that was Trond.'
'The last person she should have told,' Beate added.
'She probably thought she knew him, after being with him for thirteen years.' Harry walked over to the window. 'The sensitive but kind, safe accountant who loved her so dearly. Let me speculate a little about what happened afterwards.'
Ivarsson sniffed. 'And what do you call what you've been doing so far?'
'When Lev comes to Oslo, Trond gets in touch. Says they're adults and brothers so they should be able to talk about things. Lev is relieved and happy. But he doesn't show his face around town, it's too risky, so they agree to meet in Disengrenda while Stine's at work. Lev goes and is well received by Trond, who says he had been sad at first, but now he was basically over that and happy for them. He opens a bottle of Coke for each of them and they drink and talk about practical details. Trond has Lev's secret address in d'Ajuda so he can forward post, back-payments and so on to Stine. Lev doesn't realise he has just given Trond the final details he needs to implement a plan which Trond had initiated when he was in Săo Paulo.'
Harry saw Weber slowly nodding his head.
'Friday morning. D-day. In the afternoon Stine is flying to London with Lev and from there to Brazil the following morning. The trip has been booked through Brastours. The suitcases are packed and ready at home, but she and Trond go to work as usual. At two Trond leaves work and goes to Focus in Sporveisgata. He arrives, pays for the squash court he has booked, but says he hasn't found a partner. That's the first alibi in place: a registered payment at 14.34. Then he says he'll do some training in the fitness room instead and goes into the changing room. There are lots of people moving in and out at that time. He locks himself in the toilet with the bag, changes into the boiler suit with something over it, probably a long coat, waits until he can be sure the people he saw in the toilet have gone, puts on his sunglasses, takes the bag and passes quickly and unnoticed out of the changing room through the reception area. I would guess he walks towards Stenspark and then up Pilestredet by the building site where they clock off at three. He nips in, tears off his coat, puts on a folded balaclava he has hidden under his cap. Then he walks up the hill and turns left down Industrigata. At the Bogstadveien crossroads he goes into the 7-Eleven. He'd been there a couple of weeks earlier to check the camera angles. And the skip he ordered is in position. The scene is set for the diligent police officers he obviously knows will check all the video footage in the shops and petrol stations around. So he puts on this little show for us: we don't see his face but we do see very clearly a bottle of Coke he's holding in his bare hand and drinking from. He puts it in a plastic bag, so we're all convinced the fingerprints have not been wiped off by the rain and places it in the green skip he knows won't be collected for a good while. He must have had a fairly high opinion of our efficiency, and we nearly lost the evidence, but he got lucky–Beate drove like crazy and we managed it: to give Trond Grette a watertight alibi by acquiring the final, incontrovertible piece of evidence against Lev.'
Harry broke off. The faces in front of him expressed mild perplexity.
'The bottle of Coke was the one Lev had drunk from in Disengrenda,' Harry said. 'Or somewhere. Trond had taken it for precisely this purpose.'
'I'm afraid you've forgotten something, Hole,' Ivarsson whinnied. 'You saw yourself that the bank robber was holding the bottle in his bare hands. If it was Trond Grette, it must be his prints on the bottle.'
Harry motioned towards Weber.
'Glue,' said the experienced detective.
'I beg your pardon?' The Chief Superintendent turned to Weber.
'An old trick used by bank robbers. You spread a little glue over your fingertips, let it harden and, bingo, no prints.'