Nemesis(40)

'Look at the skip outside the window.'





The window pane reflected the light, but they could still see the man in the black boiler suit. He was standing on the pavement between the skip and a parked car. His back was to the camera and a hand was resting on the edge of the skip. He seemed to be keeping an eye on the bank while eating the cream bun. The holdall he was carrying was on the tarmac.





'That's his lookout post,' Beate said. 'He ordered the skip and had it placed on that precise spot. It is ingeniously simple. He can watch for the security van while hiding from the security cameras. And notice the way he stands. First of all, half of the passers-by won't even be able to see him because of the skip, and those who can will see a man in a boiler suit and cap beside a skip: a builder, a removal man or a waste-disposal worker. In short, nothing that will gain a foothold in the cerebral cortex. No wonder we didn't get any witnesses.'





'He's leaving some nice, fat fingerprints on the skip,' Harry said. 'Shame it's done nothing but rain for the last week.'





'But the cream bun—'





'He's eating his fingerprints too,' Harry sighed.





'—makes him thirsty. Watch this now.'





The man bent down, unzipped the holdall and pulled out a white plastic bag. From this he removed a bottle.





'Coca-Cola,' Beate whispered. 'I zoomed in on a still before you came. It's a Coke bottle with a cork in.'





The man held the bottle at the top while pulling out the cork. Then he threw back his head, held the bottle high in the air and poured. They could see the last dregs running out, but the cap blotted out the open mouth and face. Then he put the bottle in the plastic bag, knotted it and was about to put it in his holdall when he paused.





'Watch. Now he's thinking,' Beate whispered, and in a low monotone: 'How much room will the money take up? How much room will the money take up?'





The protagonist studied the holdall. Looked at the skip. Then he made up his mind and with a quick toss of his arm the bag, with the bottle inside, sailed in an arc through the air and landed in the open skip.





'A three-pointer!' Harry roared.





'The crowd goes wild!' Beate yelled.





* * *





'Fuck!' Harry shouted.





'Oh no,' Beate groaned and banged her forehead against the wheel in despair.





'They must have just been here,' Harry said. 'Hang on!'





He flung open the car door in front of a cyclist who swerved out of the way, and ran across the street, into the 7-Eleven and over to the counter.





'When did they take the skip?' he asked the boy who was about to wrap two Big Bite sausages for two large-bottomed girls.





'Wait your turn, for Christ's sake,' the boy said without looking up.





One of the girls let out an indignant whine as Harry leaned over, blocking access to the ketchup bottle, and grabbed hold of the boy's green shirt front.





'Hello there, it's me again,' Harry said. 'Now follow this carefully, otherwise this sausage will be going right up…'





The boy's terrified expression forced Harry to collect himself. He released his grip and pointed to the window, through which you could now see Nordea Bank on the other side of the street because of the gaping hole left by the skip. 'When did they take the skip? Quickly!'





The boy swallowed and stared at Harry. 'Now. Just now.'





'When is now?'





'Two minutes ago.' His eyes had glazed over.





'Where were they going?'





'How should I know? I don't know nuffin about skips.'





'Nothing.'





'Eh?'





But Harry had already gone.





* * *





Harry put Beate's red mobile phone to his ear.





'Oslo Waste Management? This is the police, Inspector Harry Hole. Where do you empty those skips of yours? The private ones, yes. Metodica, OK. Where are…Verkseier Furulands vei in Alnabru? Thank you. What? Or Grřnmo? How do I know which one…?'





'Look,' Beate said. 'A traffic jam.'





Cars formed an apparently impenetrable wall down towards the T-junction in front of Kafé Lorry in Hegdehaugsveien.





'We should have taken Uranienborgveien,' Harry said. 'Or Kirkeveien.'





'Shame you're not driving,' Beate said, forcing the front offside wheel up onto the pavement, leaning on the horn and accelerating. People jumped out of the way.





'Hello?' Harry said on the mobile phone. 'You've just collected a green skip from Bogstadveien by the Industrigata crossroads. Where is it going? Yes. I'll wait.'





'Let's take a chance on Alnabru,' Beate said and swung out into the crossroads in front of a tram. The wheels spun on the steel rails until they got a grip on the tarmac. Harry had a vague feeling of déjŕ vu.