Nemesis(57)

Halvorsen searched Harry's face. If he was reflecting, he didn't need long. He nodded.





'Someone has started sending me e-mails,' Harry said. 'About Anna's death.'





'Someone you know?'





'Haven't a clue. The address means nothing to me.'





'That's why you asked me about tracing e-mail addresses yesterday?'





'I'm not remotely computer-savvy. But you are.' Harry failed in an attempt to light his cigarette in the wind. 'I need help. I think Anna was murdered.'





As the north-west wind stripped the trees of their leaves on Ekeberg, Harry talked about the strange e-mails he had received from someone who seemed to know everything they knew, and probably more. He didn't mention that the e-mails placed Harry at the scene of the crime the night Anna died. But he did mention that the gun was in Anna's right hand even though her palette proved she was left-handed. The photograph in the shoe. And the conversation with Astrid Monsen.





'Astrid Monsen said she had never seen Vigdis Albu and the children in the photo. But when I showed her the newspaper photo of her husband, Arne Albu, she didn't need a second glance. She didn't know his name, but he visited Anna regularly. She had seen him when she went down to pick up her post. He came in the afternoon and left in the evening.'





'That's what's called working late.'





'I asked Monsen if the two of them only met during the week and she said he sometimes collected her in his car at the weekend.'





'Perhaps they liked a little variety and trips into the countryside.'





'Perhaps, apart from the trip stuff. Astrid Monsen is an observant, meticulous woman. She said he never took her out during the summer. That was what made me think.'





'Think about what? A hotel?'





'Possibly. But you can go to a hotel in the summer, too. Think, Halvorsen. Think of something nearby.'





Halvorsen stuck out his lower lip and grimaced to show he had no suggestions to make. Harry smiled and expelled a cloud of smoke: 'You were the one who found the place.'





Halvorsen, nonplussed, raised an eyebrow. 'The chalet! It's obvious!'





'Isn't it? A discreet, luxurious love nest when the family is home after the season and inquisitive neighbours have closed their shutters. Just an hour's drive from Oslo.'





'But so what?' Halvorsen said. 'That doesn't take us any further.'





'Don't say that. If we can prove that Anna has been to the chalet, at least Albu will be forced to respond. It won't take much. A little fingerprint. A hair. An observant tradesman who occasionally makes a delivery.'





Halvorsen rubbed the back of his neck. 'But why not go straight to the point and look for Albu's fingerprints in Anna's flat? It must be full of them?'





'I doubt they are still there. According to Astrid Monsen, he suddenly stopped seeing Anna a year ago. Until one Sunday last month. He came to pick her up in his car. Monsen remembers it clearly because Anna rang at her door and asked her to keep an ear open for burglars.'





'And you think they went to the chalet?'





'I think,' Harry said, throwing the smoking cigarette end into a puddle where it hissed and died, 'that's one reason Anna put the photograph in her shoe. Can you remember what you learned about forensics at Police College?'





'The little we had. Don't you?'





'No. There are metal cases with the basic equipment in three of the patrol cars. Powder, brush and plastic film for fingerprints. Measuring tape, torch, pliers, that sort of thing. I want you to book one of the cars for tomorrow.'





'Harry—'





'And call the grocer in advance to get precise directions. Try to sound honest and upright so that he doesn't suspect anything. Say you're building a chalet and the architect you're working with gave Albu's chalet as a reference point. You just want to see it.'





'Harry, we can't just—'





'Bring a crowbar, too.'





'Listen to me!'





Halvorsen's shout caused two gulls to take off for the fjord with hoarse screams. He counted on his fingers: 'We don't have a warrant. We don't have any proof which might justify one. We've got…nothing. And most important of all we–or should I say I?–don't have all the facts. You haven't told me everything, have you, Harry?'





'What makes you think—?'





'Simple. Your motive isn't strong enough. Knowing the woman is not a good enough motive for suddenly disregarding all the rules, breaking into chalets and risking your job. And mine. I know you can be a bit nuts, Harry, but you're no fool.'





'Harry watched the wet dog-end floating in the puddle. 'How long have we known each other, Halvorsen?'





'Soon be two years.'





'Have I ever lied to you in that time?'





'Two years isn't a long time.'