'Mm.'
The rear wheels of the lorry in front of them were sending a sheet of dirty, oily water over their windscreen, and the wipers were working overtime.
'Albu has gone to great lengths to cover the traces of his escapades,' Halvorsen said. 'But do you think he took Anna Bethsen's life?'
Harry stared at the logo on the rear doors of the lorry: AMOROMA
–ETERNALLY YOURS. 'Why not?'
'He doesn't exactly strike me as a murderer. A well-educated, straight-down-the-line type of guy. Reliable father with spotless record and a business he built up himself.'
'He's been unfaithful.'
'Who hasn't?'
'Yes, who hasn't,' Harry repeated slowly. And exploded in a fit of sudden irritation: 'Are we going to stay behind this lorry and take its crap with us all the way to Oslo, or what?'
Halvorsen checked the mirror and moved into the left-hand lane. 'And what would his motive be?'
'Let's ask, shall we?' Harry said.
'What do you mean? Drive to his place and ask? Reveal that we've acquired evidence by illegal means and get fired at the same time?'
'You don't have to go. I'll do it on my own.'
'And what do you think you'll achieve by doing that? If it gets out that we entered his chalet without a warrant, there is not a judge in this land who wouldn't boot the case out of court.'
'That's precisely why.'
'Precisely…Sorry, these puzzles are beginning to take their toll, Harry.'
'Because we don't have anything we can use in a court of law, we have to turn up the heat to find something we can use.'
'Shouldn't we take him in for questioning, give him the good chair, serve espresso and run the tape?'
'No. We don't need a load of lies on tape when we can't use what we do know to prove he's a liar. What we need is an ally. Someone who can expose him on our behalf.'
'And that is?'
'Vigdis Albu.'
'Aha. And how…?'
'If Arne Albu has been unfaithful, the chances are that Vigdis will want to dig deeper into the matter. And the chances are that she's sitting on the information we need. And we know a couple of things which could help her to find out even more.'
Halvorsen slanted the mirror so that he wouldn't be dazzled by the headlamps of the lorry right up their boot. 'Are you sure this is a smart idea, Harry?'
'No. Do you know what a palindrome is?'
'No idea.'
'Word or words that can be read forwards and backwards. Look at the lorry in your mirror. AMOROMA. It's the same word whichever way you read it.'
Halvorsen was about to say something, but thought better of it and just shook his head in despair.
'Drive me to Schrřder's,' Harry said.
* * *
The air was stiff with sweat, cigarette smoke, rain-drenched clothing and orders for beer shouted from the tables.
Beate Lřnn sat at the table where Aune had been sitting. She was as difficult to spot as a zebra in a cowshed.
'Have you been waiting long?' Harry asked.
'Not long at all,' she lied.
In front of her was a large beer, untouched and already flat. She followed his gaze and dutifully raised the glass.
'There's no obligation to drink alcohol here,' Harry said, making eye contact with Maja. 'It just seems like it.'
'In fact, it's not bad,' Beate took a tiny sip. 'My father said he didn't trust people who didn't drink beer.'
The coffee pot and cup arrived in front of Harry. Beate blushed to the roots of her hair.
'I used to drink beer,' Harry said. 'I had to stop.'
Beate studied the tablecloth.
'It's the only vice I've got rid of,' Harry said. 'I smoke, lie and hold grudges.' He lifted his cup in toast. 'What do you suffer from, Lřnn? Apart from being a video junkie and remembering the face of everyone you've ever seen?'
'There's not a lot more.' She raised her glass. 'Apart from the Setesdal Twitch.'
'Is it serious?'
'Fairly. Actually, it's called Huntingdon's Disease. It's hereditary and was normal for Setesdal.'
'Why there of all places?'
'It's a…narrow dale surrounded by high fells. And a long way from anywhere.'
'I see.'
'Both my mother and father come from Setesdal and at first my mother didn't want to marry him because she thought he had an aunt with the Setesdal Twitch. My auntie would suddenly lash out with her arms, so people used to keep their distance.'
'And now you've got it?'
Beate smiled. 'My father used to tease my mother about it when I was small. Because when Dad and I played knuckles, I was so fast and hit him so hard that he thought it had to be the Setesdal Twitch. I just found it so funny I wished…I had the Twitch, but one day my mother told me you can die from Huntingdon's Disease.' She sat fidgeting with her glass.