'OK?'
'Have you checked your telephone bill recently, Harry?'
It took a few seconds before it clicked. 'My mobile phone. Is the bastard using my mobile phone?'
'You no longer have it, I suppose?'
'No, I lost it that evening…with Anna. Fuck!'
'And it never occurred to you it might be a good idea to cancel your contract?'
'Occurred to me?' Harry groaned. 'Nothing sensible has occurred to me since this shit started, Řystein. Sorry, I'm freaking out here. It's all so simple and obvious. That was why I didn't find my phone at Anna's. And that's why he's laughing.'
'Apologies for ruining your day.'
'Hang on a moment,' Harry said, suddenly in high spirits. 'If we can prove he has my phone, we can also prove he was at Anna's after I left!'
'Yippee!' screeched the receiver. And then a more cautious: 'If it means you're happy, anyway? Hello? Harry?'
'I'm still here. I'm thinking.'
'It's good to think. You keep thinking. I've got a date with Stella. Well, several actually. And if I'm going to make the Oslo flight…'
'All the best, Řystein.'
Harry stood with the receiver in his hand, weighing up whether to hurl it into the mirror or not. When he woke up next day, he hoped he had dreamed the conversation with Řystein. In fact he had. Six or seven versions of it.
* * *
Raskol sat with his head bowed, resting on his hands, as Harry talked. He neither moved nor interrupted while Harry described how they had found Lev Grette and how his own mobile phone was the reason they still had no evidence against Anna's murderer. When Harry had finished, Raskol folded his hands and slowly raised his head: 'You've solved your case then, but mine remains unresolved.'
'I don't see them as your case and mine, Raskol. My responsibility—'
'I do, though, Spiuni,' Raskol cut in. 'I run a military organisation.'
'Mm. What exactly do you mean by that?'
Raskol closed his eyes. 'Have I told you about the time King Wu invited Sun Tzu to teach the ladies of the court the arts of war, Spiuni?'
'Well, no.'
Raskol smiled. 'Sun Tzu was an intellectual and he began by precisely and pedagogically explaining marching instructions to the women. When the drums rolled, they didn't march, they just giggled and laughed. 'It's the general's fault if the commands are not understood,' Sun Tzu said and explained once more. But the same happened when he gave the order to march. 'It's the officer's fault if an order is understood but not obeyed,' he said and ordered two of his men to pick out two of the leaders of the courtesans. They were lined up and beheaded in front of the other terrified women. When the king heard that his two favourite concubines had been executed, he fell ill and had to take to his bed for several days. When he got up again, he put Sun Tzu in control of his armed forces.' Raskol opened his eyes again. 'What does this story teach us, Spiuni?'
Harry didn't answer.
'Well, it teaches us that in a military organisation the logic has to be total and absolutely consistent. If you relax your demands, you're left with a court of giggling concubines. When you came to ask for another 40,000 kroner, you got it because I believed the story of the photograph in Anna's shoe. Because Anna is a gypsy. When we gypsies travel, we leave a patrin at forks in the road. A red scarf tied around a branch, a chipped bone, they all have different meanings. A photograph means someone has died. Or will die. You weren't to know, so I trusted what you said.' Raskol placed his hands on the table, palms upwards. 'But the man who took the life of my brother's daughter is free and when I look at you now I see a giggling concubine, Spiuni. Absolute consistency. Give me his name, Spiuni.'
Harry breathed in. Two words. Four syllables. If he revealed Albu's name, what sentence would be passed on Albu? Premeditated murder motivated by jealousy. Nine years, out after six? And the consequences for Harry? The investigation would inevitably uncover the fact that he, a policeman, had concealed the truth to prevent the finger of suspicion pointing at him. Shot himself in the foot. Two words, four syllables. All Harry's problems would be solved. Albu would be the one to face the final consequence.
Harry's answer was one syllable.
Raskol nodded and regarded Harry with sad eyes. 'I was afraid you would say that. You don't give me any choice then, Spiuni. Do you remember what I answered when you asked me why I trusted you?'
Harry nodded.
'Everyone has something they live for. Isn't that true, Spiuni? Something which can be taken from them. Well, does room 316 ring any bells?'
Harry didn't answer.
'Let me tell you then. Three one six is the number of a room in the International Hotel in Moscow. Olga is on watch on that floor. She'll soon be retired and would like a nice, long holiday by the Black Sea. There are three stairways and a lift to the floor. As well as the staff lift. The room has twin beds.'