‘Isn’t that the eighth?’ Harry trod on the smouldering cigarette. ‘And as far as I recall, the commandment says you shouldn’t bear false witness against your neighbour, which would mean it’s fine to lie a bit about yourself. But perhaps you didn’t complete your theology studies?’
Cato shrugged. ‘Jesus and I have no formal qualifications. We are men of the Word. But like all medicine men, fortune-tellers and charlatans we can sometimes inspire false hopes and genuine comfort.’
‘You’re not even a Christian, are you?’
‘Let me say here and now that faith has never done me any good, only doubt. So that is what has become my testament.’
‘Doubt.’
‘Exactly.’ Cato’s yellow teeth glistened in the darkness. ‘I ask: Is it so certain that a God doesn’t exist, that he doesn’t have a design?’
Harry laughed quietly.
‘We’re not so different, Harry. I have a false priest’s collar; you have a false sheriff’s badge. How unshakeable is your faith in your gospel actually? To protect those who have found their way and make sure those who have lost theirs are punished according to their sins? Aren’t you also a doubter?’
Harry tapped a cigarette from the packet. ‘Unfortunately there is no doubt in this case. I’m going home.’
‘If that is so, I wish you a good trip. I have a service to hold.’
A car hooted and Harry turned automatically. Two headlights blinded him before sweeping round the corner. The brake lights resembled the glow of cigarettes in the darkness as the police vehicle slowed down to enter the Police HQ garages. And when Harry turned back Cato had gone. The old priest seemed to have melted into the night; all Harry could hear were footsteps heading for the cemetery.
In fact it did take only five minutes to pack and check out of Hotel Leon.
‘There’s a small discount for customers who pay cash,’ said the boy behind the counter. Not everything was new.
Harry flicked through his wallet. Hong Kong dollars, yuan, US dollars, euros. His mobile phone rang. Harry lifted it to his ear while fanning out the notes and offering them to the boy.
‘Speak.’
‘It’s me. What are you doing?’
Shit. He had planned to wait and phone her from the airport. Make it as simple and brutal as possible. A quick wrench.
‘I’m checking out. Can I ring you back in a couple of minutes?’
‘I just wanted to say that Oleg has contacted his solicitor. Erm … Hans Christian, that is.’
‘Norwegian kroner,’ said the boy.
‘Oleg says he wants to meet you, Harry.’
‘Hell!’
‘Sorry? Harry, are you there?’
‘Do you take Visa?’
‘Cheaper for you to go to an ATM and withdraw cash.’
‘Meet me?’
‘That’s what he says. As soon as possible.’
‘That’s not possible, Rakel.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because—’
‘There’s an ATM only a hundred metres down Tollbugata.’
‘Because?’
‘Take my card, OK?’
‘Harry?’
‘First of all, it’s not possible, Rakel. He’s not allowed visitors, and I won’t get round that a second time.’
‘And second of all?’
‘I don’t see the point, Rakel. I’ve read the documents. I …’
‘You what?’
‘I think he shot Gusto Hanssen, Rakel.’
‘We don’t take Visa. Have you got anything else? MasterCard, American Express?’
‘No! Rakel?’
‘Then let’s say dollars and euros. The exchange rate’s not very favourable, but it’s better than the card.’
‘Rakel? Rakel? Shit!’
‘Something the matter, herr Hole?’
‘She rang off. Is this enough?’
12
I STOOD IN skippergata watching the rain bucket down. The winter had never managed to get a grip, and there had been a lot of rain instead. Although it had not dampened demand. Oleg, Irene and I turned over more in one day than I had done in a whole week for Odin and Tutu. To the nearest round figure, I earned six thousand a day. I had counted all the Arsenal shirts in the centre. The old boy must have been making more than two million kroner a week, and that was a conservative calculation.
Every night, before we settled up with Andrey, Oleg and I carefully added up all the takings and made it tally with the goods. There was never as much as a krone missing. It wouldn’t have been worth it.
And I could trust Oleg one hundred per cent, I don’t think he had the imagination to think of stealing, or else he had not understood the concept. Or perhaps his head and his heart were too full of Irene. It was almost comical to see him wagging his tail when she was around. And how utterly blind she was to his adoration. Because Irene could see only one thing.