Harry lit a cigarette. No blood in his cheeks or ears. He wondered if he had become too old to blush.
‘Mm. If all the contact you had with Gusto was some innocent interviews why were you so frightened I would send the blood to be tested?’
She chuckled. ‘Who says I was frightened? Perhaps I just wanted you to come out here. Enjoy the nature and so on.’
Confirming that he was not too old to blush, Harry lay down and blew smoke up into the ludicrously blue sky. Closed his eyes and tried to find some good reasons not to fuck Isabelle Skøyen. There were many.
‘Was that wrong?’ she asked. ‘All I’m saying is that I’m a single adult woman with natural needs. That doesn’t mean I’m not serious. I would never get involved with anyone I didn’t consider my equal, such as Gusto.’ He heard her voice coming closer. ‘With a tall adult man, on the other hand …’ She laid a hot hand on his stomach.
‘Did you and Gusto lie where we’re lying now?’ Harry asked softly.
‘What?’
He wriggled up onto his elbows and nodded towards the blue trainers. ‘Your wardrobe was full of exclusive men’s shoes, size 42. These barges were the only 45s.’
‘So what? I can’t guarantee that I haven’t had a male visitor who takes size 45 at some point.’ Her hand stroked backwards and forwards.
‘This trainer was made a while ago for the Armed Services, and when they changed model, the surplus stock was taken over by charitable organisations who distributed them to the needy. In the police we call them junkie shoes as they were doled out by the Salvation Army at the Watchtower. The question is of course how a casual visitor, a size 45, would leave behind a pair of shoes. The obvious explanation is that he probably acquired a new pair.’
Isabelle Skøyen’s hand stopped moving. So Harry continued.
‘I’ve seen a picture of the crime scene. When Gusto died he was wearing a cheap pair of trousers, but a very expensive pair of shoes. Alberto Fasciani, unless I’m much mistaken. A generous gift. How much did you pay for them? Five thousand?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She pulled away her hand.
Harry regarded his erection with disapproval; it was already pressing against the inside of the borrowed trousers. He stretched his feet.
‘I left the insoles in the car. Did you know that foot sweat is excellent for DNA testing? We’ll probably find some microscopic remains of skin, too. And there can’t be that many shops in Oslo that sell Alberto Fasciani shoes. One, two? Anyway, it’ll be a simple job to cross-check against your credit card.’
Isabelle Skøyen had sat up. She stared into the distance.
‘Can you see the farms?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t they beautiful? I love cultivated landscapes. And I hate forests. Apart from planted ones. I hate chaos.’
Harry studied her profile. The axe-nose looked downright dangerous.
‘Tell me about Gusto Hanssen.’
She shrugged. ‘Why? You’ve obviously worked most of it out.’
‘Who do you want questioning you? Me or Verdens Gang.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘Gusto was young and good-looking. That kind of stallion is a great sight, but it has dubious genes. Biological father’s a criminal and mother’s a drug addict, according to the foster-father. Not a horse you breed, but one that’s fun to ride if you …’ She took a deep breath. ‘He came here and we had sex. Now and then I gave him money. He met other people as well, it was nothing special.’
‘Did that make you jealous?’
‘Jealous?’ Isabelle shook her head. ‘Sex has never made me jealous. I met other people, too. And after a while someone special. Then I dropped Gusto. Or maybe he had already dropped me. He no longer seemed to need the pocket money anyway. But then he contacted me again. He became a nuisance. I think he had financial problems. And also a drug problem.’
‘What was he like?’
‘He was selfish, unreliable, charming. A self-confident bastard.’
‘And what did he want?’
‘Do I look like a psychologist, Harry?’
‘No.’
‘No. People don’t interest me that much.’
‘Really?’
Isabelle Skøyen shook her head. Looked into the distance. Her eyes glistened.
‘Gusto was lonely,’ she said.
‘How do you know?’
‘I know what loneliness is, OK? And he was full of self-loathing.’
‘Self-confidence and self-loathing?’
‘It’s not a contradiction. You know what you can achieve, but that doesn’t mean you see yourself as someone others can love.’