The Bat(2)

‘That’s right, Holy. My forefathers were here a bit before them. Forty thousand years, to be precise.’

Kensington grinned into the mirror. Harry vowed to keep his mouth shut for a while.

‘I see. Call me Harry.’

‘OK, Harry. I’m Andrew.’

Andrew ran the conversation for the rest of the ride. He drove Harry to King’s Cross, holding forth the whole way: this area was Sydney’s red-light district and the centre for the drugs trade and to a large extent all the other shady dealings in town. Every second scandal seemed to have a connection with some hotel or strip joint inside this square kilometre.

‘Here we are,’ Andrew said suddenly. He pulled into the kerb, jumped out and took Harry’s suitcase from the boot.

‘See you tomorrow,’ Andrew said, and with that he and the car were gone. With a stiff back and jet lag beginning to announce its presence, Harry and his suitcase were now alone on a pavement in a town boasting a population roughly equivalent to the whole of Norway, outside the splendid Crescent Hotel. The name was printed on the door next to three stars. Oslo’s Chief Constable was not known for largesse with regards to accommodation for her employees. But perhaps this one was not going to be too bad after all. There must have been a civil service discount and it was probably the hotel’s smallest room, Harry reflected.

And it was.





2


Gap Park


HARRY KNOCKED WARILY on the door of the Head of Crime Squad for Surry Hills.

‘Come in,’ boomed a voice from inside.

A tall, broad man with a stomach designed to impress was standing by the window, behind an oak desk. Beneath a thinning mane protruded grey bushy eyebrows, but the wrinkles around his eyes smiled.

‘Harry Holy from Oslo, Norway, sir.’

‘Take a pew, Holy. You look bloody fit for this time of the morning. I hope you haven’t been to see any of the boys in Narc, have you?’ Neil McCormack let out a huge laugh.

‘Jet lag. I’ve been awake since four this morning, sir,’ Harry explained.

‘Of course. Just an in-joke. We had a pretty high-profile corruption case here a couple of years back, you see. Ten officers were convicted, among other things for selling drugs – to one another. Suspicion was raised because a couple of them were so alert – round the clock. No joke really.’ He chuckled contentedly, put on his glasses and flicked through the papers in front of him.

‘So you’ve been sent here to assist us with our investigation into the murder of Inger Holter, a Norwegian citizen with a permit to work in Australia. Blonde, good-looking girl, according to the photos. Twenty-three years old, wasn’t she?’

Harry nodded. McCormack was serious now.

‘Found by fishermen on the ocean side of Watson’s Bay – to be more precise, Gap Park. Semi-naked. Bruising suggested she had been raped first and then strangled, but no semen was found. Later transported at the dead of night to the park where the body was dumped off the cliff.’

He pulled a face.

‘Had the weather been a little worse the waves would definitely have carried her out, but instead she lay among the rocks until she was found. As I said, there was no semen present, and the reason for that is that the vagina was sliced up like a filleted fish and the seawater did a thorough job of washing this girl clean. Therefore we have no fingerprints either, though we do have a rough estimate of time of death . . .’ McCormack removed his glasses and rubbed his face. ‘But we don’t have a murderer. And what the hell are you gonna do about that, Mr Holy?’

Harry was about to answer but was interrupted.

‘What you’re gonna do is watch carefully while we haul the bastard in, tell the Norwegian press along the way what a wonderful job we’re doing together – making sure we don’t offend anyone at the Norwegian Embassy, or relatives – and otherwise enjoy a break and send a card or two to your dear Chief Constable. How is she by the way?’

‘Fine, as far as I know.’

‘Great woman, she is. I s’pose she explained to you what’s expected of you?’

‘To some extent. I’m taking part in an invest—’

‘Great. Forget all that. Here are the new rules. Number one: from now on you listen to me, me and me alone. Number two: you don’t take part in anything you haven’t been instructed to do by me. And number three: one toe out of line and you’ll be on the first plane home.’

This was delivered with a smile, but the message was clear: paws off, he was here as an observer. He might just as well have brought his swimming things and a camera along.

‘I gather that Inger Holter was some kind of TV celeb in Norway?’