The Leopard(166)

‘Why should I trust you?’

‘Because you have no choice. Because thieves trust thieves when they have to.’

‘Do they?’

Harry forced a thin smile. ‘When I bought opium in Hong Kong, for a while we used a disabled toilet in The Landmark shopping complex, Des Voeux Road. I went in first, put a baby’s bottle under the cistern lid in the cubicle on the far right. Went for a walk, looked at fake watches, returned and my bottle was still there. Always with the right quantity of opium in. Blind faith.’

‘You said you used the toilet “for a while”.’

Harry shrugged. ‘One day the bottle went missing. Perhaps the dealer cheated me, perhaps someone had seen us and made off with the money or the goods. There are no guarantees.’

The Snowman eyed Harry thoughtfully.

Harry walked down the corridor with the doctor. The warder went first.

‘That didn’t take long,’ she said.

‘He kept it brief,’ Harry said.

Harry strolled through the reception area, out to the car park, unlocked his car. Watched his hand tremble as he put the key in the ignition. The back of his shirt was drenched with sweat as he leaned against the seat.

He had kept it brief.

‘Let’s assume he’s like me, Harry. After all, that assumption is vital if I am to be able to help you. Motive first. Hatred. A red-hot, burning hatred. This is the stuff of survival, it’s the magma inside that keeps him warm. And, just like magma, hatred is a precondition of life, so that everything doesn’t freeze to ice. At the same time the pressure from the internal heat will inevitably lead to an eruption, the destructive element will be released. And the longer it goes without an eruption, the more violent it will be. Now the eruption is in full flow, and it is violent. Which tells me you will have to search way back in time for the cause. Because it is not the actions committed out of hatred, but the cause of the hatred that will solve this riddle for you. The actions will make no sense without the cause. Hatred takes time to build up, but the cause is simple. Something happened. It’s all about this one thing that happened. Find out what it is and you’ve got him.’

Of all the metaphors, what had made him use a volcano? Harry drove down the steep, winding road from Bærum Hospital.

‘Eight murders. He’s the king now, at the top. He’s built a universe in which everything appears to obey him. He’s the puppet master, and he’s playing with you all. And especially with you, Harry. It’s hard to see why you should have been appointed – perhaps it’s a matter of chance. Gradually, though, as he controls his puppets, he will look for more thrills. He will talk to the puppets, be close to them, enjoy his triumphs where he can enjoy them most, together with those over whom he triumphs. But he’s well disguised. He doesn’t stand out like a puppet master, he may even seem subservient, someone who is easily led, someone who is underrated, someone you would never imagine could direct such a complex drama.’

Harry was heading for the city centre on the E18. There was a jam. He shifted into the public transport lane. He was a policeman, for Christ’s sake. And this was urgent, urgent, urgent. His mouth was dry, the dogs were in full cry.

‘He’s close to you, Harry, of that I’m pretty certain, he simply can’t let go. But he’s closed in on you from a blind spot. Stolen into your life in some way and inspired trust at a time when you had your attention focused elsewhere. Or when you were weak. He’s at home where he is. A neighbour, a friend, a colleague. Or someone who’s simply there, right behind another person who is clearer to you, a shadow you don’t even think about, other than as an appendix to this first person. Think about those who have crossed your field of vision. Because he has been there. You know his face already. He may not have exchanged many words with you, but if he’s like me, he hasn’t been able to restrain himself, Harry. He’s cosied up to you.’

Harry parked outside the Savoy and went to the bar.

‘What can I get you?’

Harry let his eyes wander along the bottles on the glass shelves behind the barman.

Beefeater, Johnnie Walker, Bristol Cream, Absolut, Jim Beam.

He was searching for a man with a burning hatred. Someone who didn’t let his emotions stray. Someone with an armoured heart.

His wandering eyes came to a halt. And jumped back. His mouth fell open. It was like a divine flash. And everything, everything was in that flash.

The voice came from a distance.

‘Sir? Excuse me, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘Made a decision?’

Harry nodded slowly.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ve made a decision.’