why wasn’t he more surprised? He double-clicked
on details. The computer droned and vibrated. But
for once the convolutions of his brain were quicker
than the computer, and by the time the picture came
up he had already managed to place the name.
43
Focus Gym. 3 March 2000.
‘ELLEN HERE.’
‘Hi, it’s me.’
‘Who?’
‘Harry. And don’t pretend there are other men
who ring you and say “it’s me”.’
‘You sod. Where are you? What’s that dreadful
music?’
‘I’m at Focus.’
‘What?’
‘I’m cycling. Soon have done eight kilometres.’
‘Let me just get this absolutely straight, Harry:
you’re sitting on a bike at Focus at the same time
as talking on your mobile?’ She stressed the words
‘Focus’ and ‘mobile’.
‘Is there anything wrong with that?’
‘Honestly, Harry.’
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.
Do you remember that murder case you and Tom
Waaler had in November, name of Hallgrim
Dale?’
‘Naturally. Kripos took over almost immediately.
Why’s that?’
‘Not sure yet. It may have something to do with
this ex-front man I’m after. What can you tell me?’
‘This is work, Harry. Ring me at the office on
Monday.’
‘Just a little, Ellen. Come on.’
‘One of the cooks in Herbert’s Pizza found Dale
in the back alley. He was lying between the large
rubbish bins with his throat cut. The crime scene
people found nada. The doctor who did the
autopsy, by the way, thought that the cut around the
throat was just fantastic. Surgical precision, he
said.’
‘Who do you think did it?’
‘No idea. Might have been one of the neo-Nazis
of course, but I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘If you kill someone right on your doorstep,
you’re either foolhardy or just plain foolish. But
everything about this murder seems so tidy, so
thought through. There were no signs of a struggle,
no clues, no witnesses. Everything suggests that the
murderer knew exactly what he was doing.’
‘Motive?’
‘Hard to say. Dale certainly had debts, but hardly
amounts worth squeezing out of him. As far as we
know, he didn’t do drugs. We searched his flat –
nothing there, apart from empty bottles. We talked
to some of his drinking pals. For some reason or
other he had taken up with these drinking ladies.’
‘Drinking ladies?’
‘Yes, the ones who stick to the soaks. You’ve
seen them, you know what I mean.’
‘Yes indeed, but . . . drinking ladies.’
‘You always get hung up on the craziest things,
Harry, and it can be very irritating. Do you know
that? Perhaps you should —’
‘Sorry, Ellen. You’re forever right and I’ll do my
best to improve. You were saying?’
‘There’s a lot of partner-swapping in alkie
circles, so we can’t rule out a jealousy killing.
Incidentally, do you know who we had in for
questioning? Your old friend Sverre Olsen. The
cook had seen him at Herbert’s Pizza around the
time of the murder.’
‘And?’
‘Alibi. He’d been sitting there all day, had only
been out for ten minutes to buy something. The
shop assistant confirmed.’
‘He could have —’
‘Yes, you would have liked it to be him, but
Harry . . .’
‘Dale might have had something other than
money.’
‘Harry . . .’
‘He might have had information. About someone.’
‘You like conspiracy theories up there on the
sixth floor, don’t you? But can’t we deal with this
on Monday, Harry?’
‘Since when have you been so particular about
working hours?’
‘I’m in bed.’
‘At half past ten?’
‘I’m not on my own.’
Harry stopped pedalling. It hadn’t occurred to
him until now that people around him might be
listening to the conversation. He swivelled round.
Luckily there were only a handful of people
training at this late hour.
‘Is that the artist guy from Tørst?’ he whispered.
‘Mm.’
‘And how long have you two been bed pals?’
‘A while.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘Is he lying next to you now?’
‘Mm.’
‘Is he good?’
‘Mm.’
‘Has he told you he loves you yet?’
‘Mm.’
Pause. ‘Do you think about Freddie Mercury