Harry listened to Oleg’s breathing for a while before beginning.
“Who are they, Oleg? You have to trust me. If I can find you, so can they.”
“And how did you find me?”
“Process known as deduction.”
“I know what it is. Eliminate the impossible and see what you’re left with.”
“When did you get here?”
Oleg shrugged. “Last night sometime. Nine-ish.”
“Why didn’t you call your mother when you were released? You know it’s seriously dangerous for you out here now.”
“She would only have taken me somewhere, hidden me. She and that Nils Christian.”
“Hans Christian. They’re going to find you, you know.”
Oleg looked down at his hands.
“I thought you’d come to Oslo for a fix,” Harry said. “But you’re clean.”
“I have been for more than a week.”
“Why?”
Oleg didn’t answer.
“Is it her? Is it Irene?”
Oleg looked at the concrete, as if he could see himself down there. Could hear the high, singing tone as he pushed off on one skate. He nodded slowly. “I’m the only person who’s trying to find her. She has no one else but me.”
Harry didn’t say anything.
“The jewelry box I stole from Mom …”
“Yes?”
“I sold it for dope. Apart from the ring you bought her.”
“Why didn’t you sell that as well?” Oleg smiled. “First of all, it isn’t worth much.”
“What?” Harry sat up with a horrified expression. “Was I conned?”
Oleg laughed. “A gold ring with a black nick in it? That’s called verdigris copper. With a little lead added for weight.”
“So why didn’t you leave it?”
“Mom didn’t wear it anymore. So I wanted to give it to Irene.”
“Copper, lead and gold paint.”
Oleg shrugged. “It felt right. I remember how happy Mom was when you put it on her finger.”
“What else do you remember?”
“Sunday. Vestkanttorget. The sun angling down and us wading through rustling autumn leaves. You and Mom smiling and laughing at something. I wanted to hold your hand. But of course I wasn’t a little boy anymore. You bought the ring at a stall where they sold secondhand goods.”
“You can remember all this?”
“Yes. And I thought if Irene was only half as happy as Mom …”
“Was she?”
Oleg looked at Harry. Blinked. “I don’t remember. We must have been high when I gave it to her.”
Harry gulped.
“He’s got her,” Oleg said.
“Who?”
“Dubai. He’s got Irene. He’s holding her hostage so I won’t talk.”
Harry stared at Oleg, who bowed his head.
“That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
“You know this? And they’ve threatened you with what will happen to Irene if you talk?”
“They don’t need to. They know I’m not stupid. Besides, they’ve got to shut her up as well. They’ve got her, Harry.”
Harry shifted position. He remembered they used to sit exactly like this before important races. Heads bowed, in silence, in a kind of communal concentration. Oleg hadn’t wanted any advice. And Harry didn’t have any. But Oleg had liked just sitting there.
Harry coughed. This was not Oleg’s race.
“If we’re to have a chance of saving Irene you have to help me find Dubai,” Harry said.
Oleg looked at Harry. Tucked his hands under his thighs and fidgeted with his feet. The way he used to do. Then he nodded.
“Start with the murder,” Harry said. “Take all the time you need.”
Oleg closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then he opened them again.
“I was high—I’d shot up violin by the river behind our place on Hausmanns Gate. It was safer. If I had a fix in the flat and some of the others were desperate, they would jump on me to steal it. You understand?”
Harry nodded.
“The first thing I saw, coming up the stairs, was the door to the office opposite. It had been broken into. Again. I didn’t think any more about it. I went into our sitting room and there was Gusto. And a man in a balaclava. He was pointing a gun at Gusto. And I don’t know if it was the dope or what talking, but I knew it wasn’t a robbery. Gusto was going to be killed. So I reacted instinctively. I threw myself at his gun hand. But I was too late and he managed to fire one shot. I fell to the ground and when I looked up again I was lying beside Gusto with a gun barrel at my head. The man didn’t say a word, and I was sure I was going to die.” Oleg stopped, took a deep breath. “But it was as if he couldn’t make up his mind. Then he drew a finger across his throat to indicate what would happen if I blabbed.”
Harry nodded.
“He repeated the message and I indicated that I understood. Then he left. Gusto was bleeding like a stuck pig, and I knew he needed help fast. But I didn’t dare move—I was sure the man with the gun was still standing outside because I hadn’t heard his steps on the stairs. And that if he saw me he might change his mind and shoot me, after all.”
Oleg’s feet were pumping up and down.
“I tried taking Gusto’s pulse, tried talking to him, said I would get help. But he didn’t answer. And then I couldn’t feel his pulse anymore. And I couldn’t stand being there any longer. I fled.” Oleg straightened up as though he had a pain in his back, folded his hands and put them behind his head. As he went on his voice became thicker. “I was high, couldn’t think straight. I went down to the river. I thought about swimming. Perhaps I would be lucky and drown. Then I heard the sirens. And then they were there … And all I could think of was the finger across the throat. And that I had to keep my mouth shut. Because I know what they’re like, those people—I’ve heard them talking about what they do.”
“And what do they do?”
“They go for where you’re most vulnerable. At first I was frightened for Mom.”
“But it was simpler to take Irene,” Harry said. “No one would react to a girl off the street disappearing for a while.”
Oleg looked at Harry. Swallowed. “So you believe me?”
Harry shrugged. “It’s easy to pull the wool over my eyes as far as you’re concerned, Oleg. I suppose that’s how it is when you’re … when you … you know.”
Tears came into Oleg’s eyes. “But … but it’s so utterly implausible. All the evidence …”
“Things are falling into place,” Harry said. “The residue on your arm you got when you threw yourself forward. His blood when you took his pulse. And that was when you left your fingerprints on him. The reason no one saw anyone else leave after the shooting is that the killer went into the office, out of the window and down the fire escape facing the river. That was why you didn’t hear any footsteps on the stairs.”
Oleg had fixed pensive eyes somewhere on Harry’s chest. “But why was Gusto killed? And who killed him?”
“I don’t know. But I think he was killed by someone you know.”
“Someone I know?”
“Yes. That’s why he used gestures instead of speaking. So that you wouldn’t recognize his voice. And the balaclava suggests he was frightened others in the drug world might recognize him as well. He could be someone most of you living there had seen before.”
“But why did he spare me?”
“No idea.”
“I don’t understand it. They tried to kill me in prison later. Even though I hadn’t uttered a word.”
“Perhaps the killer hadn’t been given detailed instructions about what to do with possible witnesses. He hesitated. On the one hand, you might recognize him by his shape, body language, gait if you’d seen him lots of times before. On the other, you were so high you probably weren’t taking in a great deal.”
“Dope saves lives?” Oleg said with a tentative smile.
&nb
sp; “Yes. Though his boss may not have agreed with his decision when he delivered the report afterward. But by then it was too late. So to make sure you didn’t blab they kidnapped Irene.”
“They knew I would keep my mouth shut for as long as they had Irene, so why kill me?”
“I turned up,” Harry said.
“You?”
“Yes. They knew I was here in Oslo from the second I landed. They knew I was the one who could make you talk. Having Irene wasn’t enough. So Dubai gave orders that you were to be silenced in prison.”
Oleg nodded slowly.
“Tell me about Dubai,” Harry said.
“I’ve never met him. But I think I’ve been to his house once.”
“And where’s that?”
“I don’t know. Gusto and I were picked up by his lieutenants and driven to a house, but I was blindfolded.”
“You know it was Dubai’s house?”
“That’s what Gusto told me. And it smelled occupied. Sounded like a house with furniture, carpets and curtains, if you—”
“I do. Go on.”
“We were led into a cellar and that was when the blindfold was taken off. A dead man lay on the floor. They said that was what they did to people who tried to trick them. Take a good look, they said. Then we had to tell them what had happened at Alnabru. Why the door hadn’t been locked when the police arrived. And why Tutu had disappeared.”
“Alnabru?”
“I’m coming to that.”
“OK. This man, how had he been killed?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he have stab wounds to the face? Or was he shot?”
“Well, I didn’t know what he’d died of until Peter stepped on his stomach. Then water ran out of the corners of his mouth.”
Harry moistened his lips. “Do you know who the dead man was?”
“Yes. An undercover cop who used to hang around where we were. We called him Beret Man because of the cap he wore.”
“Mm.”
“Harry?”
“Yes?”
Oleg’s feet were drumming wildly on the concrete. “I don’t know much about Dubai. Not even Gusto would talk about him. But I do know that if you try to catch him you’ll die.”
The rat scrabbled around the floor impatiently. The human heart was beating, but it was getting fainter and fainter. She stopped by the shoe again. Bit into the leather. Soft but thick, solid leather. She ran over the body again. The clothes smelled of more than shoes—they smelled of sweat, food and blood. The body was lying in the same position, not stirring, still blocking the entrance. She scratched at the man’s stomach.
It’s not that you have to stop living, Dad. But you have to die to put an end to the shit. There should be a better way, don’t you think? A pain-free exodus into the light instead of this damned cold darkness that closes in on you. Someone should definitely have put some opiate into the Makarov bullets, should have done what I did for Rufus, the mangy dog, should have bought me a one-way ticket to Euphoria, for Christ’s sake! But everything good in this shit world is either by prescription, sold out or so expensive you have to sell your soul to taste it. Life is a restaurant you can’t afford. Death the bill for the food you didn’t even have a chance to eat. So you order the most expensive thing on the menu—you’re in for it anyway, right?—and if you’re lucky you get a mouthful.
OK, I’ll stop whining, Dad, so don’t go—you haven’t heard the rest. The rest is good. Where were we? Yes, just a couple of days after the burglary in Alnabru Peter and Andrey came for Oleg and me. They blindfolded Oleg and drove us to the old man’s house and took us down to the basement. I’d never been there before. We got led into a long, narrow, low corridor where we had to duck our heads. Our shoulders scraped against the sides. I gradually figured out that it wasn’t a basement but a subterranean tunnel. An escape passage, maybe. Which hadn’t helped Beret Man. He looked like a drowned rat. Well, he was a drowned rat.
Then they took Oleg back to the car while I got taken to the old man. He sat in a chair across from me, no table in between.
“Were you two there?” he asked.
I looked him straight in the eye. “If you’re asking if we were in Alnabru the answer’s no.”
He studied me in silence.
“You’re like me,” he said at length. “It’s impossible to see when you’re lying.”
I wouldn’t swear to it, but I thought I detected a smile.
“Well, Gusto, did you understand what that was, downstairs?”
“It was the undercover cop. Beret Man.”
“Correct. And why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
The guy must have been a crappy teacher in a former life. But, whatever, I answered: “He stole something.”
The old man shook his head. “He found out I lived here. He knew he had no basis for a search warrant. After the arrest of Los Lobos and the recent seizure of Alnabru he saw the writing on the wall—he would never get a search warrant, however good his case was …” The old man grinned. “We’d given him a warning we thought would stop him.”
“Yeah?”
“Cops like him rely on their false identity. They think it’s impossible to discover who they are. Who their family is. But you can find everything in police archives, provided you have the right passwords. Which you do if, for example, you hold a trusted position in Orgkrim. And how did we warn him?”
I answered without a second’s thought. “Bumped off his kids?”
The old man’s face darkened. “We’re not monsters, Gusto.”
“Sorry.”
“Besides, he didn’t have any children.” Chug-chug laugh. “But he had a sister. Or perhaps it was just a foster sister.”
I nodded. It was impossible to see if he was lying.
“We said she would be raped, then put out of her misery. But I misjudged him. Instead of thinking he had other relatives to keep an eye on, he went on the attack. A very lonely, but desperate attack. He managed to break in here last night. We were not prepared for that. He probably loved this sister a lot. He was armed. I went down to the cellar, and he followed. And then he died.” He tilted his head. “Of what?”
“Water was coming out of his mouth. Drowning?”
“Correct. But drowned where?”
“Was he brought here from a lake or something?”
“No. He broke in, and he drowned. So?”
“Then I don’t know—”
“Think!” The word cracked like a whip. “If you want to survive you have to be able to think, draw conclusions from what you can see. That’s real life.”
“Fine, fine.” I tried to think. “The basement’s not a basement but a tunnel.”
The old man crossed his arms. “And?”
“It’s longer than this property. It could come out in a field.”
“But?”
“But you told me you own the property next door, so it probably goes there.”
The old man smiled with satisfaction. “Guess how old the tunnel is.”
“Old. The walls were covered in moss.”
“Algae. After the Resistance movement had made four failed attacks on this house the Gestapo boss had a tunnel built. They succeeded in keeping it secret. When Reinhard came home in the afternoon he walked in through the front door here so that everyone could see. He switched on the light and then went through the tunnel to his real home next door and sent the German lieutenant everyone thought lived over there, over here. And this lieutenant strutted around, often close to windows, wearing the same kind of uniform as his Gestapo boss.”
“He was a decoy.”
“Correct.”
“Why should I care?”
“Because I want you to know what real life is like, Gusto. Most people in this country don’t know anything about it, don’t know how much it costs to survive. But I’m telling you all this because I want you to remember that I trusted you.”
He looked at me like what he was saying was very important. I pretended to understand; I wanted to go home. Maybe he could see that.
“Nice to see you, Gusto. Andrey will drive you both back.”
When the car passed the university there must have been some student gig taking place on campus. We could hear the thrashing guitars of a rock band playing on an outdoor stage. Young people streamed toward us down Blindernveien. Happy, expectant faces, as if they had been promised something, a future or something.
“What’s that?” asked Oleg, who was still blindfolded.
“That,” I said, “is unreal life.”
• • •
“AND YOU’VE NO idea how he drowned?” Harry asked.
“No,” Oleg said. The foot-pumping had increased; his whole body was vibrating.
“OK, so you were blindfolded, but tell me everything you can remember about the journey to and from this place. All the noises. When you got out of the car, for example, did you hear a train or a tram?”
“No. But it was raining when we arrived, so basically that is what I heard.”
“Heavy rain, light rain?”
“Light. I hardly felt it as we left the car. But that was when I heard it.”
“OK, if light rain doesn’t usually make much noise it might when it falls on leaves?”
“Possibly.”
“What was under your feet going toward the front door? Pavement? Flagstones? Grass?”
“Gravel. I think. Yes, there was a crunch. That’s how I knew where Peter was. He’s the heaviest, so he crunched most.”
“Good. Steps by the door?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Oleg groaned.
“OK,” Harry said. “Was it still raining by the door?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I mean, was it in your hair?”
“Yes.”
“So no porch-type structure, then.”
“Are you planning to search for places in Oslo without a porch?”
“Well, different parts of Oslo were built in different periods, and they have a number of common features.”
“And what’s the period for timber houses, gravel paths and steps to a door without an overhang or nearby tramlines?”
“You sound like a police chief.” Harry did not reap the smile or laughter he had hoped he would. “When you left did you notice any sounds close by?”