Harry Hole 02 - Cockroaches (27 page)

They were sitting on a deep leather sofa, and in front of them were a stereo, a TV and a table with one beer, a bottle of water, two microphones and a song book. Harry had at first assumed Løken was joking when he said they were going to a karaoke bar, until he had the reason explained to him. They could hire a soundproof room on an hourly basis, no names, order what they wanted to drink, and beyond that they would be left in peace. Also, there would be the right number of people for them to come and go unnoticed. It was simply the ultimate place for secret meetings, and it appeared it wasn’t the first time Løken had been there.

‘What kind of bad reputation?’

‘When we started to delve deeper into this case it turned out there had been a couple of episodes with underage boys in Ålesund. Nothing was reported, but rumours spread and he found it an opportune moment to move. When he came here he registered an engineering company, had some business cards made, on which he called himself Doctor, and started knocking on doors saying he could build roads. At that time, twenty years ago, there were only two ways to get your hands on road-building projects: either by being related to someone in government or by being rich enough to bribe the same. Klipra was neither and of course the odds were against him. But he learned two things you can be sure formed the basis of the fortune he has today: Thai and flattery. I haven’t made up the bit about flattery; he has boasted of it to Norwegians living here. He claims he became so skilled at grinning that even the Thais thought it was too much. In addition, he shared his interest in young boys with a few of the politicians with whom he began to associate. It was perhaps no disadvantage to share vices with them when the contracts for building the so-called Hopewell Bangkok Elevated Road and Train System, BERTS, were handed out.’

‘Road and train?’

‘Yes. You’ve probably noticed the big steel pillars they’re driving into the ground everywhere in town.’

Harry nodded.

‘For the moment there are six thousand pillars, but there will be more. And not just for the motorway because the new train will be above that. We’re talking fifty kilometres of ultra-modern motorway and sixty kilometres of rails worth twenty-five billion kroner in order to save this town from suffocating itself. Do you understand? This project must be the grandest road-building project in any city ever, the Messiah of tarmac and sleepers.’

‘And Klipra’s in on it?’

‘No one seems to know who’s in or out. What’s clear is that the original principal player from Hong Kong has withdrawn and the budget and the schedule are likely to go tits up.’

‘A budget overspend? I’m shocked,’ Harry commented drily.

‘But that means there will definitely be more for the other players, and my guess is Klipra is already well ensconced in the project. If some drop out, the politicians will have to accept that the others adjust their bids. If Klipra has the financial capacity to take a bite of the cake he’s been offered, he can soon become one of the region’s most powerful entrepreneurs.’

‘Yes, but what does this have to do with child abuse?’

‘Just that powerful men have a tendency to bend laws in their favour. I have no reason to doubt the present government’s integrity, but it hardly increases the chances of an extradition if the man has political influence and an arrest would further delay the whole building programme.’

‘So what are you doing?’

‘Things are moving. We’re waiting for the new extradition agreement to come into effect. Once it’s in place, we wait a little, arrest Klipra and explain to the Thai authorities that the photos were taken after the agreement was signed.’

‘And convict him for having sex with minors?’

‘Plus a murder perhaps.’

Harry recoiled in his chair.

‘Did you imagine you were the only person to link the knife with Klipra, Detective?’ Løken said, trying to light his pipe.

‘What do you know about the knife?’ Harry asked.

‘I escorted Tonje Wiig to the motel when she identified the ambassador. I took a couple of photos.’

‘While there was a crowd of police officers standing around watching?’

‘Well, it’s a very little camera. It can fit in a wristwatch, like this one.’ Løken smiled. ‘You can’t buy them in shops.’

‘And then you connected the glass mosaic with Klipra’s house?’

‘I’ve been in contact with one of the people involved in the sale of the temple to Klipra, a
pongyi
at the Mahasi Centre in Rangoon. The knife was part of the decorations in the temple and bought by Klipra. According to the monk, these are made in pairs. There should be another knife which is identical.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Harry said. ‘If you contacted this monk you must have had an inkling that the knife was in some way connected to Burmese temples.’

Løken shrugged.

‘Come on,’ Harry said, ‘you’re not an art historian as well. We had to use a professor just to establish there was a link with a Shan something or other. You suspected Klipra even before you asked.’

Løken burnt his fingers and threw the match away, annoyed.

‘I had reason to believe the murder could have had something to do with Klipra. You see, I was sitting in the flat opposite Klipra’s place the day the ambassador was murdered.’

‘And?’

‘Atle Molnes drove round at about seven. At eight he and Klipra left in the ambassador’s car.’

‘Are you sure it was them? I’ve seen the car and as with most embassy cars the windows are tinted, almost impenetrable.’

‘I saw Klipra through the camera lens when the car arrived. It parked in the garage and there’s a door leading from it into the house, so at first I only saw Klipra getting up and walking to the door. Then I didn’t see anyone for a while until I caught sight of the ambassador walking around the sitting room. Then the car left again, and Klipra had gone.’

‘You can’t be sure it was the ambassador.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because from where you were sitting you would only have seen the bottom half of him, the rest was hidden by the mosaic.’

Løken laughed. ‘Well, that was more than enough,’ he said and finally managed to get the pipe lit. He puffed contentedly. ‘Because there was only one person who walked around in a bright yellow suit like his.’

In other circumstances Harry might have obliged with a grin, but right now there were too many other things churning round in his head.

‘Why haven’t Torhus and the Police Commissioner been informed about this?’

‘Who says they haven’t?’

Harry could feel some pressure behind his eyes. The politicians had kept him completely in the dark. He looked around for something to smash.

37

Sunday 19 January

IT WAS GETTING
on for eleven when he got home.

‘You have a visitor,’ the guard at the gate said.

Harry took the lift up, lay on his back by the pool and listened to the tiny, rhythmical splashes as Runa swam.

‘You have to go home,’ he said after some time. She didn’t answer, and he got up and walked the whole way down to his flat.

Bjarne Møller stood by the window looking out. It was early evening but already pitch black. The cold wasn’t going to relinquish its grip in the near future, it seemed. The boys thought it was great fun and came to the table with their fingers frozen and cheeks red while arguing about who had jumped the furthest.

Time went so fast; it wasn’t very long since he held them between his skis and ploughed down the hills from Grefsenkollen Ridge. Yesterday he had gone into their bedroom and asked if he should read to them and they had just gave him a funny look.

Trine had said he looked tired. Was he? Maybe. There was a lot to think about, more than he had imagined perhaps when he accepted the job as PAS. If it wasn’t reports, meetings and budgets, then one of his officers was banging on the door with a problem Bjarne was unable to solve – a wife who wanted a separation, a mortgage that had grown out of control or nerves that were fraying.

The police work he had been looking forward to when he took the job, leading investigations, had become a subsidiary matter. And still he hadn’t got to grips with hidden agendas, reading between the lines or career games. Now and then he wondered if he should still be there, but he knew Trine appreciated the higher salary band. And the boys wanted jump skis. Perhaps it was time they had the computers they had been asking for as well. Tiny snowflakes swirled against the windowpane. He had been such a good policeman.

The telephone rang.

‘Møller.’

‘Hole. Did you know all the time?’

‘Hello? Harry, is that you?’

‘Did you know I was chosen especially so that this investigation wouldn’t get off the ground?’

Møller lowered his voice. He had forgotten about jump skis and computers. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I just want to hear you say you didn’t know people in Oslo suspected who the murderer was from the word go.’

‘OK, Harry. I didn’t know . . . By which I mean I don’t know what the bloody hell you’re talking about.’

‘The Police Commissioner and Dagfinn Torhus from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have known all along that the ambassador and a Norwegian by the name of Ove Klipra drove off in the same car from Klipra’s home half an hour before the ambassador arrived at the motel. They also know Klipra had a damn good motive for killing the ambassador.’

Møller sat down heavily. ‘And that is?’

‘Klipra is one of the richest men in Bangkok. The ambassador was in severe financial difficulties, and he had even taken the initiative to start a highly illegal investigation of Klipra for child abuse. When the ambassador was found dead he had photos in his briefcase of Klipra with a boy. It’s not that hard to imagine the reason for his visit to Klipra. Molnes must have managed to convince Klipra that he was solo on this and he had taken the photos himself. Then he must have given him a price for “all copies”. Isn’t that what they say? Of course it’s impossible to check how many copies Molnes had made, but Klipra probably realised that a blackmailer who is also an incurable gambler, like the ambassador, was bound to come knocking again. And again. So Klipra suggested a drive, got out at the bank and told Molnes to go to the motel and wait, he would follow with the money. When Klipra arrived he didn’t even have to look for the room, he could see the ambassador’s car parked outside, couldn’t he. Shit, the guy even managed to trace the knife back to Klipra.’

‘Which guy?’

‘Løken. Ivar Løken. An old intelligence officer who’s been operating here for several years. Employed by the UN, worked with refugees, he says, but what the hell do I know? I reckon he got most of his wages from NATO or something like that. He’s been spying on Klipra for months.’

‘Didn’t the ambassador know that? I thought you said he initiated the investigation?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You maintain the ambassador went there to blackmail Klipra even though he knew the intelligence guy was watching them.’

‘Of course he knew. He got the copies of the photos from Løken, didn’t he. So? There’s nothing suspicious about the Norwegian ambassador paying a courtesy visit to Bangkok’s richest Norwegian, is there.’

‘Maybe not. What else did this Løken say?’

‘He told me the real reason I was chosen for this job.’

‘Which is?’

‘The guys who knew about the investigation into Klipra took a risk. If they were caught all hell would break loose; there would be a political outcry, heads would roll, et cetera. So when the ambassador was found murdered and they had a pretty good idea who was responsible they had to ensure the murder inquiry didn’t cast any light on their investigations. They had to find a happy medium, do
something
, but not so much that their cover was blown. By sending a Norwegian police officer they couldn’t be accused of doing nothing. I was told that they couldn’t send a team of officers because the Thai force would take offence.’

Harry’s laughter merged with another conversation hurtling somewhere between earth and a satellite.

‘Instead they picked a man they reckoned was the least likely to uncover anything at all. Dagfinn Torhus had done his research and found the perfect candidate, someone who definitely wouldn’t cause them any problems. Because he would probably spend his nights bent over a crate of beer and his days sleeping off a hangover. Harry Hole was perfect because he barely functions. They could justify the choice, if the question came up, by saying the officer in question had received enthusiastic recommendations after a similar job in Australia. If that wasn’t enough PAS Møller had vouched for him, and he should be the best person to judge, shouldn’t he.’

Møller didn’t like what he heard. Even less because he could see it clearly now, the Police Commissioner’s gaze across the table when the question was posed, the imperceptible raised eyebrow. It had been an order.

‘But why would Torhus and the Commissioner risk their jobs just to catch a paedophile?’

‘Good question.’

Silence. Neither of them dared put into words what they were thinking.

‘So what happens now, Harry?’

‘Now it’s Operation Save Our Arses.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that no one wants to be left holding the can. Neither Løken nor I. The deal is he and I keep our gobs shut about this for now and haul in Klipra together. I suppose you’d rather take over the case from there, PAS? Go directly to Storting maybe? You’ve got an arse to save as well, you know.’

Møller mulled that one over. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be saved. The worst that could happen was that they would make him do police work again.

‘This is heavy stuff, Harry. I need to think, so I’ll ring you back, OK?’

‘OK.’

They were receiving faint signals from another conversation in space, which went quiet all of a sudden. They listened to the sound of stars.

‘Harry?’

‘Yes?’

‘To hell with the thinking. I’m with you.’

‘Thought you would be, boss.’

‘Ring me when you’ve arrested him.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot to say. No one’s seen Klipra since the ambassador was murdered.’