Jo Nesbo - The Son

Fredrik appeared in jeans and a T-shirt. He had taken the time to shower — his wet, thick hair was combed back from his face.

‘This is unexpected,’ he said. ‘What-’

‘Why don’t we go for a little walk?’

Fredrik looked at his heavy wristwatch. ‘Listen, I’m-’

‘Nestor and his drug-dealing underlings paid me a visit,’ Simon said loud enough for the couple nearby to hear. ‘But I’m happy to carry this on upstairs in the flat where your. . wife is?’

Fredrik looked at Simon. Then he closed the door behind him.

They walked along the pavement. Fredrik’s flip-flops slapped against the tarmac and cast an echo between the walls.

‘He came to offer me that loan I had discussed with you, Fredrik. Only discussed with you.’

‘I haven’t spoken to anyone called Nestor.’

‘You don’t have to refer to him as “anyone called Nestor”, we’re both well aware that you know the name. You’re free to lie about any other knowledge you have of him.’

Fredrik stopped. ‘Come on, Simon. Getting you that loan from any of my clients was impossible. So I discussed your problem with a third party. That was what you expected me to do, wasn’t it? Be honest?’

Simon made no reply.

Fredrik sighed. ‘Listen, I was only trying to help. The worst that could happen was surely that you got an offer you couldn’t refuse.’

‘The worst that could happen is that now some scumbags think they’ve found a way to get to me. Finally, they’re thinking. Because they never had anything on me before, Fredrik. On you, yes, but me, never.’

Fredrik leaned against the railings. ‘Maybe that’s your real problem, Simon. The reason you never had the career you should have had.’

‘Because I wasn’t for sale?’

Fredrik smiled. ‘Your temper. Your lack of diplomacy. You even insult people who are trying to help you.’

Simon looked down at the old abandoned railway line below. From the days when Vestbanen was still in use. He didn’t know why, but it made him both melancholic and excited to see that the cutting in the ground was still there. ‘Have you read about the triple homicide in Gamlebyen?’

‘Of course,’ Fredrik said. ‘The papers write about little else. Every member of Kripos has been drafted in, or so it would seem. Do you still get to play with them?’

‘They prefer to keep the best toys to themselves as usual. Kalle Farrisen was one of the men killed. Do you recognise the name?’

‘I can’t say that I do. But if Homicide isn’t allowed a look-in, why are you-’

‘Because Farrisen was once suspected of having killed this girl.’ Simon produced the picture he had printed out from the file and gave it to Fredrik. He watched him study the pale face with the Asian features. You didn’t need to see the rest of her body to realise that she was dead.

‘She was found in a backyard; it was made to look as if she had accidentally OD’d. Fifteen years old. Sixteen, perhaps. She had no papers, so we never found out who she was or where she was from. Or how she got into Norway. Possibly in a container on a ship from Vietnam. The only thing they did discover was that she was pregnant.’

‘Yes, wait, I remember that case. I thought someone had confessed?’

‘Yes. Late in the day and much to everyone’s surprise. What I want to ask you is: was there any connection between Kalle Farrisen and your favourite client, Iversen?’

Fredrik shrugged and looked across the fjord. He shook his head. Simon followed his gaze towards the forest of masts on the yachts moored in the marina where the term ‘yacht’ these days meant something slightly smaller than a frigate.

‘Did you know that the man who confessed to and was convicted of the murder of that girl has escaped from prison?’

Fredrik shook his head again.

‘Enjoy your breakfast,’ Simon said.

Simon was leaning against the curved cloakroom counter at the art gallery in Hovikodden. Everything was curved. Everything was neo-expressionist. Even the glass walls separating the rooms were curved and possibly neo-expressionist as well. He looked at Else. Else looked at Chagall. She seemed so small as she stood there. Smaller than Chagall’s figures. Perhaps it was the curves, perhaps they created an Ames Room illusion.

‘So you went to see this Fredrik just to ask him that one question?’ asked Kari, who was standing next to him. She had come over twenty minutes after he had called her. ‘And what you’re saying is. .’

‘That I knew he would deny it,’ Simon said. ‘But I had to look at him to know if he was lying.’

‘You are aware, despite certain TV series that claim the opposite, that it’s extremely difficult to tell for certain if someone is lying?’

‘Fredrik isn’t just “someone”. I’ve experience of listening to him lying, I recognise his “tell”.’

‘So Fredrik Ansgar is a notorious liar?’

‘No. He lies out of necessity, not from predisposition or inclination.’

‘Right. And how do you know that?’

‘I didn’t before we started working together on a big property investigation at the Serious Fraud Office.’ He could see that Else was looking a little lost and he coughed loudly so that she could hear where he was. ‘It was tricky to prove that Fredrik was lying,’ Simon continued. ‘He was the investigation’s only expert accountant and it was difficult for us to verify everything he said. To begin with it was minor discrepancies and odd coincidences, but the sum total seemed a little too big just to be a coincidence. He failed to inform us of certain things or directly misinformed us. I was the only one who got suspicious. And in time I learned to tell when he was lying.’

‘How?’

‘It was very simple. His voice.’

‘His voice?’

‘Lying triggers emotions. Fredrik was good at lying with his choice of words, logic and body language. But his voice was the one emotional barometer he couldn’t control. He couldn’t strike quite the right natural tone, he had a lying inflection, which he himself could hear and he knew that it might give him away. When he was asked a direct question and had to give a straight answer, he couldn’t trust his voice. So he started nodding or shaking his head by way of response.’

‘And when you asked him if he knew of any connection between Kalle Farrisen and Iversen?’

‘He just shrugged as if he didn’t know.’

‘So he was lying?’

‘Yes. And he shook his head when I asked him if he knew that Sonny Lofthus had escaped from prison.’

‘Isn’t that a little simplistic?’

‘Yes, but Fredrik is a simple man who just happens to know his times tables better than most people. Listen, this is what I want you to do. I want you to go through all of Sonny Lofthus’s convictions. See if you can find out if there were any other suspects in each case.’

Kari Adel nodded. ‘Great, I didn’t have any plans for this weekend anyway.’

Simon smiled.

‘That Serious Fraud Office case,’ Kari said. ‘What was it about?’

‘Fraud,’ Simon said. ‘Tax avoidance, serious money, important names. As the case stood, it could bring down high-profile business people as well as politicians and it looked as if it could take us to Mr Big.’

‘Who was?’

‘The Twin.’

Kari shivered. ‘That’s a strange nickname, I must say.’

‘Not as strange as the story behind it.’

‘Do you know the Twin’s real name?’

Simon shook his head. ‘He goes by several names. So many that he’s totally anonymous. When I started in the Serious Fraud Office, I was naive enough to think that the biggest fish would be the most noticeable. The truth is, of course, that someone’s importance is inversely proportional to their visibility. The Twin eluded me yet again. Because of Fredrik’s lies.’