Jo Nesbo - Phantom

OK, I’ll stop whingeing, Dad, so don’t go now, 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 tied a scarf round Oleg’s eyes and drove us to the old boy’s house and took us down to the cellar. I had never been there before. We were led into a long, narrow, low corridor where we had to bow our heads. Our shoulders scraped against the sides. I gradually twigged that it wasn’t a cellar but a subterranean tunnel. An escape passage perhaps. 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 was summoned to the old boy. He sat in a chair opposite me, with no table in between.

‘Were you two there?’ he asked.

I looked him straight in the eye. ‘If you’re asking whether 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.’

‘Have a guess.’

I imagine the guy must have been a crap teacher in a former life. But, whatever, I answered: ‘He’d nicked something.’

The old boy 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 boy grinned. ‘We’d given him a warning we thought would stop him.’

‘Oh?’

‘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 boy’s face darkened. ‘We’re not monsters, Oleg.’

‘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 whiplash. ‘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 cellar’s not a cellar but a tunnel.’

The old boy crossed his arms. ‘And?’

‘It’s longer than this property. It could of course come out in a field.’

‘But?’

‘But you told me you own a neighbouring property, so it probably goes there.’

The old boy smiled with satisfaction. ‘Guess how old the tunnel is.’

‘Old. The walls were green with 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 came in through the front door here so that everyone could see. He switched on the light and then walked 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 are you telling me this?’

‘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 in real life. But I’m telling you all this because I want you to remember that I trusted you.’

He looked at me as if what he was saying was very important. I pretended to understand; I wanted to go home. Perhaps 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 towards us down Blindernveien. Happy, expectant faces, as if they had been promised something, a future or some such thing.

‘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 towards the front door? Tarmac? Flagstones? Grass?’

‘Shingle. 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, shingle paths and steps to a door without an overhang or nearby tramlines?’

‘You sound like a chief superintendent.’ Harry did not reap the smile or laughter he had hoped he would. ‘When you left did you notice any sounds close by?’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as the peeping of the pedestrian crossing.’

‘No, nothing like that. But there was music.’

‘Recorded or live?’

‘Live, I think. The cymbals were clear. You could hear the guitars, sort of floating and fading on the wind.’

‘Sounds live. Well remembered.’

‘I only remember because they were playing one of your songs.’

‘ My songs?’

‘From one of your records. I remember because Gusto said this was unreal life, and I thought that must have been an unconscious train of thought. He must have heard the line they had just sung.’

‘Which line?’

‘Something about a dream. I’ve forgotten, but you used to play that song all the time.’

‘Come on, Oleg, this is important.’

Oleg looked at Harry. His feet stopped tapping. He closed his eyes and tried humming a tune. ‘ It’s just a dreamy Gonzales…’ He opened his eyes, his face was red. ‘Something like that.’