Jo Nesbo - The Leopard

‘Don’t you say hi when you come to see us, Bellman?’

Bellman turned. It was Gunnar Hagen. He was on the pavement across the road, no jacket, arms folded.

Bellman went over, and they shook hands.

‘Anyone spreading gossip about me?’ Bellman asked.

‘Here at Crime Squad everything is brought to light,’ Hagen said with a broad smile, shivering and rubbing his hands for warmth. ‘By the way, I have a meeting with the Ministry of Justice at the back end of next month.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Bellman said, unconcerned. He knew very well what the meeting would be about. Restructuring. Downsizing. Transfer of responsibility for murder cases. What he didn’t know was what Hagen meant with his allusion to everything coming to light.

‘But you know all about the meeting, don’t you.’ Hagen said. ‘We’ve both been requested to forward a recommendation for the future organisation of murder investigations. The deadline’s approaching.’

‘I hardly think they’ll lay much weight on our one-sided presentations,’ Bellman said, looking at Hagen and trying to interpret where he was going. ‘I suppose we just have to give our opinions, in the name of tolerance.’

‘Unless we both believe that the present structure is preferable to all the investigations being placed under one roof,’ Hagen said through chattering teeth.

Bellman chortled. ‘You’re not wearing enough clothes, Hagen.’

‘You could be right. But I also know what I would think about a new murder unit being led by a policeman who had used his position to let his future wife go free after she had been smuggling drugs. Even though witnesses had pointed her out.’

Bellman stopped breathing. Felt his grip slacken. Felt gravity taking hold of him, his hair rising, his stomach falling. This was the nightmare he had been having. Nerve-jangling in sleep, brutal in reality; the fall without any rope. The solo climber’s fall.

‘Looks like you’re feeling the cold, too, Bellman.’

‘Fuck you, Hagen.’

‘Me?’

‘What do you want?’

‘Want? Long term, I want the force to be spared yet another public scandal calling into doubt the integrity of the regular policeman. As far as restructuring is concerned…’ Hagen’s head receded between his shoulders and he stamped his feet on the ground. ‘Now, the Ministry of Justice might want murder investigation resources all in the same pot, quite irrespective of the leadership question. If I were to be asked to lead such a unit I would, of course, consider the offer. But, in general, I think things are functioning well as they are. By and large, murderers receive their punishment, don’t they. So if my counterpart in this matter shares that view, I will be prepared to continue with investigations both in Bryn and here at Police HQ. What do you think, Bellman?’

Mikael Bellman felt the jerk as the rope caught him after all. Felt the harness tighten, felt himself being torn into two, felt his back unable to cope with the strain and it broke, the mixture of pain and paralysis. He dangled, helpless and dizzy, somewhere between heaven and earth. But he was alive.

‘Let me think about it, Hagen.’

‘Think away. But don’t take too much time. Deadline, you know. We have to coordinate.’

Bellman stood watching Hagen’s back as he loped to the entrance of Police HQ. Then turned and stared over the rooftops of Gronland. Studied the town. His town.

Harry was standing in the middle of the living-room floor, looking around, when the phone rang.

‘Rakel here. What are you doing?’

‘Examining what’s left,’ he said. ‘After a person dies.’

‘And?’

‘There’s a lot. And yet not much. Sis has said what she wants, and tomorrow some guy’s coming to buy up the goods and chattels. He intimated he would pay fifty thousand to buy the lot, lock, stock and barrel. And he’ll clean up after him. That’s… er…’ Harry couldn’t find the word.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘It was like that for me when my father died. His things, which had been so important, so irreplaceable, seemed to lose their meaning. It was as if he alone was the one who had given them value.’

‘Or perhaps it’s those of us left realising we have to clear up. To burn. To start afresh.’ Harry went into the kitchen. Looked at the photograph hanging under the kitchen cupboard. A photo from Sofies gate. Oleg and Rakel.

‘I hope you said goodbye properly,’ Rakel said. ‘Saying goodbye is important. Especially for those left behind.’

‘I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘We never properly said hello, he and I. I let him down.’

‘How was that?’

‘He asked me to dispatch him. I refused.’

The line went quiet. Harry listened to the background noise. Airport noises.

Then her voice was back. ‘Do you think you should have helped him on his way?’

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘I do. I think so now.’

‘Don’t think about it. It’s too late.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, Harry. It’s too late.’

The line went quiet again. Harry could hear a nasal voice announcing boarding for a flight to Amsterdam.

‘So you didn’t want to meet him?’

‘I can’t do it, Harry. I suppose I’m a bad human being, too.’

‘We’ll have to try to do better next time then.’

He could hear her smiling. ‘Can we do that?’

‘It’s never too late to try. Say hello to Oleg from me.’

‘Harry…’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing.’

Harry stood looking out of the kitchen window after she had rung off.

Then he went upstairs and started to pack.

The doctor was waiting for Harry when he came out of the toilet. They continued down the last stretch of the corridor towards the prison officer.

‘His condition is stable,’ she said. ‘We might transfer him back to prison. What’s the purpose of this visit?’

‘I want to thank him for helping us to clear up a case. And to get back to him about a wish he had expressed.’

Harry took off his jacket, gave it to the officer and held out his arms while he was searched.

‘Five minutes. No more. OK?’

Harry nodded.

‘I’ll come in with you,’ said the prison guard who was unable to take his eyes off Harry’s disfigured cheek.

Harry arched an eyebrow.

‘Rules for civilian visits,’ the officer said. ‘It has come to our ears that you’ve resigned from the force.’

Harry shrugged.

The man had got out of bed and was sitting on a chair by the window.

‘We found him,’ Harry said, pulling a chair close. The prison guard stood by the door, but was within hearing distance. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘I kept my part of the bargain,’ the man said. ‘What about yours?’

‘Rakel didn’t want to come.’

The man’s face didn’t move a muscle, he just shrank as if hit by an ice-cold gust of wind.

‘We found a bottle of medicine in the chest at Prince Charming’s cabin. I had a drop of the contents analysed yesterday. Ketanome. Same as he used on his victims. Do you know the drug? Fatal in large doses.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I was given some of it myself recently. In a way, I liked it. But then I like all kinds of drugs. Only you know that, don’t you? I told you what I did in the toilet at The Landmark in Hong Kong.’

The Snowman eyed Harry. Glanced cautiously at the prison officer and then back at Harry.

‘Oh yes,’ he said in a monotone. ‘In the cubicle at the end on.. .’

‘… the right,’ Harry said. ‘Well, as I said, thanks. Don’t look in the mirror.’

‘Same applies to you,’ the man said and offered him a bony, white hand.

When Harry was shown out at the end of the corridor, he turned and caught a glimpse of the Snowman tottering towards them with the guard. Before going into the toilet.