Jo Nesbo - The Leopard

‘Why wasn’t your fiancee with you? Doesn’t she ski?’

‘Lene? She…’ Leike took a sip of coffee. The kind of sip you take in mid-sentence when you need a bit of thinking time, it struck Harry. ‘She was at home. I… we…’ He looked at Harry with an expression of mild desperation, as though pleading for help. Harry gave him none.

‘Shit. No pressure then, eh?’

Harry didn’t answer.

‘OK,’ Leike said as though Harry had given a response in the affirmative. ‘I needed a breather, to get away. To think. Engagement, marriage… these are grown-up issues. And I think best on my own. Especially up there on the snowy plains.’

‘And thinking helped?’

Leike flashed the enamel wall again. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you remember any of the others in the cabin?’

‘I remember Marit Olsen, as I said. She and I had a glass of red wine together. I didn’t know she was an MP until she said.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘There were a few others sitting around I barely greeted. But I arrived quite late, so some must have gone to bed.’

‘Oh?’

‘There were six pairs of skis in the snow outside. I remember that clearly because I put them in the hall in case of an avalanche. I remember thinking the others were perhaps not very experienced mountain skiers. If the cabin is half buried under three metres of snow you’re in a bit of a fix without any skis. I was first up in the morning – I usually am – and was off before the others had stirred.’

‘You say you arrived late. You were skiing alone in the dark, were you?’

‘Head torch, map and compass. The trip was a spontaneous decision, so I didn’t catch the train to Ustaoset until the evening. But, as I said, they are familiar surroundings, I’m used to finding my way across the frozen wastes in the dark. And the weather was good, moonlight reflecting off the snow, I didn’t need a map or a light.’

‘Can you tell me anything about what happened in the cabin while you were there?’

‘Nothing happened. Marit Olsen and I talked about red wine and then about the problems of keeping a modern relationship going. That is, I think her relationship was more modern than mine.’

‘And she didn’t say anything had happened in the cabin?’

‘No.’

‘What about the others?’

‘They sat by the fire talking about skiing trips, and drinking. Beer perhaps. Or some kind of sports drink. Two women and a man, between twenty and thirty-five, I would guess.’

‘Names?’

‘We just nodded and said hello. As I said, I had gone up there to be alone, not to make new friends.’

‘Appearance?’

‘It’s quite dark in these cabins at night, and if I say one was blonde, the other dark, that might be way off the mark. As I said, I don’t even remember how many people were there.’

‘Dialects?’

‘One of the women had a kind of west coast dialect, I think.’

‘Stavanger? Bergen? Sunnmore?’

‘Sorry, I’m not much good at this sort of thing. It might have been west coast, could have been south.’

‘OK. You wanted to be alone, but you talked to Marit Olsen about relationships.’

‘It just happened. She came over and sat down next to me. Not exactly a wallflower. Talkative. Fat and cheery.’ He said that as if the two words were a natural collocation. And it struck Harry that the photo of Lene Galtung he had seen was of an extremely thin woman – to judge by the latest average weight for Norwegians.

‘So, aside from Marit Olsen, you can’t tell us anything about any of the others? Not even if I showed you photos of those we know to have been there?’

‘Oh,’ Leike said with a smile, ‘I think I can do that.’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘When I was in one room looking for a bunk to crash out on, I had to switch on the light to see which was free. And I saw two people asleep. A man and a woman.’

‘And you think you can describe them?’

‘Not in great detail, but I’m pretty sure I would recognise them.’

‘Oh?’

‘You sort of remember faces when you see them again.’

Harry knew that what Leike said was right. Witnesses’ descriptions were way out as a rule, but give them a line-up and they rarely made a mistake.

Harry walked over to the filing cabinet they had dragged back to the office, opened the respective victims’ files and removed the photographs. He gave the five photos to Leike, who flipped through them.

‘This is Marit Olsen, of course,’ he said, passing it back to Harry. ‘And these are the two women who were sitting by the fire, I think, but I’m not sure.’ He passed Harry the pictures of Borgny and Charlotte. ‘This may have been the boy.’ Elias Skog. ‘But none of these were asleep in the bedroom. I’m sure about that. And I don’t recognise this one either, he said, passing back the photo of Adele.

‘So you’re unsure about the ones you were in the same room with for a good while, but you’re sure about those you saw for a couple of seconds?’

Leike nodded. ‘They were asleep, weren’t they.’

‘Is it easier to recognise people asleep?’

‘No, but they don’t look back at you, do they. So you can stare unobserved.’

‘Mm. For a couple of seconds.’

‘Maybe a bit longer.’

Harry put the photos back in the files.

‘Have you got any names?’ Leike asked.

‘Names?’

‘Yes. As I said, I was the first up and I had a couple of slices of bread in the kitchen. The guest book was in there and I hadn’t signed in. While I was eating I opened it and studied the names that had been entered the night before.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Tony rolled his shoulders. ‘It’s often the same people on these mountain skiing trips. I wanted to see if there was anyone I knew.’

‘Was there?’

‘No. But if you give me the names of people you know or think were there, maybe I can remember if I saw them in the guest book.’

‘Sounds reasonable, but I’m afraid we don’t have any names. Or addresses.’

‘Well then,’ Leike said, buttoning up his woollen coat. ‘I’m afraid I can’t be of much help, can I. Except that you can cross my name off.’

‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘Since you’re here, I’ve got a couple more questions. So long as you have time?’

‘I’m my own boss,’ Leike said. ‘For the time being, anyway.’

‘OK. You say you have a murky past. Could you give me a rough idea of what you mean?’

‘I tried to kill a guy,’ Leike said without embellishment.

‘I see,’ Harry said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Why was that?’

‘Because he attacked me. He maintained I’d stolen his girl. The truth was that she was neither his girl nor wanted to be, and I don’t steal girls. I don’t have to.’

‘Mm. He caught you two in the act and hit her, did he?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m trying to understand what sort of situation may have led to you trying to kill him. If you mean it literally, that is.’

‘He hit me. And that was why I did my best to kill him. With a knife. And I was well on the way to succeeding when a couple of my pals dragged me off him. I was convicted for aggravated assault. Which is pretty cheap for attempted murder.’

‘You realise that what you’re saying now could make you a prime suspect?’

‘In this case?’ Leike looked askance at Harry. ‘You kidding me? You lot have a bit more nous than that, don’t you?’

‘If you’ve wanted to kill once…’

‘I’ve wanted to kill several times. I assume I’ve done it, too.’

‘Assume?’

‘It’s not so easy to see black men in the jungle at night. For the most part you shoot indiscriminately.’

‘And you did that?’