Jo Nesbo - Nemesis

'Drink,' Harry said. 'There's loads of lemon in it. It numbs the muscles and relaxes them so you can breathe more easily.'

Trond obeyed. To Harry's great surprise, the drink seemed to work. After a few sips and a couple of coughing fits a hint of colour returned to Trond's pale cheeks.

'Ulkterbl,' he wheezed.

'Sorry?' Harry sank back in the other kitchen chair.

'You look terrible.'

Harry smiled and felt the towel he had tied around his neck. It was already soaked in blood. 'Was that why you threw up?'

'Can't stand the sight of blood,' Trond said. 'I go all…' He rolled his eyes.

'Well, it could have been worse. You saved my bacon.'

Trond shook his head. 'I was a fair distance away when I saw you. I just shouted. I'm not sure that was what made him call off the dog. Sorry I didn't get the registration number, but I did see it was a Jeep Cherokee they made off in.'

Harry dismissed this with a wave of his hand. 'I know who he is.'

'Oh?'

'He's under investigation. But perhaps you'd better tell me what you were doing around here, Grette.'

Trond fidgeted with his teacup. 'You should definitely go to casualty with that wound.'

'I'll consider it. Have you had a little think since we last talked?'

Trond nodded slowly.

'And what conclusion did you come to?'

'I can't help him any longer.' It was difficult for Harry to determine whether it was only the sore larynx which made Trond whisper the last sentence.

'So where's your brother?'

'I want you to tell him it was me who told you. He'll understand.'

'Alright.'

'Porto Seguro.'

'Uhuh.'

'It's a town in Brazil.'

Harry wrinkled his nose. 'Fine. How will we find him there?'

'He's just told me he has a house there. He refused to give me an address, only a telephone number.'

'Why? He's not a wanted man.'

'I'm not sure that is correct.' Trond took another sip. 'At any rate, he said it would be better if I didn't have his address.'

'Mm. Is it a large town?'

'About a million, according to Lev.'

'Right. You haven't got anything else? Other people who knew him and might have his address?'

Trond hesitated before shaking his head.

'Out with it,' Harry said.

'Lev and I went for a coffee last time we met in Oslo. He said it tasted even worse than usual. Said he'd taken to drinking cafezinho at a local ahwa.'

'Ahwa? Isn't that an Arab coffee house?'

'Correct. Cafezinho is a kind of strong Brazilian variant of espresso. Lev says he goes there every day. Drinks coffee, smokes a hookah and plays dominoes with the Syrian owner who has become a kind of pal. I can remember his name-Muhammed Ali. Like the boxer.'

'And fifty million other Arabs. Did your brother say which coffee bar it was?'

'Probably, but I don't remember. There can't be so many ahwas in a Brazilian town, can there?'

'Maybe not.' Harry thought. Definitely something concrete to work on. He was about to put a hand to his forehead, but as soon as he tried to raise his hand his neck hurt.

'One last question, Grette. What made you decide to tell me this?'

Trond's teacup did a few circuits. 'I knew he was here in Oslo.'

The towel felt like a heavy rope around Harry's neck. 'How?'

Trond scratched under his chin for a long time before answering. 'We hadn't spoken for over two years. Out of the blue he rang me and said he was in town. We met at a cafй and had a long chat. Hence, the coffee.'

'When was this?'

'Three days before the bank raid.'

'What did you talk about?'

'Everything. And nothing. When you've known one another for as long as we have, the big things have often grown so big it's the small things you talk about. About…the old man's roses, etc.'

'What sort of big things?'

'Things done that were best undone. And things said best unsaid.'

'So you talk about roses instead?'

'I tended the roses when Stine and I were left in the house. It was where Lev and I had grown up. It was where I wanted our children to grow up.' He bit his lower lip. His gaze was fixed on the brown-and-white wax cloth; the cloth was the only thing Harry had taken when his mother died.

'He didn't say anything about the robbery?'

Trond shook his head.

'You're aware the robbery must have been planned at that point. That your wife's bank was going to be hit?'

Trond let out a deep sigh. 'Had that been the case, I might have known and could have prevented it. Lev relished telling me about his bank robberies, you see. He got hold of copies of the videos, which he kept in the loft in Disengrenda, and every so often insisted we watch them together. To see what a clever big brother he was. When I married Stine and started working, I made it clear I wouldn't listen to any more of his plans. It would put me in a delicate position.'

'Mm. So he didn't know Stine worked in the bank?'

'I had told him she worked for Nordea, but not which branch, I don't think.'

'But they knew each other?'

'They had met a few times, yes. A couple of family gatherings. Lev was never a big fan of that sort of thing.'

'How did they get on?'

'Well, Lev can be a charmer when he wants to be.' Trond smiled wryly. 'As I said, we shared one set of genes. I was happy he could be bothered to show his good side to her. And since I had told her how he could behave towards people he didn't appreciate, she was flattered. The first time she came to our house he took her around our neighbourhood and showed her all the places he and I had played when we were small.'

'Not the footbridge though?'

'No, not that.' Trond lifted his hands pensively and looked at them. 'But you mustn't believe that was for his own sake. Lev was more than happy to talk about all the bad things he had done. It was because he knew I didn't want her to know I had a brother like that.'

'Mm. Are you sure you're not painting a nobler picture of your brother than he deserves?'

Trond shook his head. 'Lev has a dark and a light side. Like all of us. He would die for those he likes.'

'But not in prison?'

Trond opened his mouth, but no answer came out. His skin twitched under one eye. Harry sighed and, with difficulty, stood up. 'I have to get a taxi to A amp;E.'

'I've got a car,' Trond said.

The engine hummed quietly. Harry stared at the streetlights gliding by in the dark night sky, the dashboard and the diamond ring glinting on Trond's little finger as he held the steering wheel.

'You lied about the ring you're wearing,' Harry whispered. 'The diamond is too small to cost thirty thousand. I reckon it cost about five and you bought it for Stine at a jeweller's here in Oslo. Am I right?'

Trond nodded.

'You met Lev in Sгo Paulo, didn't you. The money was for him.'

Trond nodded again.

'Enough money to keep him going,' Harry said. 'Enough for a plane ticket when he decided to return to Oslo to do another job.'

Trond didn't answer.

'Lev's still in Olso,' Harry whispered. 'I want his mobile number.'

'Do you know what?' Trond carefully turned right by Alexander Kiellands plass. 'Last night I dreamed that Stine came into the bedroom and talked to me. She was dressed as an angel. Not like a real angel, but the kind of outfit you wear at carnivals. She said she didn't belong up there. And when I awoke, I thought of Lev. I thought of him sitting on the edge of the school roof with his legs dangling down as we went into the next lesson. He was a small dot, but I remember what I was thinking. He belonged up there.'

Baksheesh

Three people were sitting in Ivarsson's office: Ivarsson, behind the tidy desk, and Beate and Harry each in their-slightly lower-chairs. The trick with the low chairs is such a well-known dominance technique that one could be excused for thinking it was no longer used, but Ivarsson knew better. His experience was that basic techniques never went out of fashion.