'No.'

'So you didn't like that, eh? Being called his guard dog. Is there bad blood between you?'

'No,' Harry reflected. 'We just don't like each other. You didn't either, I understand.'

Raskol smiled gently and the neon tube flickered into life. 'I hope he didn't take it personally. It looked like a very expensive suit.'

'I think his suit suffered most.'

'He wanted me to tell him something. So I told him something.'

'That snitches are marked for life?'

'Not bad, Inspector. But the ink will fade with time. Do you play chess?'

Harry tried not to show that Raskol had used the correct rank. He might have guessed.

'How did you manage to hide the transmitter afterwards?' Harry asked. 'I heard they turned the whole block upside down.'

'Who said I hid anything? Black or white?'

'They say you're still the brains behind most of the big bank robberies in Norway, that this is your base and your part of the proceeds is paid into a foreign account. Is that why you made sure you were put in A-Wing in Botsen? Because you can meet the short-termers who are soon out and can execute the plans you hatch here? And how do you communicate with them on the outside? Have you got mobile phones here, too? Computers?'

Raskol sighed. 'A promising start, Inspector, but you're beginning to bore me already. Shall we play or not?'

'A boring game,' Harry said. 'Unless there's something in the pot.'

'Fine by me. What shall we play for?'

'This.' Harry held up a keyring with one single key and a brass nameplate.

'And what's that?' Raskol asked.

'No one knows. Occasionally you have to take a risk that what's in the pot has some value.'

'Why should I?'

Harry leaned forward. 'Because you trust me.'

Raskol laughed out loud. 'Give me one reason why I should trust you, Spiuni.'

'Beate,' Harry said without taking his eyes off Raskol. 'Would you mind leaving us on our own?'

He heard the banging on the door and the rattle of keys behind him. The door was opened and there was a smooth click as the lock fell into place.

'Have a look.' Harry put the key on the table.

Without removing his eyes from Harry's, Raskol asked: 'AA?'

Harry picked up the white king from the board. It was hand-carved and a handsome piece. 'Those are the initials of a man with a delicate problem. He was rich. He had a wife and children. House and chalet. Dog and lover. Everything in the garden seemed rosy.' Harry turned the piece on its head. 'But as time passed, the rich man changed. Events made him realise that the family was the most important thing in his life. So he sold his company, got rid of the lover and promised himself and his family that now they would live for each other. The problem was that the lover began to threaten the man with exposing their relationship. She may have blackmailed him, too. Not because she was greedy, but because she was poor. And because she was finishing off a piece of art which she thought would crown her life's work, and she needed money to launch it. She pressed him harder and harder, and one night he decided to pay her a visit. Not just any evening, but this special evening, because she had told him an old flame was coming round. Why did she tell him? Perhaps to make him jealous? Or to show there were other men who wanted her? He wasn't jealous. He was excited. This was a wonderful opportunity.' Harry looked at Raskol. He had crossed his arms and was watching Harry. 'He waited outside. Waited and waited, watching the lights in her flat. Just before midnight the visitor left. An arbitrary man who-should it ever come to that-would not have an alibi, who others presumably would confirm had spent the whole evening with Anna. Her watchful neighbour, if no one else, would have heard this man ring earlier in the evening. Our man didn't ring, though. Our man let himself in with a key. Crept up the stairs and unlocked the door to her flat.'

Harry picked up the black king and compared it with the white. If you didn't look too closely, you could be deceived into thinking they were identical.

'The weapon is not registered. It may have been Anna's; it may have been his. I don't know exactly what happened in the flat, and the world will probably never know, as she is dead. From the police point of view, it is an open and shut case: suicide.'

'I? Police point of view?' Raskol stroked his goatee. 'Why not we and our point of view? Are you trying to tell me you're flying solo here, Inspector?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know very well what I mean. The trick of sending your colleague out to give me the impression this was between you and me, I understand that, but…' He pressed his palms together. 'Although that might be possible. Does anyone else know what you know?'

Harry shook his head.

'So, what are you after? Money?'

'No.'

'I wouldn't be so quick, if I were you, Inspector. I haven't had a chance to say what this information is worth to me yet. We may be talking big bucks. If you can prove what you've said. And punishment of the guilty party may be done under-shall we say-private auspices without any interference from the state.'

'That's not the issue,' Harry said, hoping the perspiration on his forehead wasn't visible. 'The question is what is your information worth to me.'

'What are you suggesting, Spiuni?'

'What I'm suggesting,' Harry said, holding the two kings in the same hand, 'is a trade-off. You tell me who the Expeditor is and I'll obtain evidence against the man who took Anna's life.'

Raskol chuckled. 'There we have it. You can go now, Spiuni.'

'Think about it, Raskol.'

'Quite unnecessary. I trust people who chase money; I don't trust crusaders.'

They sized each other up. The neon tube crackled. Harry nodded, replaced the chess pieces, rose to his feet, went to the door and banged on it. 'You must have been fond of her,' he said with his back to Raskol. 'The flat in Sorgenfrigata was registered in your name, and I know exactly how broke Anna was.'

'Oh?'

'Since it's your flat, I've asked the housing committee to send you the key. A courier will be bringing it today. I suggest you compare it with the one you got from me.'

'Why's that?'

'There are three keys to Anna's flat. Anna had one, the electrician had the second. I found this one in the chalet of the man I've been talking about. In the drawer of the bedside table. It's the third and last key. The only one which can have been used, if Anna was murdered.'

They heard footsteps outside the door.

'And if it enhances my credibility,' Harry said, 'I'm only trying to save my own skin.'

22

America

People with a thirst drink anywhere. Take Malik's in Thereses gate, for example. It was a hamburger bar and had nothing of what gave Schrшder's, for all its failings, a certain dignity as a licensed taproom. It was true they had the hamburgers they pushed, rumoured to be a cut above the competition; with a degree of charity one might say that the slightly Indian-inspired interior with the picture of the Norwegian Royal Family did have a kind of naff charm; however, it was and always would be a fast-food outlet where those willing to pay for alcoholic credibility would never dream of imbibing their beer.

Harry had never been one of them.

He hadn't been to Malik's for a long time, but as he gave it the once-over, he was able to confirm that nothing had changed. Шystein was sitting with his male (and one female) drinking pals at the smokers' table. With a backdrop of outdated pop hits, Eurosport and sizzling fat they were enjoying a convivial conversation about lottery wins, a recent triple murder and an absent friend's moral shortcomings.

'Well, hi, Harry!' Шystein's gruff voice cut through the sound pollution. He flicked back his long, greasy hair, wiped his hand on the thigh of his trousers and held it out to Harry.