Øystein and Harry nodded in acknowledgement.
‘You coming over to our table?’ Øystein asked.
‘Thanks, but I have a pal over there I need to keep company. Another time.’
With their hands full of beer glasses they exchanged careful knuckle bumps as they took their leave of one another, before Arne disappeared into the crowd and Harry and Øystein started on their way back to the booth.
‘Nice guy,’ Øystein said. ‘I think Bratt might be onto a good thing there.’
Harry nodded. His brain was searching for something, which it had registered, but had not paid attention to. They arrived at the table with four half-litres, and since the others were drinking so slowly, Harry took a sip of one. And then another.
When the Sex Pistols’ ‘God Save the Queen’ finally came on, they got to their feet in the booth and pogoed up and down along with the rest of the rabble.
By midnight the Jealousy Bar was still jam-packed and Harry was drunk.
‘You’re happy,’ Alexandra whispered in his ear.
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, I haven’t seen you like this since you got home. And you smell good.’
‘Mm. Guess it’s true then.’
‘What’s true.’
‘That you smell better when you’re not in debt.’
‘I don’t get it. But speaking of home, are you going to walk me?’
‘Walk you home or come home with you?’
‘We can figure that out along the way.’
Harry realised how drunk he was when he hugged the others goodbye. Sung-min smelled of a distinctive fragrance, lavender, or something similar, and wished him luck at Villa Dante, but added that he would pretend not to have heard about Harry’s improper plans.
Maybe it was the talk of the smell of debt and Sung-min’s lavender that did it, but on the way out the door Harry realised what detail had eluded him. The smell. He had breathed it in at some point in the evening, here, in this bar. He shuddered, turned and let his gaze sweep over the crowd. A scent of musk. The same scent he had caught when he was in the autopsy room with Helene Røed.
‘Harry?’
‘I’m coming.’
Prim traversed the streets of Oslo. The wheels of his mind were going round and round, as though trying to grind the painful thoughts into pieces.
He, the policeman, had been at the Jealousy Bar, and that had made his blood boil. He should have left straight away, avoided the policeman, but it was as though he had been drawn to him, as though he were the mouse and the policeman the cat. He had looked for Her too, and maybe she had been there, maybe not, it had been so packed that most people were standing, making it difficult to get an overview. He was meeting her tomorrow. Should he ask if she was there? No, she could bring it up if she wanted. He had too many things to think about at the moment, he needed to push this to the back of his mind, he needed to have a clear head for tomorrow. He continued walking. Nordahl Bruns gate. Thor Olsens gate. Fredensborgveien. His heels struck the tarmac in a rhythmic beat as he hummed the tune of ‘Heroes’ by David Bowie.
The temperature plummeted on Tuesday. Along Operagata and Dronning Eufemias gate, the wind gathered speed, and pavement signs outside the restaurants and clothes shops were blown over in the gusts.
At five past nine, Harry picked up his suit from the dry cleaner’s in Grønland and at the same time asked if they could press the suit he was wearing while he waited. The Asian woman behind the counter shook her head regretfully. Harry said that was a pity, as he was attending a masked ball that evening. He could see her hesitate slightly before she returned his smile and said he was sure to have a lovely time all the same.
‘That was good pronunciation,’ the woman said before he had managed to place his hand on the door handle. ‘Where did you learn Chinese?’
‘In Hong Kong. I only know a little.’
‘Most foreigners in Hong Kong don’t know any at all. Take off your suit, I can give it a quick press.’
At a quarter past nine Prim was standing by the bus stop gazing across the road over at Jernbanetorget. Studying the people he saw there, those crossing the station square and those who loitered. Were any of them police? He was carrying cocaine and didn’t dare set foot in the square before he felt sure. But you can never be sure, you just had to make a judgement and put your fear behind. It was that simple. And that impossible. He swallowed. Crossed the street, entered the square and walked over to the tiger statue. Scratched it behind the ear. That’s it, caress the fear and make it your friend. He took a deep breath and fiddled with the cocaine in his pocket. A man over by the steps was staring at him. Prim recognised him and ambled over.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘I have something you might like to try.’
