‘OK. For the most part, I’d like you to tell me about the party. About Susanne and Bertine, of course, but in particular the man who brought the cocaine.’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘So you know about him.’
‘Yes.’
‘I presume no one is going to jail because of a little coke on the table?’
‘No. Anyway, I’m not a policeman.’
‘That’s right. You’re Markus’s boy.’
‘I’m not that either.’
‘Sure, Krohn told me you’ve been given carte blanche. But you know how it is. The person paying the bills is the person in control at the end of the day.’ She smiled, with a hint of contempt which Harry wasn’t sure was directed at him or at the man paying. Or perhaps at herself.
Helene Røed told him about the party while she made coffee. Harry noted that what she said matched both her husband’s and Øystein’s accounts. The man with the green cocaine had shown up pretty much out of nowhere and approached her and Markus on the roof terrace. Might have gatecrashed the party, but if so, he wasn’t the only one.
‘He was wearing a face mask, sunglasses and a baseball cap, so he did look rather dodgy in that gathering. He insisted Markus and I test his powder, but I told him that wasn’t going to happen, that Markus and I had promised each other never to touch the stuff again. Then, after just a few minutes, I noticed Markus and a few of the others were missing. I was already a little suspicious, because one of the people who’d popped up at the party was the guy Markus usually buys his blow from. I walked into the apartment. And it was so pathetic...’
She closed her eyes and placed her palm on her forehead. ‘Markus was leaning over the table with a straw already up his nose. Breaking his promise right there in front of me. And then that cocaine nose of his causes him to sneeze and ruin it for him.’ She opened her eyes and looked at Harry. ‘I wish I could laugh about it.’
‘The dealer with the face mask, he tried to gather together enough powder from the floor to make a line for Markus, I understand.’
‘Yeah. Or maybe he was just trying to tidy up. He even wiped Markus’s snot off the table.’ She nodded towards the large glass table in front of the sofa in the living area. ‘He probably wanted to make a good impression, have Markus as a regular customer, who doesn’t? You may have noticed that Markus isn’t exactly the type to haggle. He prefers to overpay than underpay, it gives him a sense of power. Or rather, it gives him power.’
‘You mean power is important to him?’
‘Isn’t it important to everyone?’
‘Well. Not to me. Granted, that’s just self-analysis.’
They had sat down at the dining table, across from each other. Helene Røed was looking at Harry in a way that made him think she was assessing the situation. Assessing how much she should say. Assessing
‘Why do you have a metal finger?’ she asked, nodding towards his hand.
‘Because a man cut off the finger I had. It’s a long story.’
Her gaze didn’t flinch. ‘You smell of stale alcohol,’ she said. ‘And vomit.’
‘Sorry. I had a rough night and haven’t got round to getting fresh clothes.’
She smiled vaguely, as though to herself. ‘Do you know the difference between a handsome man and an attractive man, Harry?’
‘No. What is it?’
‘I’m asking because I don’t know.’
Harry met her eyes. Was she flirting?
She shifted her gaze to the wall behind him. ‘Do you know what I found attractive about Markus? I mean, apart from his surname and his money.’
‘No.’
‘That he seemed attractive to other people as well. Isn’t that strange? How that sort of thing is self-reinforcing?’
‘I know what you mean.’
She shook her head as though in resignation. ‘Markus has no talents apart from one. He can send out the signal that he’s in charge. He’s like that boy or girl in school who, without anyone understanding why, takes the lead and decides who is in and who is out. When, like Markus, you’re sitting on that social throne, then you have power, and power begets power. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing more attractive than power. You understand, Harry? It isn’t calculated opportunism that makes women fall for power, it’s biology. Power is sexy, full stop.’
‘OK,’ Harry said. She probably wasn’t flirting.
