‘Jibran,’ he said slowly.
Perhaps hearing something in his tone, the others turned to him as though he was going to say something important.
‘What do intestinal juices smell like?’
‘Intestinal juices? I don’t know. Judging by the breath of people with acid reflux, it would perhaps smell rather like rotten eggs.’
‘Mm. So not like musk, then?’
Jibran shook his head. ‘Not in humans, I know that.’
‘What do you mean, not in humans?’
‘I’ve opened the stomachs of cats with a distinct odour of musk. It comes from the anal glands. Various animals use musk to mark their territory or to attract partners in the mating season. In ancient Islamic tradition they said that the smell of musk was the smell of paradise. Or of death, depending on how you look at it.’
Harry stared at him. But it was Lucille’s voice he heard in his head. We think the author is thinking in the same sequence as he writes. Little wonder really; after all, people are inclined to believe that what is happening is a result of what’s gone before, and not the other way around.
The skimming, suspicion and disclosure about the shipment being diluted. That was the sequence of events they had automatically accepted. But someone, the author, had changed the order around. Harry understood that now, that they had been fooled, and that perhaps he had — literally — sniffed out the author.
‘Truls, can we have a word outside?’
The other three watched Harry and Truls as they stepped out into the corridor.
Harry turned to him.
‘Truls, I know you’ve told me it wasn’t you who skimmed the cocaine. I also know you have every reason in the world to lie about it. I don’t give a shit what you’ve done, and I think you trust me. So that’s why I’m going to ask you one more time. Was it you or someone you know of? Take five seconds to think about it before you answer.’
Truls had lowered his forehead like a surly bull. But nodded. Said nothing. Drew five deep breaths. Opened his mouth. Closed it again as if he had thought of something. Then he spoke.
‘You know why Bellman didn’t shut down our group?’
Harry shook his head.
‘Because I went to his house and told him that if he did, I’d make it known he killed a drug dealer from a motorcycle club in Alnabru, whose body I hid by pouring cement on it in the terrace of that new house of his in Høyenhall. All you’ve got to do is dig it up if you don’t believe me.’
Harry looked at Truls for a long time. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
Truls snorted, his forehead still reddish. ‘Because it should prove that I trust you, shouldn’t it? I’ve just given you enough ammo to put me away for years. Why would I admit to that and not admit to skimming some cocaine that would put me behind bars for a couple of years at most?’
Harry nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Good.’
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. ‘What about the two others with you when the dope was collected?’
‘Impossible,’ Truls said. ‘I was the one who carried the dope all the way to the car from Customs at the airport, and from the car into Seizures.’
‘Good,’ Harry said. ‘I already said I think it was one of the customs officers or someone in Seizures who skimmed. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No, but what do you think?’
Truls shrugged. ‘I know the people who handled it in Seizures and none of them are dirty. I think they just got the weight wrong.’
‘And I think you’re right. Because there’s a third possibility that I — idiot that I am — hadn’t considered. Go on back inside, I’ll join you in a second.’
Harry tried to call Katrine but got no answer.
‘Well?’ Øystein said when Harry came back in and sat down by the bed again. ‘Something the three of us couldn’t hear after all we’ve been through together?’
Jibran smiled.
‘We’ve been fooled by the sequence,’ Harry said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When the cocaine seizure arrived at Krimteknisk, no one had skimmed it. It’s like Truls said, they were just a little inaccurate when they weighed it, so that was a small anomaly. The skimming took place afterwards. By the person at Krimteknisk who analysed the cocaine.’
The others stared at him in disbelief.
‘Think about it,’ Harry said. ‘You work at Krimteknisk and are sent a batch of almost pure cocaine because Seizures suspect someone may have cut it with something and stolen the difference in weight. You see that no, it’s completely pure, no one has tampered with the batch. But seeing as Seizures already suspect someone else, you spot your chance. You take a little of the pure cocaine, add some levamisole and send the batch back with a conclusion confirming that, yes, someone diluted the dope before it arrived at Krimteknisk.’
‘Beautiful!’ Øystein sang in a fast vibrato. ‘If you’re right, then the guy has, like, serious bloody guile.’
‘Or she,’ Aune said.
‘He,’ Harry said.
‘How do you know?’ Øystein said. ‘Aren’t there women working at Krimteknisk?’
‘Yes, but remember that guy who came over to us at the Jealousy Bar and told us he’d applied to Police College, but skipped it because he wanted to study something else?’
‘Bratt’s boyfriend?’
‘Yeah. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but he said his chosen field meant he could maybe do investigative work after all. And earlier this evening Katrine let it slip that they were going to eat at a restaurant at Frognerseteren so late because there was so much to do at Krimtek-nisk. She’s not the one who has a lot to do, he is. Have you heard of someone called Arne at Forensics, Truls?’
‘There’re a lot of new people there now, and it’s not like I go around...’ He wobbled his head as if searching for the word.
‘...making new friends?’ Øystein suggested.
Truls shot him a warning glare but nodded.
‘I can see how it could be someone at Forensics,’ Aune said. ‘But what makes you so sure, and why this boyfriend of Katrine’s? Is it Kemper you’re thinking of?’
‘That too.’
‘Hello,’ Øystein interjected. ‘What are the two of you on about now?’
‘Edmund Kemper,’ Aune said. ‘A serial killer in the 1970s who liked to fraternise with police officers. Typical of several serial killers. They seek out cops they anticipate will investigate them, before and after the murders. Kemper had also applied to Police College.’
‘Those are the parallels,’ Harry said. ‘But most of all it’s that pungent odour. Musk. Like wet or warm leather. Helene Røed said she had smelled it at the party. I smelled it in the morgue when Helene Røed was lying there. I smelled it when we cut open Susanne Andersen’s eye. And I smelled it at the Jealousy Bar the night we met this Arne guy.’
‘I didn’t smell anything,’ Øystein said.
‘It was there,’ Harry said.
Aune raised an eyebrow. ‘You noticed this smell among a hundred other sweating men?’
‘It’s a specific fucking odour,’ Harry said.
‘Maybe you’ve got toxoplasmosis,’ Øystein said with feigned concern. ‘Were you horny?’
Truls grunted a laugh.
Harry experienced a sudden painful déjà vu. Bjørn Holm tidying so meticulously after the murder of Rakel. ‘That would also explain why we found no evidence at the crime scenes or on the bodies,’ he said. ‘It was a pro who’d cleaned up after himself.’