Then the boy found his mother’s eyes, and Katrine smiled. Smiled, stroked his hair and sang quietly until the child’s eyes closed again. Only then did she shiver. Because the look in those eyes had been like someone looking up at her from the other side of death.
46
Johan Krohn had shut himself away in the bathroom. He was tapping on his phone. He and Harry Hole had communicated enough over the years that he must have his number tucked away somewhere. There it was! In an old email about Silje Gravseng, the police student who tried to get revenge on Hole by accusing him of rape. She had turned to Krohn, wanted him to take the case, but he had seen the charges and managed to stop her. So even if he and Hole had had their disagreements since then, surely Hole owed him a favour when it came down to it? He hoped so. There were other people he could call, police officers who owed him more than Hole, but there were two reasons to ask him specifically. Firstly, Hole was guaranteed to devote all his energy to finding and arresting a man who had recently tricked and humiliated him. And secondly, Harry Hole was the only person in the police who had managed to catch Finne. Yes, Hole was the only person who could help him. Then he would just have to see how long he could keep Finne locked away for threatening behaviour and blackmail. It would obviously be one man’s word against another’s, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
“Leave a message if you must,” a gravelly voice said, followed by a bleep.
Krohn was so bemused that he almost hung up. But there was something about that turn of phrase.If you must. He had to, didn’t he? Yes, he had to, and he had to say enough to be sure that Hole would call him back. He swallowed.
“This is Johan Krohn. I need to ask you to keep this message between the two of us. Svein Finne is engaged in blackmail.” He swallowed again. “Of me. And my family. I…er, please, get back to me. Thanks.”
He hung up. Had he said too much? And was he doing the right thing, was asking a police officer for help the right solution? Oh, it was impossible to be sure! Well, until Hole called back, he could still change his mind, tell Hole it was the result of a misunderstanding with his client.
Krohn went into the bedroom, slipped under the covers, picked up his copy ofTfR, the Norwegian legal periodical, from the bedside table and started to read.
“You said something out on the terrace,” Frida said beside him. “That you were practising a defense statement.”
“Yes,” Johan said, and saw that she had put her book down on the covers and was looking at him over her reading glasses.
“Who for?” she said. “I didn’t think you were working on a case at the moment.”
Krohn adjusted his pillow. “The defense of a decent man who’s got himself into a bit of a mess.” He let his eyes rest on his own article about double jeopardy. Obviously he knew the article backwards, but he had found that he was able to pretend he’d never read it, and could enjoy its complex but lucid legal reasoning over and over again. “It’s only a potential case at the moment. He’s being blackmailed by a bastard who wants to get hold of his mistress. If he doesn’t give in, his whole family will be taken from him.”
“Hmm,” Frida murmured. “That sounds more like a work of fiction than an actual case.”
“Let’s say it is fiction,” Krohn said. “What would you do if you were him, and you knew that a defense statement wasn’t going to save him?”
“A mistress in exchange for an entire family? That’s fairly straightforward, surely?”
“No. Because if the good guy lets the bastard rape his mistress, the bastard would have even more on him. And then the bastard would come back, demanding more and more.”
“OK,” Frida said with a slight smile. “Then I’d pay a hitman to get rid of the bastard.”
“A bit of realism, maybe?”
“I thought you said it was fiction?”
“Yes, but…”
“The mistress,” Frida said. “I’d let the bastard have the mistress.”
“Thanks,” Krohn said, staring down at the page, fully aware that even the most ingenious formulations about double jeopardy wouldn’t be able to take his mind off Svein Finne tonight. Or Alise. And when he thought of her, on her knees, looking beseechingly up at Johan Krohn with eyes full of tears because he was so big but she was still trying to fit him in her mouth, he knew that option was out of the question. Wasn’t it? What if Harry Hole couldn’t help him? No, even then, he couldn’t do that to Alise. Not only was it morally repugnant, but he loved her! Didn’t he? And now Krohn felt more of a swelling in his heart than his groin. Because what did you do if you loved someone? You took the consequences. You paid the price. If you loved someone, it didn’t matter what it cost. Those were the rules of love, and there was no room for reinterpretation. He could see it so clearly now. So clearly that he had to hurry up before doubt took hold of him again, he had to hurry to tell his wife everything. Absolutely everything about Alise.Alea iacta est. The die is cast. Krohn put the journal down and took a deep breath as he formulated the opening phrases in his head.
“I forgot to say that I caught Simon red-handed today,” Frida said. “He was sitting in his room looking at…well, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Simon?” Krohn said, seeing their firstborn in front of him. “A porn magazine?”
“Almost,” Frida laughed. “Norway’s Laws. Your copy.”
“Oh dear,” Krohn said, as lightheartedly as he could, and swallowed. He looked at his wife as Alise’s image faded away, like in a film. Frida Andresen, now Frida Krohn. Her face was still as pure, as pretty as the first time he had seen it in the lecture hall. Her body was a bit plumper, but the extra kilos had really only given it a more feminine shape.
“I was thinking of making Thai tomorrow, the kids would like that. They’re still going on about Ko Samui. Maybe we could go back there sometime? Sun, warm weather and…” She smiled and let the rest hang in the air.
“Yes,” Johan Krohn said, and swallowed. “Maybe.”
He picked up the journal again and began to read. About double jeopardy.
47
