Free Harry Hole 02 - Cockroaches by Jo Nesbø

hopeless task.
    ‘I can’t see his mobile phone,’ Harry said.
    ‘As I mentioned – he always carried it with him.’
    ‘We didn’t find a mobile at the crime scene. And I don’t think the murderer was a thief.’
    Tonje Wiig shrugged. ‘Perhaps some of your Thai colleagues “confiscated” it?’
    Harry chose not to respond and instead asked if anyone had rung him at the embassy on the day in question. She was doubtful, but promised to look into it. Harry had a last look around the room.
    ‘Who was the last person to see Molnes in the embassy?’
    She tried to recall. ‘It must have been Sanphet, the chauffeur. He and the ambassador were very good friends. He’s taken this badly, so I gave him a few days off.’
    ‘Why wasn’t he driving the ambassador on the day of the murder, if he’s a chauffeur?’
    She shrugged again. ‘I wondered the same. The ambassador didn’t like driving in Bangkok on his own.’
    ‘Mm. What can you tell me about the chauffeur?’
    ‘Sanphet? He’s been here for as long as anyone can remember. He’s never been to Norway, but he can reel off all the towns. And the kings. Yes, and he loves Grieg. I don’t know if he has a record player at home, but I think he has all the records. He’s such a sweet old man.’
    She angled her head and revealed her gums.
    Harry asked if she knew where he could find Hilde Molnes.
    ‘She’s at home. Dreadfully upset, I’m afraid. I think I would advise you to wait a bit before you talk to her.’
    ‘Thank you for your advice, frøken Wiig, but waiting is a luxury we cannot afford. Would you be so kind as to ring her and tell her I’m on my way?’
    ‘I understand. Sorry.’
    ‘Where are you from, frøken Wiig?’
    Tonje Wiig looked at him in surprise. Then she gave a strained chuckle. ‘Is this supposed to be an interrogation, Hole?’
    Harry didn’t answer.
    ‘If you absolutely have to know, I grew up in Fredrikstad.’
    ‘That’s what I thought I could hear,’ he said with a wink.
    The spry woman in reception was leaning back in her chair and holding a bottle of perfume to her nose. When Harry discreetly cleared his throat she gave a start and laughed in embarrassment with her eyes full of water.
    ‘Sorry, the air in Bangkok is very bad,’ she explained.
    ‘I’ve noticed. Could you give me the chauffeur’s telephone number?’
    She shook her head and snorted. ‘He hasn’t got a telephone.’
    ‘OK. Has he got a place to live?’
    It was meant as a joke, but he could see from her face that she didn’t appreciate it. She wrote down the address and gave him a tiny parting smile.

9
    Saturday 11 January
    A SERVANT WAS standing at the door as Harry walked up the drive to the ambassador’s residence. He led Harry through two large rooms, tastefully furnished in cane and teak, to the terrace door, which opened onto the garden behind the house. The orchids sparkled in yellow and blue, and butterflies fluttered past like coloured paper under large willow trees offering shade. They found the ambassador’s wife, Hilde Molnes, by an hourglass-shaped swimming pool. She was sitting in a wicker chair wearing a pink robe, a matching drink on the table in front of her, and sunglasses which covered half her face.
    ‘You must be Detective Hole,’ she said in a Sunnmøre accent. ‘Tonje said you were on your way. A drink, Detective?’
    ‘No, thank you.’
    ‘Oh, you must. It’s important to drink in this heat, you know. Think of your liquid levels even if you aren’t thirsty. Here you can dehydrate before your body tells you.’
    She removed her sunglasses, and Harry saw, as he had guessed from her raven-black hair and dark skin, that she had brown eyes. They were lively but red-rimmed. Grief or the preprandial drink, Harry thought. Or both.
    He estimated her age at mid-forties, but she was well kept. A middle-aged, slightly faded beauty from the upper-middle classes. He had seen them before.
    He sat down in the other wicker chair,