Nemesis Read Online Free Page B

were playing cow-punk. Green on Red. Jason and the Scorchers. He poured Jim Beam into his Coke and didn’t give a stuff what her name was. Thenext night, though, he knew. When they were in the bed adorned with a ship’s figurehead, a headless horse, had cast off all the moorings and set out on their maiden voyage. Harry felt the warmth in his belly from the evening before when he had heard her voice on the telephone.
    Then the other film took over.
    The old man had begun his trek across the floor towards the counter, filmed from a different camera every five seconds.
    ‘Thorkildsen at TV2,’ Beate Lønn said.
    ‘No, it’s August Schulz,’ Harry said.
    ‘I mean the editing,’ she said. ‘It looks like Thorkildsen’s handiwork at TV2. There are a few tenths missing here and there . . .’
    ‘Missing? How can you see . . . ?’
    ‘Number of things. Follow the background. The red Mazda you can make out in the street outside was in the centre of the picture on two cameras when the picture shifted. An object can’t be in two places at the same time.’
    ‘Do you mean someone has bodged the recording?’
    ‘Not at all. Everything on the six cameras inside and the one outside is recorded on the same tape. On the original tape the picture jumps quickly from one camera to another and all you see is a flicker. So the film has to be edited to get longer coherent sequences. Occasionally we call in people from the TV stations when we don’t have the capacity. TV editors like Thorkildsen fiddle with the time code to improve the quality of the recording, not as jagged. Professional neurosis, I guess.’
    ‘Professional neurosis,’ Harry repeated. It struck him that was a strangely middle-aged thing for a young girl to say. Or perhaps she wasn’t as young as he had first thought? Something had happened to her as soon as the lights were off. The silhouetted body language was more relaxed, her voice firmer.
    The robber entered the bank and shouted in English. His voice sounded distant and muffled, it seemed to be wrapped in a duvet.
    ‘What do you think about this?’ Harry asked.
    ‘Norwegian. He speaks English so that we won’t recognise his dialect, accent or any characteristic words we might be able to link to earlier robberies. He’s wearing smooth clothes which don’t leave fibres we might be able to trace in getaway cars, bolt-holes or his house.’
    ‘Mm. Any more?’
    ‘All the openings in his clothes are taped over so he won’t leave any traces of DNA. Like hair or sweat. You can see his trouser legs are taped round his boots, and the sleeves round his gloves. I would guess he has tape round his head and wax on his eyebrows.’
    ‘A pro then?’
    She shrugged. ‘Eighty per cent of bank raids are planned less than a week in advance and are carried out by people under the influence of alcohol or drugs. This one was thought through and the robber doesn’t appear to be on anything.’
    ‘How can you make that out?’
    ‘If we’d had better light and cameras, we’d have been able to magnify the pictures and see his pupils. But we don’t, so I go by his body language. Calm, considered movements, can you see that? If he was on anything, it wasn’t speed or any kind of amphetamine. Rohypnol, perhaps. That’s the popular one.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Robbing a bank is an extreme experience. You don’t need speed, just the opposite. Last year someone went into Den norske Bank in Solli plass with an automatic weapon, peppered the ceiling and walls and ran out again without any money. He told the judge that he’d popped so much amphetamine that he just had to get it out of his system. I prefer criminals who take Rohypnol, if I may put it like that.’
    Harry motioned with his head to the screen. ‘Look at Stine Grette’s shoulder at position number 1; she’s pressing the alarm. And the sound on the recording is suddenly much better. Why?’
    ‘The alarm is connected to the recording device, and when