bedroom window looking at the fjord, the islands in it, and listen to the birds singing and… do you understand?… Then you don't want to go anywhere.'
Moller watched a ladybird crawling up his thigh.
'What I wanted to say is that we would like to keep things as they are, Harry.'
'And what things are we talking about?'
'Did you know that no American president in the last twenty years has lasted the full term without at least ten attempts on his life being uncovered? And that all the perpetrators without exception were arrested without anything coming to the ears of the media? No one profits from plans to assassinate a head of state becoming public knowledge, Harry. Especially not ones which could have succeeded, theoretically speaking.'
'Theoretically, boss?'
'Not my words. But the conclusion is, nevertheless, that we keep a lid on this. We don't want to sow instability. Or reveal weaknesses in the security system. Those aren't my words, either. Assassinations are contagious, just like…'
I know what you mean,' Harry said, expelling smoke through his nose. 'Primarily we're doing this for those sitting in positions of power, aren't we? People who could have and should have sounded the alarm before.'
'As I said,' Moller replied. 'On some days Bergen seems like a handsome alternative.'
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. A bird strutted in front of them, wagged its tail, pecked at the grass and kept a watchful eye open.
'Wagtail,' Harry said. 'Motacilla alba. Cautious chap.’
‘What?'
'Our Small Birds. What shall we do about the murders Gudbrand Johansen committed?'
'We cleared up all the early murders to our satisfaction, didn't we?’
‘What do you mean?'
Moller squirmed.
'The only thing we'll achieve by stirring up things now is ripping open old wounds for the next of kin, and there's a risk someone will poke around and dig up the whole story. The cases were dosed.'
'Right. Even Juul. And Sverre Olsen. What about the murder of Hallgrim Dale?'
'No one will kick up a fuss about him. After all, Dale was a… er…'
'Just an old piss artist no one would give a toss about?'
'Please, Harry, don't make this more difficult than it already is. You know I'm not happy with this, either.'
Harry stubbed out his cigarette on the armrest of the bench and put the cigarette end back in the packet.
'I have to go in again, boss.'
'So we can count on you keeping this to yourself?'
Harry gave a laconic smile.
'Is it true what I've heard? About the person who wants to take over my job in POT?'
'Absolutely,' Moller said. 'Tom Waaler has said he'll apply. Meirik wants to make the whole neo-Nazi section part of the job description, so it'll become a kind of springboard for the top jobs. I'm going to recommend him, by the way. I suppose you're just happy he's going to disappear now you're back in Crime Squad? Now that his inspector post with us will become vacant.'
'So that's the reward for keeping my mouth shut?'
'What on earth makes you think that, Harry? It's because you're the best. You've proved it yet again, haven't you? I'm just wondering whether we can rely on you.'
'You know which job I want to work on?'
Moller rolled his shoulders.
'Ellen's murder has been cleared up, Harry'
'Not quite,' he said. 'There are a couple of details we still don't know. Among other things, what happened to the 200,000 Norwegian kroner for the purchase of the rifle. Perhaps there were several middlemen.'
Moller nodded.
'OK. You and Halvorsen have two months. If you don't find anything, the case is closed.’
‘Fair enough.' Moller stood up to go.
'There's just one thing I've been wondering, Harry. How did you guess the password was 'Oleg'?'
'Well, Ellen was always telling me that the first thing that came into her mind was almost invariably right.'
'Impressive.' Moller nodded his head in appreciation. 'And so the first thing that came into your mind was the name of his grandchild?'
'No.'
'No?'
'I'm not Ellen. I had to give it some thought.'
Moller sent him a sharp look.
Are you teasing me now, Hole?'
Harry smiled. Then he gestured towards the wagtail.
'I read in the bird book I mentioned that no one knows why wagtails wag their tails when they stand still. It's a mystery. The only thing we know is that they can't stop…'
106
Police HQ. 19 May 2000.
Harry had just placed his feet on the desk and found the perfect sitting position when the telephone rang. So as not to lose his position, he stretched forward while using his backside muscles to balance on the new office chair with the treacherous well-oiled wheels. He was able to reach the phone with the tips of his fingers. 'Hole.'
'Harry? Isaiah Burne in Johannesburg speaking. How are you?'
'Isaiah? This is a surprise.'
'Is it? I'm ringing to thank you, Harry'
'Thank me for what?'
'For not starting anything?'
'Starting what?'
'You know what I mean, Harry. For not starting any diplomatic moves for a reprieve or anything like that.'
Harry didn't answer. He had been half expecting this call for a while. The sitting position wasn't comfortable any longer. Andreas Hochner's begging eyes were suddenly present. And Constance Hochner's imploring voice: Do you promise to do what you can, Mr Hole?
'Harry?'
'I'm still here.'
'The sentence was passed yesterday.'
Harry stared at the picture of Sis on the wall. It had been an unusually warm summer that year, hadn't it? They had gone swimming even when it was raining. He felt an inexpressible sadness wash over him.
'Death penalty?' he heard himself ask.
'With no right of appeal.'
107
Schroder's. 2 June 2000.
'What are you doing this summer, Harry?' Maja was counting up the change.
