blue lights. Moller waited until they were well out of the others' hearing.
'You don't seem particularly happy that we've caught Ellen's killer,' he said.
'Well, depends what you mean by happy. First of all, we don't know if it is Sverre Olsen yet. The DNA tests -'
'The DNA tests will show it's him. What's up, Harry?'
'Nothing, boss.'
Moller stopped. 'Really?'
Moller inclined his head towards the house.
'Is it because you think Olsen got away too lightly with a quick bullet?'
'I'm telling you, it's nothing!' Harry said with a sudden vehemence. 'Spit it out!' Moller bellowed. 'I just think it's bloody funny.' Moller frowned. 'What's funny?'
An experienced policeman like Waaler…' Harry had lowered his voice. He spoke slowly, stressing every word.'… deciding to take off alone to talk to and possibly arrest a suspect. It breaks all the written and unwritten rules.'
'So what are you saying? That Tom Waaler provoked it? Do you think he made Olsen go for his gun so that he could avenge Ellen's killing? Is that it? Is that why you stood there saying according to Waaler this and according to Waaler that, precisely as if we in the police don't trust a colleague's words? While half the Crime Scene Unit is listening?'
They glared at each other. Moller was almost as tall as Harry.
'I'm just saying it's bloody funny,' Harry said, turning away. 'That's all.'
'That's enough, Harry! I don't know what made you come out here after Waaler or whether you suspected that something was going to happen, but I know that I don't want to hear any more about it. I don't want to hear another damned word insinuating anything. Understood?'
Harry's eyes lingered on the Olsen family's yellow house. It was smaller than the other houses and it didn't have the same high hedge around it as the rest in this quiet-afternoon residential street. The other hedges made this ugly, Eternit-cladded home seem unprotected. The neighbouring houses seemed to be cold-shouldering it. There was the acidic smell of bonfires, and the distant metallic voice of the commentator from Bjerke trotting track came and went with the wind.
Harry shrugged.
'Sorry. I… you know.'
Moller put his hand on his shoulder.
'She was the best. I know that, Harry.'
65
Schroder's. 2 May 2000.
The old man was reading Aftenposten. He was deeply engrossed, studying the form for the trotting races when his attention was caught by the waitress standing by his table.
'Hello,' she said, putting the large glass in front of him. As usual, he didn't answer, merely observed her as she counted his change. Her age was indefinable, but he guessed somewhere between thirty-five and forty. And she looked as if the years had been as hard to her as to the clientele she served. But she had a nice smile. Could knock back a drink or two. She left and he downed the first swig of his beer as his eyes wandered round the room.
He looked at his watch. Then he got up, went over to the coin-operated phones at the back of the room, deposited three one-krone coins, punched in the number and waited. After three rings the phone was picked up.
'Juul.'
'Signe?'
'Yes.'
He could hear from her voice that she was already frightened, she knew who was ringing. This was the sixth time, so perhaps she had worked out the pattern and knew he would ring today.
'This is Daniel,' he said.
'Who is that? What do you want?' Her breath came in quick, successive pants.
'I just told you, it's Daniel. I only want you to repeat what you said years ago. Do you remember?’
‘Please stop this. Daniel is dead.’
‘Until death us do part, Signe. Until death us do part.’
‘I'll phone the police.'
He put down the receiver. Then he donned his hat and coat and walked slowly out into the sunshine. In Sankthanshaugen Park the first buds had appeared. It wouldn't be long now.
66
Dinner. 5 May 2000.
Rakel's laughter penetrated the constant buzz of voices, cutlery and busy waiters in the packed restaurant.
'… and I was almost scared when I saw that there was a message on the answerphone,' Harry said. 'You know that small flashing eye. And then your voice of authority.'
He lowered his voice into a deep key.
'This is Rakel. Dinner at eight on Friday. Don't forget, nice suit and wallet. Helge was scared out of his wits. I had to give him two millet cobs before he calmed down.'
I didn't say that!' she protested between bursts of laughter.
'It was similar.'
'No, it wasn't! And it was your fault. It was the message you've got on your answerphone.'
She tried to find the same deep key: 'This is Hole. Speak to me. That is just so… so…'
'Harry-like?'
'Exactly.'
It had been a perfect dinner, a perfect evening, and now it was time to ruin it, Harry thought.
'Meirik has given me my orders. I have to go to Sweden on an undercover assignment,' he said, fidgeting with his glass of Farris water. 'Six months. I'm leaving after the weekend.’
‘Oh.'
He was surprised when he didn't see a reaction register on her face.
'I rang Sis and my father and told them earlier today,' he went on. 'My father spoke. He even wished me good luck.'
'That's nice.' She gave him a fleeting smile and busied herself with the dessert menu.
'Oleg will miss you,' she said in a low voice.
He looked at her, but couldn't catch her eye.
'And what about you?' he asked.
A wry smile flitted across her face.
'They've got Banana Split a la Szechuan,' she said.
'Order two.'
'I'll miss you too,' she said and her eyes found the next page of the menu.
'How much?' She shrugged.
He repeated the question. And watched her take a breath. She was poised to speak, but let the air out. Then she started again. In the end it came.
'Sorry, Harry, but right now there's only space for one man in my life. A little man of six.'
It felt like having a bucket of freezing cold water poured over your head.
