‘The deadline’s eleven o’clock.’
‘We’ll see,’ Harry said.
Roger Gjendem stood still with a puzzled expression on his face as Rakel went up the steps with Harry’s warm fingers back in position.
A man with a large beard was standing by the entrance smiling at them through tear-stained eyes. Rakel recognised the face from the newspapers. It was Wilhelm Barli.
‘I’m so glad to see that you’re here together,’ he boomed and opened his arms. Harry hesitated, but was caught.
‘You must be Rakel.’
Wilhelm Barli twinkled at her over Harry’s shoulder as he hugged the tall man like a teddy bear he had lost and found again.
‘What was that?’ Rakel asked when they had found their seats in the fourth row.
‘Male affection,’ Harry said. ‘He’s arty.’
‘Not that. All that stuff about you not being a policeman.’
‘I did my last day’s work as a policeman yesterday.’
She stared at him. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I did say something. In the garden that time.’
‘And what are you going to do now?’
‘Something else.’
‘What then?’
‘Something completely different. A friend has made me an offer and I have accepted. I hope I’m going to have better times. I can tell you more about it later.’
The curtain went up.
There was a roar of applause as the curtain fell and it continued with undiminished vigour for almost ten minutes.
The actors came out and went back in consistently new formations until there were no rehearsed moves left and they just stood and received the applause. Shouts of ‘Bravo’ reverberated around whenever Toya Harang stepped forward to bow yet again, and in the end everyone who had had any connection with the performance was called up onto the stage and Toya was embraced by Wilhelm Barli, and tears were flowing both in the cast and in the audience.
Even Rakel had to take out her handkerchief as she squeezed Harry’s hand.
‘You look weird,’ Oleg said from the back seat. ‘Is something up or what?’
Rakel and Harry twisted their heads round in unison.
‘Are you friends again? Is that it?’
Rakel smiled. ‘We’ve never fallen out, Oleg.’
‘Harry?’
‘Yes, boss?’ Harry looked in the mirror.
‘Does that mean that we can go to the cinema again soon? To see boys’ films?’
‘Maybe. If it’s a decent boys’ film.’
‘Oh yes,’ Rakel said. ‘And what will I do?’
‘You can play with Olav and Sis,’ Oleg enthused. ‘It’s really cool, Mummy. Olav taught me how to play chess.’
Harry swung into the drive and pulled up in front of the house. He let the engine idle. Rakel gave Oleg the house key and let him out. They watched him as he sprinted across the gravel.
‘My God, how he’s grown,’ Harry said.
Rakel rested her head against Harry’s shoulder. ‘Are you coming in?’
‘Not now. There’s one last thing I have to do at work.’
She stroked his face with her hand. ‘You can come later. If you’d like.’
‘Mm. Have you thought this through, Rakel?’
She sighed, closed her eyes and nestled the top of her head against his shoulder.
‘No. And yes. It feels a bit like jumping out of a burning house. Falling is better than burning.’
‘At least until you land.’
‘I’ve come to realise that falling and living have certain things in common. For a start, both are very temporary states of being.’
They sat in silence looking at each other while listening to the irregular rhythm of the engine. Then Harry put a finger under Rakel’s chin and kissed her. She had the feeling that she was losing her grip, losing her balance, and her composure, and there was only one thing she could cling on to, and he made her burn and fall at the same time.
She didn’t know how long they had been kissing when he gently freed himself from her embrace.
‘I’ll leave the door open,’ she whispered.
She should have known it was stupid.
She should have known it was dangerous.
But she hadn’t thought for weeks. She was tired of thinking.
33
Sunday Night. Joseph’s Blessing.
There were almost no cars and no people in the car park outside the custody block.
Harry switched off the ignition and the engine died with a death rattle.
He checked his watch: 23.10. Fifty minutes left.
The echo of his footsteps rebounded off Telje, Torp amp; Aasen’s exterior brick walls.
Harry took two deep breaths before he entered.
There was no-one behind the reception desk and there was total silence in the room. He detected a movement to his right. The back of a chair rotated slowly in the duty office. Harry caught sight of half a face with a liver-coloured scar running down like a tear from an eye staring blankly at him. Then the chair returned to its former position and turned its back on him.
Groth. He was alone. Strange. Or perhaps not.
Harry found the key to cell number nine behind the reception desk to the left. Then he walked to the cells. There were voices coming from the warders’ room, but conveniently enough number nine was situated so that he didn’t have to pass it.
Harry put the key into the lock and turned. He waited for a second; he could hear a movement inside. Then he pulled open the door.
The man staring up at him from the bunk didn’t look like a killer. Harry knew that didn’t mean a thing. Sometimes they looked like what they were; sometimes they didn’t.
This one was good-looking, clean cut, solidly built, short dark hair and blue eyes that may once have been like his mother’s, but over the years had become his own. Harry would soon be 40, Sven Sivertsen was over 50. Harry felt sure that most people would have guessed the other way round.
Sivertsen, for one reason or another, was wearing the red prison working trousers and jacket.
‘Good evening, Sivertsen. I’m Inspector Hole. Would you mind standing up and turning round.’
Sivertsen raised an eyebrow. Harry dangled the handcuffs in front of him.
‘It’s the rules.’
Sivertsen got up without a word, and Harry clicked the handcuffs into place and pushed him back down on the bunk.
There were no chairs to sit on in the cell. There was no personal property that could be used to harm yourself or others. In here the state had a monopoly on punishment. Harry leaned against the wall and pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.
‘You’ll set off the smoke alarm,’ Sivertsen said. ‘They’re extremely sensitive.’
