'You're kidding,' Harry said.
'No. Nice brown sugar.'
'I meant the snapping. Is it true?'
'Absolutely. He did it all the time. During mealtimes, when we were watching TV, even when my pals were there. In the end I started doing it to myself. I wrote Yashin on all my school bags and carved his name into my desk. Even now I always use Yashin as my password on computer programs or anything that needs one. Despite knowing that I am being manipulated. Do you understand?'
'No. Did the snapping help?'
'Yes, I'm not afraid of shots coming at me.'
'So you…'
'No. Turned out I had no ball sense.'
Harry pinched his top lip between two fingers.
'Can you see anything in the pictures?' Halvorsen asked.
'Not when you're sitting there snapping your fingers. And talking.'
Halvorsen gave a slow shake of the head. 'Shouldn't we be on our way to the Salvation Army Headquarters?'
'When I've finished. Halvorsen!'
'Yes?'
'Do you have to breathe so… weirdly?'
Halvorsen clamped his mouth shut and held his breath. Harry's eyes shot up, and back down again. Halvorsen thought he caught a hint of a smile. But he wouldn't have put money on it. Now the smile was gone, replaced by a deep furrow in the inspector's brow.
'Come and have a look at this, Halvorsen.'
Halvorsen walked round the desks. There were two photographs in front of Harry, both of the crowds in Egertorget.
'Can you see the man with the woollen hat and neckerchief at the side?' Harry pointed to a grainy face. 'He's right in line with Robert Karlsen on the very edge of the band, isn't he?'
'Yes…'
'But look at this picture. There. The same hat and the same neckerchief, but now he's in the middle, right in front of the band.'
'Is that so strange? He must have moved to the middle to hear and see better.'
'But what if he did that in reverse order?' Halvorsen didn't answer, so Harry went on. 'You don't change a place at the front for somewhere by the speaker where you can't see the band. Unless you have a good reason.'
'To shoot someone?'
'Cut the flippancy.'
'OK, but you don't know which photo was taken first. I bet he moved to the middle.'
'How much?'
'Two hundred.'
'Done. Look at the light under the lamp post. It's in both photos.' Harry passed Halvorsen a magnifying glass. 'Can you see any difference?'
Halvorsen nodded slowly.
'Snow,' Harry said. 'On the photo with him at the side it's snowing. When it started in the evening, yesterday, it didn't stop until well into the night. So that photo was taken later. We'll have to call that Wedlog guy from Dagbladet. If he was using a digital camera with an internal clock, he may have the precise time the photo was taken.'
Hans Wedlog, from Dagbladet, was one of those who swore by singlelens reflex cameras and rolls of film. Hence, as far as the timing of individual photos was concerned, he had to disappoint the inspector.
'OK,' Hole said. 'Did you cover the concert last night?'
'Yes, Rodberg and I do all the street-music stuff.'
'If you use rolls of film, you must have crowd shots lying around somewhere, haven't you?'
'Yes, I have. And I wouldn't have if I used a digital camera. They would have been deleted already.'
'That's what I was wondering. I was also wondering whether you would do me a favour.'
'Uh-huh?'
'Could you check your film from the day before yesterday to see if you can find a guy with a woollen hat and a black raincoat? And a neckerchief. We're poring over one of your photos right now. Halvorsen can scan it in and send it to you if you're near a computer.'
Harry could hear Wedlog had reservations. 'I can send you the photos, no problem, but checking them sounds like police work, and as a press guy I don't want to get any lines crossed here.'
'We're a bit short on time, I'm afraid. Would you like a photo of the police suspect or not?'
'Does that mean you would let us print it?'
'Yep.'
Wedlog's voice warmed up. 'I'm in the lab now, so I can check right away. I took loads of pictures of the crowd, so there's hope. Five minutes.'
Halvorsen scanned the photo in and sent it, and Harry sat drumming his fingers while they waited.
'What makes you so sure he was there the evening before?' Halvorsen asked.
'I'm not sure of anything,' Harry said. 'But if Beate is right and he is a pro, he would have done a recce, and preferably at a time when conditions were as similar to those of the planned hit as possible. And there was a street concert the day before.'
The five minutes came and went. Eleven minutes later the phone rang.
'Wedlog here. Sorry, no woolly hats and no black raincoats. And no neckerchief.'
'Fuck,' Harry said, loud and clear.
'Apologies. Shall I send them over so that you can check them for yourself? I had the lights focused on the audience that night. You'll have a better view of the faces.'
Harry hesitated. It was important to prioritise how time was allocated, especially in these critical first twenty-four hours.
'Send them and we'll look at them later,' Harry said, on the point of giving Wedlog his email address. 'By the way, better if you send them to Lonn at Krimteknisk. She's got a thing about faces. Perhaps she can see something.' He gave Wedlog the address. 'And I don't want my name mentioned in the byline, OK?'
'Course not. It'll be an 'anonymous source in the police force'. Nice to do business with you.'
Harry put down the receiver and nodded to a wide-eyed Halvorsen. 'OK, Junior, let's head for the Salvation Army HQ.'
Halvorsen glanced over at Harry. The inspector was unable to conceal his impatience as he scanned the noticeboard and the announcements about visiting preachers, music rehearsals and duty rosters. At length the uniformed, grey-haired reception lady was finished with incoming phone calls and turned to them with a smile.
Harry told her the purpose of their visit in swift, concise terms. She nodded as though she had been expecting them and gave them directions.
They didn't speak as they waited for the lift, but Halvorsen could see the beads of sweat on the inspector's brow. He knew Harry didn't like lifts. They got out on the fourth floor and Halvorsen followed Harry at a canter through the yellow corridors culminating in an open office door. Harry came to such an abrupt halt that Halvorsen almost crashed into him.
'Hello there,' Harry said.
'Hi,' said a woman's voice. 'Is it you again?'
Harry's sizeable figure filled the doorway and prevented Halvorsen from seeing who was speaking, but he noted the change in Harry's voice. 'Indeed it is. The commander?'
'He's waiting for you. Just go in.'
Halvorsen followed Harry through the small anteroom, with a quick nod to a small girl-woman behind a desk. The walls of the commander's office were decorated with wooden shields, masks and spears. On the well-stacked bookshelves were carved African figures and pictures of what Halvorsen supposed were the commander's
