'No.' Harry gave a wry smile. 'A while would have been great. But it's better to say goodbye now than to wait until it hurts.'
'It already hurts, though, Harry.' The first tear rolled.
Had Harry not known what he did about Martine Eckhoff he would have considered it impossible for such a young girl to know what it was to hurt. Instead he reflected on what his mother had once said when she was in hospital. There was only one thing emptier than having lived without love, and that was having lived without pain.
'I'm going now, Martine.'
And so he did. He walked to the car parked by the pavement and banged on the side window. It slid down.
'She's a big girl now,' he said. 'So I'm not sure she needs such close attention any more. I know you'll continue whatever, but I wanted to say that. And wish you a happy Christmas and good luck.'
Rikard seemed to be on the point of saying something, but made do with a nod.
Harry started walking towards the Akerselva. He could already feel that the weather was becoming milder.
Halvorsen was buried on 27 December. It was raining; melted snow ran in fast-flowing streams down the streets and the snow in the cemetery was grey and heavy.
Harry was a coffin-bearer. In front of him was Jack's younger brother. Harry recognised the gait.
Afterwards they gathered in Valkyrien, a popular taproom better known as Valka.
'Come here,' Beate said, taking Harry away from the others and over to a table in the corner. 'Everyone was there,' she said.
Harry nodded. Refraining from saying what was on his mind. Bjarne Moller wasn't there. No one had even heard from him.
'There are a couple of things I have to know, Harry. Since this case has not been solved.'
He looked at her. Her face was pale and lined with grief. He knew she wasn't a teetotaller, but she had Farris mineral water in her glass. Why? he wondered. If he could have stood it, he would have anaesthetised himself with anything he could have got his hands on today.
'The case isn't closed, Beate.'
'Harry, don't you think I've got eyes in my head? The case has been passed over to one dipstick and an incompetent Kripos officer who shift piles of papers and scratch heads they haven't got.'
Harry shrugged.
'But you solved the case, didn't you, Harry? You know what happened; you just don't want to tell anyone.'
Harry sipped his coffee.
'Why, Harry? Why is it so important no one knows?'
'I had decided to tell you,' he said. 'When a bit of time had passed. It wasn't Robert who took out the contract in Zagreb. It was Jon.'
'Jon?' Beate gaped at him in amazement.
Harry told her about the coin and Espen Kaspersen.
'But I had to know for sure,' he said. 'So I did a deal with the only person who could identify Jon as the person who had been in Zagreb. I gave Stankic's mother Jon's mobile phone number. She rang him the evening he raped Sofia. She said that Jon spoke Norwegian at first, but when she didn't answer he spoke English and said 'Is that you?' obviously thinking it was the little redeemer. She rang me afterwards and confirmed it was the same voice that she had heard in Zagreb.'
'Was she absolutely certain?'
Harry nodded. 'The expression she used was "quite sure". Jon had an unmistakable accent, she said.'
'And what was your part of the deal?'
'To make sure her son was not shot dead by our guys.'
Beate took a large swig of Farris as though the information needed to be washed down.
'Did you promise that?'
'I did,' Harry said. 'And here's the bit I was going to tell you. It wasn't Stankic who killed Halvorsen. It was Jon Karlsen.'
She stared at him open-mouthed. Then tears filled her eyes and she whispered with bitterness in her voice: 'Is that true, Harry? Or are you saying that to make me feel better? Because you believe I couldn't have lived with the knowledge that the perpetrator had got away?'
'Well, we have the jackknife that was found under the bed in Robert's flat the day after Jon raped Sofia there. If you ask someone on the q. t. to examine the blood to see if it matches Halvorsen's DNA, I think you'll have peace of mind.'
Beate gazed into her glass. 'I know it says in the report that you were in the toilet and that you didn't see anyone there. Do you know what I think? I think you did see Stankic, but you didn't make a move to stop him.'
Harry didn't answer.
'I think the reason you didn't tell anyone you knew that Jon was guilty was because you didn't want anyone to intervene before Stankic had carried out his mission. To kill Jon Karlsen.' Beate's voice quivered with anger. 'But if you think I'm going to thank you for that, you're wrong.'
She slammed the glass down on the table, and a couple of the others peered over in their direction. Harry kept his mouth shut and waited.
'We're police officers, Harry. We maintain law and order, we don't judge. And you're not my personal bloody redeemer, have you got that?'
Her breathing was laboured and she ran the back of her hand across her cheeks where tears were beginning to flow.
'Have you finished?' asked Harry.
'Yes,' she said with a stubborn glare.
'I don't know all the reasons for why I did what I did,' Harry said. 'The brain is a singular piece of machinery. You may be right. I may have set everything up to happen as it did. But, if that was the case, I want you to know that I didn't do it for your redemption, Beate.' Harry drained his coffee in one swig and stood up. 'I did it for mine.'
In the time between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve the streets were washed clean by the rain, the snow disappeared entirely and when the New Year came with a few degrees below zero and feathery snow, the winter seemed to have been given a new and better start. Oleg had received slalom skis for Christmas and Harry took him up to the Wyller downhill slope and started with plough turns. On the way home in the car after the third day on the slope Oleg asked Harry if they couldn't do the gates soon.
Harry saw Lund-Helgesen's car parked in front of the garage so he dropped Oleg at the bottom of the drive, headed home, lay on the sofa staring at the ceiling and listened to records. Old ones.
In the second week of January Beate announced that she was pregnant. She would be giving birth to her and Halvorsen's baby in the summer. Harry thought back and wondered how blind you could be.
Harry had a lot of time to think in January as the part of humanity that lives in Oslo had decided to take a break from killing each other. So he considered whether to let Skarre move in with him in 605, the Clearing House. He considered what he should do with the rest of his life. And he considered whether you ever found out if you had made the right decisions while you were still alive.
It was the end of February before Harry bought a plane ticket to Bergen.
In the town of the seven mountains it was still autumn and snowfree, and on Floien mountain Harry had the impression that the cloud enveloping them was the same as on the previous visit. He found him at a table in Floien Folkerestaurant.
'I was told this is where you sit at the moment,' Harry said.
'I've been waiting,' said Bjarne Moller, drinking up. 'You took your time.'
They went outside and stood by the railing at the lookout point. Moller seemed even paler and thinner than last time. His eyes were clear, but his face was bloated and his hands trembled. Harry guessed it was because of pills rather than alcohol.
'I didn't understand what you meant by straight away,' Harry said. 'When you said I should follow the money.'
'Wasn't I right?'
'Yes,' Harry said. 'You were right. But I thought you were talking about my case. Not about you.'
'I was talking about all cases, Harry.' The wind blew long strands of hair in and out of Moller's face. 'By the way, you didn't tell me if Gunnar Hagen was pleased with the outcome of your case. Or, to be more precise, the lack of outcome.'