The Redeemer

She didn't answer.

He smiled. 'I think you're in love with him.'

She raised her fork and pointed it at him as though wanting to emphasise something, but then changed her mind.

'What about you? Have you got a girl back home?'

He shook his head while drinking water from a glass.

'Why not? Too busy working?'

He sprayed water all over the tablecloth. Must be the tension, he thought. That was why he burst into hysterical laughter. She laughed with him.

'Or perhaps you're gay?' she said, wiping away a tear. 'Perhaps you've got a boy back home?'

He laughed even louder. And continued to laugh long after she had stopped speaking.

She served both of them more stew.

'As you like him so much you can have this,' he said, throwing a photo onto the table. It was the one on the hall mirror with Harry, the dark-haired woman and the boy. She picked it up and studied it.

'He looks happy,' she said.

'Perhaps he was having a good time. At that moment.'

'Yes.'

A greyish darkness had seeped in through the window and settled over the room.

'Perhaps he'll have good times again,' she said softly.

'Do you think that's possible?'

'To have good times again? Of course.'

He studied the radio behind her. 'Why are you helping me?'

'I told you, didn't I? Harry wouldn't have helped you and-'

'I don't believe you. There must be something else.'

She shrugged.

'Can you tell me what this says?' he said, unfolding the form he had found in the pile of papers on Harry's coffee table and passing it to her.

She read while he examined Harry's photograph on the ID card from his flat. The policeman was staring above the camera lens and he guessed Harry was looking at the photographer instead of the camera. And he thought that said something about the man in the picture.

'It's a requisition form for something called a Smith amp; Wesson. 38,' Martine said. 'He's been asked to show this form, signed, and collect the gun from Stores at Police HQ.'

He nodded slowly. 'And it has been signed?'

'Yes. By… let me see… Chief Inspector Gunnar Hagen.'

'In other words Harry hasn't collected his gun. And that means he is not dangerous. Right now he is defenceless.'

Martine blinked twice in quick succession.

'What is it you have in mind?'

26

Saturday, 20 December. The Magic Trick.

Thestreet lights went on in Goteborggata.

'OK,' Harry said to Beate. 'So this is where Halvorsen was parked?'

'Yes.'

'They got out. And were attacked by Stankic. Who first shot at Jon fleeing into the flats. And then went for Halvorsen who was moving to get his gun from the car.'

'Yes. Halvorsen was found lying beside the car. We found blood on Halvorsen's coat pockets, trouser pockets and waistband. It isn't his, so we assume it's from Stankic, who must have been searching him. And he took his wallet and mobile phone.'

'Mm,' Harry said, rubbing his chin. 'Why didn't he just shoot Halvorsen? Why use a knife? He didn't need to be quiet; he'd already woken up the neighbourhood when he shot at Jon.'

'We were asking ourselves the same question.'

'And why stab Halvorsen and then flee? The only reason for tackling Halvorsen must be to get him out of the way so that he can grab Jon afterwards. But he doesn't even try.'

'He was disturbed. A car came, didn't it?'

'Yes, but we're talking here about a guy who has stabbed a policeman in broad daylight. Why would he be frightened off by a car coming past? And why use a knife when he already had his gun out?'

'Yes, that's the point.'

Harry closed his eyes. For a long time. Beate stamped her feet on the snow.

'Harry,' she said. 'I want to go. I-'

Harry slowly opened his eyes. 'He'd run out of bullets.'

'What?'

'That was Stankic's last bullet.'

Beate heaved a weary sigh. 'He was a pro, Harry. You don't exactly run out of ammunition, do you?'

'Yes, that's exactly why,' Harry enthused. 'If you have a detailed plan of how you intend to kill a man and you need one or, maximum, two bullets, you don't take a huge ammo supply with you. You have to enter a foreign country, all baggage is X-rayed and you have to hide it somewhere, don't you?'

Beate didn't answer.

Harry went on. 'Stankic fires his last bullet at Jon and misses. So he attacks Halvorsen with a sharp instrument. Why? Well, to get his service revolver off him and chase Jon. That's why there's blood on Halvorsen's waistband. You don't look for a wallet there, you look for a gun. But he doesn't find one because he doesn't know it's in the car. And now Jon has locked himself in the house and Stankic has only a knife. So he gives up and makes a run for it.'

'Great theory,' Beate said with a yawn. 'We could have asked Stankic, but he's dead. So it doesn't matter.'

Harry observed Beate. Her eyes were small and red from lack of sleep. She had been tactful enough not to mention that he stank of recent and not so recent booze. Or wise enough to know there was no point confronting him. But he also understood that at this moment she had no confidence in him.

'What did the witness in the car say?' Harry asked. 'That Stankic made off down the left-hand side of the road?'

'Yes, she watched him in the mirror. Then he fell on the corner. Where we found a Croatian coin.'

He focused on the corner. That was where the beggar with the beard had been standing the last time he had been here. Perhaps he had seen something? But now it was minus twenty-two and no one was around.

'Let's go to Forensics,' Harry said.

Without a word they drove up Toftes gate to Ring 2. Past Ulleval Hospital. They were passing white gardens and English-style brick houses in Sognsveien when Harry broke the silence.

'Pull in.'

'Now? Here?'

'Yes.'

She checked her mirror and did as he said.

'Put the hazard lights on,' Harry said. 'And then concentrate on me. Do you remember the association game I taught you?'

'You mean the one about speaking before you think?'

'Or saying what you think before thinking that you shouldn't think that. Empty your mind.'

Beate closed her eyes. Outside, a family passed them on skis.

'Ready? OK. Who sent Robert Karlsen to Zagreb?'

'Sofia's mother.'

'Mm,' Harry said. 'Where did that come from?'

'No idea,' Beate said, opening her eyes. 'She has no motive as far as we're aware. And she is definitely not the type. Perhaps because she is a Croat like Stankic. My subconscious doesn't have such complicated thoughts.'

'All of that may be correct,' Harry said. 'Apart from the last part about your subconscious. OK. Ask me.'

'Must I ask… aloud?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Just do it,' he said, closing his eyes. 'I'm ready.'

'Who sent Robert Karslen to Zagreb?'

'Nilsen.'

'Nilsen? Who's Nilsen?'

Harry opened his eyes again.

He blinked into the lights of the oncoming traffic, a little dazed. 'I suppose it must be Rikard.'

'Funny game,' Beate said.

'Drive,' Harry said.

Darkness had fallen over Ostgard. The radio on the windowsill jabbered away.

'Is there really no one who can recognise you?' Martine asked.

'There are some who can,' he said. 'But it takes time to learn my face. Not many have taken the time.'

'So it's not about you. It's the others?'

'Maybe. But I don't want them to recognise me. That's… something I do.'

'You flee.'

'No, on the contrary. I infiltrate. I invade. I make myself invisible and sneak into places I want to be.'

'But if no one sees you, what's the point?'

He looked at her in surprise. There was a jingle on the radio and then a woman's voice began to speak with the neutral gravity of a newsreader.