The Redeemer

'What are you reading?' the detective asked.

Kaspersen shrugged. He could see right away it would be a waste of time telling this policeman about his project.

'Soren Kirkegaard?' said the detective, peering at the spine. 'Schopenhauer. Nietzsche. Philosophy. You're a thinker, are you?'

Espen Kaspersen sniffed. 'I'm trying to find the right path. And that implies thinking about what it is to be human.'

'Isn't that being a thinker?'

Kaspersen observed the man. Perhaps he had misjudged him.

'I was talking to the grocer in Goteborggata,' the detective said. 'He says you sit here every day. And when you're not sitting here, you're begging in the street.'

'This is the life I've chosen, yes.'

The detective took out a notepad, and when asked Espen Kaspersen gave his full name and his address at his great-aunt's in Hagegata.

'And profession?'

'Monk.'

Kaspersen watched with satisfaction as the detective took notes without a murmur.

The detective nodded. 'Well, Espen, you're no drug addict so why do you beg?'

'Because it's my mission to be a mirror for mankind so that they can see which actions are great and which small.'

'And which are great?'

Espen sighed in despair as though weary of repeating the obvious. 'Charity. Sharing and helping your neighbour. The Bible deals with nothing else. In fact, you have to search extremely hard to find anything about sex before marriage, abortion, homosexuality and a woman's right to speak in public. But, of course, it is easier for Pharisees to talk aloud about subordinate clauses than to describe and perform the great actions which the Bible leaves us in no doubt about: you have to give half of what you own to someone who has nothing. People are dying in their thousands every day without hearing the words of God because these Christians will not let go of their earthly goods. I'm giving them a chance to reflect.'

The detective nodded.

Kaspersen was puzzled. 'How did you know by the way that I am not a drug addict?'

'Because I saw you a few days ago in Goteborggata. You were begging and I was walking with a young man who gave you a coin. But you picked it up and threw it at him in a rage. A drug addict would never have done that however insignificant the coin.'

'I remember.'

'And then the same thing happened to me in a bar in Zagreb two days ago, and I began to think. That is, something made me think, but I didn't. Until now.'

'That was one reason I threw the coin,' Kaspersen said.

'That was what suddenly struck me,' Harry said, placing an object in a plastic bag on the table. 'Is this the reason?'

28

Sunday, 21 December. The Kiss.

The press conference was held in the lecture hall on the fourth floor. Gunnar Hagen and the Chief Superintendent were sitting on the podium, their voices reverberating around the large, bare room. Harry had been summoned to attend in case Hagen needed to confer with him over details of the investigation. However, the journalists' questions were mostly about the dramatic shooting incident at the container terminal, and Hagen's answers varied between 'No comment', 'I can't go into that' and 'We'll have to leave SEFO to answer that'.

To the question about whether the police knew if the gunman was in cahoots with anyone, Hagen answered: 'Not for the moment, but this is the subject of intense investigation.'

When the press conference came to an end Hagen called Harry over. As the hall was emptying Hagen went to the edge of the podium and stood looking down at his tall inspector. 'I gave clear instructions that I wanted to see all my inspectors carrying weapons this week. You received a requisition order from me, so where's yours?'

'I've been involved in the investigation and did not prioritise it, boss?'

'Prioritise it.' The words echoed around the hall.

Harry nodded slowly. 'Anything else, boss?'

***

In his office, Harry sat staring at Halvorsen's empty chair. Then he called the passport office on the first floor and asked them to get him a list of passports issued to the Karlsen family. A nasal female voice asked if he was kidding, there being quite a number of Karlsens in Norway, and he gave her Robert's national identity number. Using the national registration office and a medium-fast computer the search was soon narrowed down to Robert, Jon, Josef and Dorthe.

'The parents, Josef and Dorthe, have passports, renewed four years ago. We haven't issued a passport to Jon. And let's see… the machine's a bit slow today… there, yes. Robert Karlsen has a ten-year-old passport which will soon be invalid, so you can tell him to-'

'He's dead.'

Harry dialled Skarre's internal number and asked him to join him at once.

'Nothing,' said Skarre, who by chance or in a sudden fit of tact, sat on the edge of the desk instead of Halvorsen's chair. 'I've checked the Gilstrups' accounts and there is no link anywhere with Robert Karlsen or with Swiss bank accounts. The only unusual transaction was a cash withdrawal of five million kroner, in dollars, from one of the company accounts. I rang Albert Gilstrup and asked, and he said without any hesitation that they were the Christmas bonuses for the harbour masters in Buenos Aires, Manila and Bombay whom Mads visits in December. Quite a business those boys are in.'

'And Robert's account?'

'Incoming wages and minor outgoings throughout.'

'What about calls from the Gilstrups?'

'None to Robert Karlsen. But we came across something else while going through the itemised telephone bills. Guess who rang Jon Karlsen heaps of times and on occasion in the middle of the night?'

'Ragnhild Gilstrup,' Harry said, looking into Skarre's disappointed face. 'Anything else?'

'No,' Skarre said. 'Apart from a familiar number making an appearance. Mads Gilstrup rang Halvorsen the day he was attacked. Unanswered call.'

'I see,' Harry said. 'I want you to check one more account.'

'Whose?'

'David Eckhoff 's.'

'The commander? What shall I look for?'

'Don't quite know. Just do it.'

After Skarre had gone, Harry phoned Forensics. The female pathologist promised without any delay or fuss to fax a photograph of Christo Stankic's body for identification to a number at Hotel International in Zagreb.

Harry thanked her, put down the telephone and dialled the number of the same hotel.

'There's also the question of what to do with the body,' he said when he had been put through to Fred. 'The Croatian authorities don't know anything about a Christo Stankic and therefore have not requested his extradition.'

Ten seconds later he heard her schooled English.

'I would like to suggest another deal,' Harry said.

Klaus Torkildsen in Telenor Operations Centre for the Oslo region had one aim in life: to be left in peace. And since he was very overweight, always perspiring and for the most part grumpy, by and large his wish was fulfilled. With regard to the contact he was forced to have with others, he made sure there was maximum distance. That was why he sat alone a lot, enclosed in a room in the operations section with several hot machines and cooling fans where few, if any, knew exactly what he got up to; all they knew was that he was indispensable. The need for distance may also have been the motivation for him practising indecent exposure and thus on the odd occasion achieving satisfaction with a partner who was five to fifty metres away. However, Klaus Torkildsen's utmost desire was peace. And he had had enough hassle for this week. First it was that Halvorsen who wanted a line to a hotel in Zagreb monitored. Then Skarre needed a list of the conversations between a Gilstrup and a Karlsen. Both had referred to Harry Hole whom Klaus Torkildsen still owed a certain debt of gratitude. And that was the only reason he did not put down the telephone when Harry Hole himself called.