The Redeemer

'There's something called the Police Answering Service,' Torkildsen said in a sulky tone. 'If you go by the book you should ring them if you need help.'

'I know,' Harry said. He didn't need to say any more. 'I've rung Martine Eckhoff four times without getting an answer,' Hole said. 'No one in the Salvation Army knows where she is, not even her father.'

'They're the last to know,' said Klaus, who knew nothing about that kind of thing, but it was the sort of knowledge you could acquire if you were a regular cinema-goer. Or, in Klaus Torkildsen's case, an extremely regular cinema-goer.

'She may have switched off her mobile, but I was wondering whether you could try to locate it for me. So that I know whether she's in town or not, at any rate.'

Torkildsen sighed. A pose, pure and simple, because he adored these little police jobs. Especially when they were of the shady variety.

'May I have her number?'

Fifteen minutes later Klaus rang back to say that her SIM card was definitely not in Oslo. Two base stations, both to the west of the E6 had received signals. He explained where the base stations were, and what range they had. As Hole thanked him and rang off at once, Klaus presumed he had been of some help and returned with relish to the day's cinema screening information.

Jon let himself into Robert's flat.

The walls still smelt of smoke, and there was a dirty T-shirt lying on the floor in front of the cupboard. As though Robert had been in and then popped out to the shop to buy coffee and cigarettes.

Jon put the black bag Mads had given him next to the bed and turned up the radiator. Threw off all his clothes, went into the shower and let the hot water beat down on his skin until it was red and nubbly. He dried himself, left the bathroom, sat down naked on the bed and stared at the bag.

He hardly dared open it. For he knew what was inside, behind the thick, smooth material. Perdition. Death. Jon thought he could smell the stench of decay already. He closed his eyes. He needed to think.

His mobile rang.

Thea must be wondering where he was. He didn't feel like talking to her now. But it kept ringing, insistent and inescapable, like Chinese water torture, and in the end he snatched the phone and said in a voice he could hear was shaking with anger: 'What is it?'

But there was no answer. He read the display but didn't recognise the number. Jon realised it was not Thea calling.

'Hello, this is Jon Karlsen,' he said, guarded.

Still nothing.

'Hello, who is it? Hello, I can hear someone is there. Who… ?'

Panic tiptoed up his spine.

'Hello?' he heard himself say in English. 'Who is this? Is that you? I need to speak to you. Hello!'

There was a click and the connection was cut.

Ridiculous, thought Jon. Probably a wrong number. He swallowed. Stankic was dead. Robert was dead. And Ragnhild was dead. They were all dead. Just the policeman was still alive. And him. He stared at the bag, felt the cold come creeping in and pulled the duvet over him.

After turning off the E6 and driving some way down the narrow roads in the snow-covered rural landscape, Harry looked up and saw the stars were out.

He had a strange trembling feeling that something was going to happen soon. And when he saw a shooting star tear a parabola through the base of the sky ahead of him he thought if omens existed, a planet perishing before his very eyes had to mean something.

He saw light in the windows on the ground floor of Ostgard.

Turning into the drive, he saw the electric car and the feeling that something was looming was reinforced.

He walked towards the house, observing the footprints in the snow. Stood by the door with his ear to it. There was the sound of low voices.

He knocked. Three quick taps. The voices died away.

Then he heard steps and her soft voice. 'Who is it?'

'It's Harry,' he said. 'Hole.' He added the latter so as not to awaken a third party's suspicion that he and Martine Eckhoff had too personal a relationship.

There was some fumbling with the lock, then the door opened.

His first and only thought was that she was pretty. She was wearing a soft, thick, white cotton blouse open at the neck and her eyes were radiant.

'I'm glad,' she laughed.

'I can see,' Harry smiled. 'And I'm glad, too.'

Then her arms were around his neck and he could feel her accelerated pulse.

'How did you find me?' she whispered in his ear.

'Modern technology.'

The heat from her body, the gleam in her eyes, the whole ecstatic welcome gave Harry an unreal sense of happiness, a pleasant dream he, for his part, had no desire to wake from in the immediate future. But he had to.

'Is anyone here?' he asked.

'Er, no…'

'I thought I heard voices.'

'Oh that,' she said, letting him go. 'That was just the radio. I switched it off when I heard the knocking. I got a bit frightened. And then it was you…' She patted him on the arm. 'It was Harry Hole.'

'No one knows where you are, Martine.'

'Wonderful.'

'Some of them are worried.'

'Oh?'

'Especially Rikard.'

'Oh, forget Rikard.' Martine took Harry's hand and led him into the kitchen. She reached down a blue coffee cup from the cupboard. Harry noticed there were two plates and two cups in the sink.

'You don't look that ill to me,' he said.

'I just needed a day off after all that's happened.' She poured and passed him the cup. 'Black, wasn't it?'

Harry nodded. She had the heating on high and he took off his jacket and sweater before sitting at the table.

'But tomorrow it's the Christmas concert and I have to go back,' she sighed. 'Are you coming?'

'Well, I was promised a ticket…'

'Say you're coming!' Then Martine bit her lower lip. 'Oh dear, in fact I had tickets for us in the VIP box. Three rows behind the Prime Minister. But I had to give yours to someone else.'

'That doesn't matter.'

'You would have been left on your own anyway. I have to work back stage.'

'So it really doesn't matter.'

'No!' She laughed. 'I want you to be there.'

She took his hand. Harry looked at her small hand which was squeezing and stroking his large paw. It was so quiet he could hear his blood rushing like a waterfall in his ears.

'I saw a shooting star on the way here,' Harry said. 'Isn't that strange? Seeing the demise of a planet is supposed to bring good luck.'

Martine gave a silent nod. Then she stood up without letting go of Harry's hand, walked round the table and sat astride his lap facing him. Put her hand around his neck.

'Martine…' he began.

'Shh.' She ran her index finger over his lips.

And without taking her finger away she leaned forward and placed her lips gently against his.

Harry closed his eyes and waited, feeling his heart pound, heavy, pleasurable, though he was sitting quite still. It occurred to him he was waiting for her heart to beat in tune with his, but knew for certain only this: he would have to wait. Then he felt her lips part and automatically he opened his mouth and his tongue lay flat in his mouth, against his teeth, ready to receive hers. Her finger had an exciting, bitter taste of soap and coffee that burned the tip of his tongue. Her hand squeezed his neck tighter. Then he felt her tongue. It pressed against his finger so that he had contact on both sides and it made him think it was split, like a snake's tongue. That they were giving each other two half-kisses.