Jo Nesbo - The Son

‘It matters because it’s your turn to choose now, Sonny. Do you insert that needle? Or do you help me get the Twin? And the real mole?’

A drop glistened at the tip of the needle. From the street came the sound of traffic and laughter, from the neighbouring room quiet pillow talk. The calm summer pulse of the city.

‘I’ll set up a meeting where both the Twin and the mole will be present. But I can’t do it unless you’re alive, you’re the bait.’

The boy didn’t appear to have heard him, he had bowed his head and was practically curling around the syringe, getting ready for the high. Simon braced himself. And was surprised when he heard the boy’s voice:

‘Who is he, the mole?’

Simon felt a pain in his chest and realised that he had forgotten to breathe.

‘You’ll find out if you turn up, not before. I know what you’re going through, Sonny. But there is always a point where things can no longer be put off, where you can’t be weak one more day and promise yourself that tomorrow, tomorrow you will start that other life.’

Sonny shook his head. ‘There won’t be another life.’

Simon stared at the syringe. And that was when he realised. It was an overdose.

‘Do you want to die without knowing, Sonny?’

The boy raised his gaze from the syringe and up to Simon.

‘Look where knowing has got me, Kefas.’

‘Is this it?’ Asmund Bjornstad asked as he leaned across the steering wheel. He read the sign above the entrance. ‘The Bismarck Hotel?’

‘Yes,’ Kari said and undid her seat belt.

‘And you’re sure this is where he is?’

‘Simon wanted to know which hotels in Kvadraturen had guests paying cash. I guessed that he must know something, so I called the six hotels and sent them pictures of Sonny Lofthus.’

‘And got a hit with the Bismarck?’

‘The receptionist confirmed that the man in the picture is staying in room 216. He also said that a police officer had already been there and had accessed the room. That the hotel had done a deal with the police officer which he expected us to honour.’

‘Simon Kefas?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘All right, we’d better get going.’ Asmund Bjornstad picked up the police radio and pressed the talk button. ‘Delta, come in.’

The loudspeaker crackled. ‘Delta here. Over.’

‘I give you permission to enter. It’s room 216.’

‘Received. We’re going in. Over and out.’

Bjornstad put down the police radio.

‘What are their orders?’ Kari said, sensing how tight her shirt felt.

‘To prioritise their own safety, shoot to kill if necessary. Where are you going?’

‘To get some fresh air.’

Kari crossed the street. In front of her ran police officers dressed in black and holding MP5 machine guns; some went into the hotel’s reception, some into the yard where the back stairs and the fire exit were located. She walked through reception and was halfway up the stairs when she heard the crash of a door being smashed in and the dull bang of stun grenades. She continued up the stairs and along the corridor and heard the crackling of police radios: ‘The area is cleared and secured.’

She turned into the room.

Four police officers: one in the bathroom, three in the bedroom. All wardrobes and windows opened. No one else. No possessions left behind. The guest had checked out.

Markus was sitting on his haunches, looking for frogs in the grass when he saw the Son come out of the yellow house and walk towards him. The afternoon sun hung so low over the roof that when the Son stopped in front of Markus, it looked as if it was shining out of his head. He was smiling, and Markus was pleased that he no longer looked as miserable as he had earlier that day.

‘It was nice meeting you, Markus.’

‘Are you going now?’

‘Yes, I have to.’

‘Why do you always have to go?’ he burst out before he could stop himself.

The Son squatted down as well and put his hand on Markus’s shoulder. ‘I remember your father, Markus.’

‘You do?’ Markus said, sounding unconvinced.

‘Yes. And no matter what your mother might say or think, he was always nice to me. Once he chased away a huge bull elk that had strayed from the forest and come into the neighbourhood.’

‘He did?’

‘Single-handedly.’

Then Markus saw a strange sight. Behind the Son’s head, in the open bedroom window in the yellow house, the thin white curtains billowed out. Even though there was no wind at all. The Son got up, ruffled Markus’s hair and started walking down the road. Swinging a briefcase as he whistled. Something caught Markus’s eye, and he turned towards the house again. The curtains were on fire. And now he saw that the other windows were also open. All of them.

A bull elk, Markus thought. My father chased away a bull elk.

The house made a noise as if it was sucking in air. The sound took on rumbling undertones and then singing overtones that gained strength and turned into menacing, triumphant music. And how they jumped and twirled behind the black windows now, the yellow ballerinas already celebrating the downfall, Judgement Day.

Simon put the car in neutral and let the engine idle.

Further down the street, outside his house, was another car. A new, blue Ford Mondeo. Tinted windows at the back. An identical model had been parked outside the Eye Unit at the hospital. It could be a coincidence, of course, but he knew that Oslo Police had purchased eight Ford Mondeos last year. With tinted windows at the back so that you couldn’t see the flashing blue light that was kept behind the rear headrest.

Simon grabbed the mobile lying on the passenger seat.

The call was answered before the phone had rung twice.

‘What do you want?’

‘Hello, Pontius. It must be very frustrating for you that my phone keeps moving.’

‘Stop this lunacy now, Simon, and I promise you it won’t have consequences.’

‘None at all?’

‘Not if you call it off now. Do we have a deal?’

‘You always wanted to do deals, Pontius. Well, I’ve got a deal for you. Turn up at a restaurant tomorrow morning.’

‘What’s on the menu?’

‘A couple of criminals whose arrest will be a feather in your cap.’

‘Be more specific?’

‘No. But I will give you an address and a time if you promise to bring only one person. My colleague, Kari Adel.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘Are you trying to set me up, Simon?’

‘Have I ever? Remember, you stand to win a great deal. Or more accurately: you have a lot to lose if you let these people get away.’

‘Do I have your word that we’re not walking into an ambush?’

‘Yes. Do you think I would let anything happen to Kari?’

Pause.

‘No. No, you never had that in you, Simon.’

‘I guess that’s why I never made it to Commissioner.’

‘Very funny. When and where?’

‘Seven fifteen. Aker Brygge, number 86. See you there.’

Simon opened the side window, tossed out the phone and saw it disappear over a neighbouring fence. In the distance he could hear the sound of fire engines.

Then he put the car in gear and revved the engine.

He drove westwards. At Smestad he took the exit to Holmenkollasen. Zigzagged up to the viewpoint that had always given him a sense of perspective.

The Honda had been removed by now and the CSOs had finished their work.

After all, it was no longer a crime scene.

Not for a murder, anyway.

Simon parked the car so that he had a view of the fjord and the sunset.

As it started to grow dark, Oslo began to look more and more like a dying fire with glowing red and yellow embers. Simon pulled up the collar on his coat and reclined the seat. He had to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow was a big day.