Jo Nesbo - The Devil's star

Otto listened. It sounded like a terrific assignment. Since there were obviously a lot of flats near the target, he suspected that they were after a big fish. And at this moment in time there was only one fish that big in the water.

‘Is this the courier case?’ he asked, sitting up carefully in bed so that it didn’t sink in the middle. He should have bought another bed. He wasn’t sure whether his constant procrastination was due primarily to his economic circumstances or to sentimentality. Whatever the reason, if this conversation fulfilled the promise it held, he would soon be able to afford a decent, solid, bespoke bed. One of those round ones perhaps. And then maybe he would try a fresh assault on Aud-Rita. Nils weighed 135 kilos now, and he looked revolting.

‘It’s urgent,’ Waaler said without answering his question, which was a good enough answer for Otto. ‘I want everything set up tonight.’

Otto laughed out loud.

‘You want the stairwell, the lift and various corridors running through a building of four floors covered for sound and image set up in one night? Sorry, chum, that’s not on.’

‘This is a high-priority special case and we have set aside -’

‘N-O-T-O-N. Capisce? ’

The thought made Otto chortle and the bed began to sway.

‘If it’s so urgent we can start tonight, Waaler. Then I can promise you that it’ll be finished by Monday morning.’

‘I see,’ Waaler said. ‘Apologies for my naivety.’

Had Otto been as skilful at interpreting voices as he was at recording them, he would perhaps have detected from Waaler’s intonation that his spelling things out had not gone down well with the inspector. However, right now he was more preoccupied with talking down the urgency and talking up the number of hours the job would take.

‘Fine, now we’re more or less on the same wavelength,’ Otto said, looking for his socks under the bed. But all he could see were dustballs and empty beer cans.

‘I’ll have to add on an extra fee for working evenings. And the weekend, of course.’

Beer! Perhaps he should buy a crate and invite Aud-Rita to celebrate getting the job? Or – if she couldn’t – Nils.

‘And a little advance for the equipment I’ll have to hire. I don’t have all of this on tap.’

‘No,’ Waaler said. ‘It’s probably in Stein Astrup’s barn in Asker.’

Otto Tangen almost dropped the receiver.

‘Oh dear,’ Waaler said softly and sarcastically. ‘Did I touch a raw nerve? Something you forgot to declare? Some equipment sent by boat from Rotterdam?’

The bed collapsed on the floor with a crash.

‘You can have a few of our guys to help you set up,’ Waaler said. ‘Tuck your gut into a pair of trousers, get your superbus into gear and meet me at my office for a briefing and a run-through of the drawings.’

‘I… I…’

‘… am overwhelmed with gratitude. It’s great that good friends can work together, isn’t it, Tangen. Just be smart, keep mum and make this the best job you’ve ever done and everything will be fine.’

Friday. Speaking In Tongues.

‘Do you live here?’ Harry asked, stunned.

He was stunned because the likeness was so striking that it startled him when she opened the door. He focused on the pale, elderly face. It was her eyes. There was exactly the same calm, the same warmth in them. Above all it was her eyes. But also her voice when she confirmed that she was indeed Olaug Sivertsen.

‘Police,’ he said, holding up his ID.

‘Really? I hope there’s nothing wrong?’

An expression of concern crossed the network of fine lines and wrinkles on her face. Harry wondered if her concern was on someone else’s behalf. Perhaps he thought that because of the similarity, because her concern had always been for others.

‘Not at all,’ he said automatically and repeated the lie with a shake of the head. ‘May we come in?’

‘Naturally.’

She opened the door and made way for them. Harry and Beate stepped inside. Harry closed his eyes. It smelled of soft soap and old clothes. Of course. When he opened them she was looking at him with a questioning smile playing around her lips. Harry smiled in return. She could not possibly guess that he had been expecting a hug, a pat on the head and a few whispered words to tell him that Grandad was waiting for him and Sis with a nice surprise.

She led them into a sitting room, but no-one was there. The sitting room – or rooms, because there were three of them one after the other – had circular mouldings in the ceiling capped with glass crowns and was furnished with elegant antiques. Both the furniture and the carpets were worn, but it was as spotlessly clean and tidy as only a house with a single occupant can be.

Harry wondered why he had asked if she lived there. Was there something about the way she opened the door? Or let them in? At any rate, he had half expected to see a man, the man of the house, but it seemed that the National Registry Office was right. She was the only occupant.

‘Do sit down,’ she said. ‘Coffee?’

It sounded more like an entreaty than an offer. Harry, ill at ease, cleared his throat, unsure whether he should tell her why they were there at the beginning or at the end of their conversation.

‘Sounds lovely,’ Beate said with a smile.

The old lady returned the smile and shuffled out to the kitchen. Harry passed Beate a look of gratitude.

‘She reminds me of…’ he began to say.

‘I know,’ Beate said. ‘I could see it in your face. My grandmother was a bit like her too.’

‘Mm,’ Harry said, looking around.

There were not many family photos. Just earnest faces on two faded black-and-white images which must have been taken before the war and four pictures of a boy taken at different ages. In the teenage photograph he had spots, an early ’60s mod haircut, the teddy-bear eyes that had met them in the doorway and a smile which was exactly that – a smile. Not the pained face that Harry, with more than a little difficulty, had managed to pull in front of a camera at that age.

The elderly lady returned with a tray, sat down, poured coffee and passed round a plate of Maryland cookies. Harry waited until Beate had finished complimenting her on the coffee.

‘Have you read about the young women who have been recently murdered in Oslo, fru Sivertsen?’

She shook her head.

‘I caught the headlines. They were on the front page of Aftenposten. You couldn’t miss them. But I never read about that sort of thing.’

The wrinkles around her eyes pointed downwards when she smiled.

‘And I’m afraid I’m just an old froken, not a fru.’

‘I apologise. I thought…’ Harry glanced at the photos.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s my boy.’

It went quiet. The wind brought with it the distant barking of dogs and a metallic voice announcing that the train for Halden was about to depart from platform 17. It barely moved the curtains at the balcony doors.

‘Right.’ Harry raised his coffee cup, but decided he’d rather speak and put it down again. ‘We have reason to believe that the person who killed the girls is a serial killer and that one of his next two targets is -’

‘Wonderful biscuits, fru Sivertsen,’ Beate suddenly interrupted, with her mouth full. Harry looked at her, bewildered. From the balcony doors came the hissing sound of a train arriving at the station.

The old lady smiled, somewhat confused.

‘Oh, they’re just bought biscuits,’ she said.

‘Let me start again, fru Sivertsen,’ Harry said. ‘First of all, I would like to say that there is no reason for concern, that we have the situation completely under control. Next…’