Jo Nesbo - The Devil's star

‘Swallows,’ Harry said.

‘They’re flying low,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t it mean that it’s going to rain?’

‘Yes, rain is forecast.’

‘Oh, that’ll be wonderful. Is that why they’re out flying, to tell everyone?’

‘No,’ Harry said. ‘They’re doing a more useful job than that. They’re clearing the air of insects. Pests and so on.’

‘But why are they so busy? They seem almost hysterical, don’t they?’

‘It’s because they haven’t got much time. The insects are out now, but when the sun goes down the hunt for pests has to be over.’

‘ Is over, you mean?’

She turned towards him. He was staring ahead, lost in thought.

‘Harry?’

‘Yes. Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was gone there for a minute.’

The audience for the play had assembled in the now shaded square in front of the National Theatre. Celebrities were making conversation with celebrities while journalists were swarming around and cameras were whirring. Apart from rumours about some summer romance, the topic of conversation was the same for everyone: the previous day’s arrest of the Courier Killer.

Harry’s hand lay lightly against the small of Rakel’s back as they rushed towards the entrance. She could feel the heat from the tips of his fingers through the thin material. A face appeared in front of them.

‘Roger Gjendem from Aftenposten. Sorry, but we’re conducting a survey about what people think about the capture of the man who kidnapped the woman chosen to play the lead this evening.’

They stopped and Rakel noticed that the hand on her back was suddenly no longer there.

The journalist’s rictus smile was there, but his eyes were roaming.

‘We’ve met before, Inspector Hole. I work on crime reports. We chatted a couple of times when you returned after the case in Sydney. You once said that I was the only journalist who reported what you said accurately. Do you remember me now?’

Harry studied Roger Gjendem’s face thoughtfully and nodded.

‘Mm. Finished with crime?’

‘No, no!’ The journalist shook his head energetically. ‘I’m just standing in. National holidays. Could I have a comment from Harry Hole, the policeman?’

‘No.’

‘No? Not even a couple of words?’

‘I mean, no, I’m not a policeman,’ Harry said.

The journalist seemed taken aback.

‘But I saw you…’

Harry quickly panned around him before leaning forwards.

‘Have you got a business card?’

‘Yes…’

Gjendem passed him a white card with the blue Gothic letters of Aftenposten on; Harry put it in his back pocket.

‘The deadline’s eleven o’clock.’

‘We’ll see,’ Harry said.

Roger Gjendem stood still with a puzzled expression on his face as Rakel went up the steps with Harry’s warm fingers back in position.

A man with a large beard was standing by the entrance smiling at them through tear-stained eyes. Rakel recognised the face from the newspapers. It was Wilhelm Barli.

‘I’m so glad to see that you’re here together,’ he boomed and opened his arms. Harry hesitated, but was caught.

‘You must be Rakel.’

Wilhelm Barli twinkled at her over Harry’s shoulder as he hugged the tall man like a teddy bear he had lost and found again.

‘What was that?’ Rakel asked when they had found their seats in the fourth row.

‘Male affection,’ Harry said. ‘He’s arty.’

‘Not that. All that stuff about you not being a policeman.’

‘I did my last day’s work as a policeman yesterday.’

She stared at him. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I did say something. In the garden that time.’

‘And what are you going to do now?’

‘Something else.’

‘What then?’

‘Something completely different. A friend has made me an offer and I have accepted. I hope I’m going to have better times. I can tell you more about it later.’

The curtain went up.

There was a roar of applause as the curtain fell and it continued with undiminished vigour for almost ten minutes.

The actors came out and went back in consistently new formations until there were no rehearsed moves left and they just stood and received the applause. Shouts of ‘Bravo’ reverberated around whenever Toya Harang stepped forward to bow yet again, and in the end everyone who had had any connection with the performance was called up onto the stage and Toya was embraced by Wilhelm Barli, and tears were flowing both in the cast and in the audience.

Even Rakel had to take out her handkerchief as she squeezed Harry’s hand.

‘You look weird,’ Oleg said from the back seat. ‘Is something up or what?’

Rakel and Harry twisted their heads round in unison.

‘Are you friends again? Is that it?’

Rakel smiled. ‘We’ve never fallen out, Oleg.’

‘Harry?’

‘Yes, boss?’ Harry looked in the mirror.

‘Does that mean that we can go to the cinema again soon? To see boys’ films?’

‘Maybe. If it’s a decent boys’ film.’

‘Oh yes,’ Rakel said. ‘And what will I do?’

‘You can play with Olav and Sis,’ Oleg enthused. ‘It’s really cool, Mummy. Olav taught me how to play chess.’

Harry swung into the drive and pulled up in front of the house. He let the engine idle. Rakel gave Oleg the house key and let him out. They watched him as he sprinted across the gravel.

‘My God, how he’s grown,’ Harry said.

Rakel rested her head against Harry’s shoulder. ‘Are you coming in?’

‘Not now. There’s one last thing I have to do at work.’

She stroked his face with her hand. ‘You can come later. If you’d like.’

‘Mm. Have you thought this through, Rakel?’

She sighed, closed her eyes and nestled the top of her head against his shoulder.

‘No. And yes. It feels a bit like jumping out of a burning house. Falling is better than burning.’

‘At least until you land.’

‘I’ve come to realise that falling and living have certain things in common. For a start, both are very temporary states of being.’

They sat in silence looking at each other while listening to the irregular rhythm of the engine. Then Harry put a finger under Rakel’s chin and kissed her. She had the feeling that she was losing her grip, losing her balance, and her composure, and there was only one thing she could cling on to, and he made her burn and fall at the same time.

She didn’t know how long they had been kissing when he gently freed himself from her embrace.

‘I’ll leave the door open,’ she whispered.

She should have known it was stupid.

She should have known it was dangerous.

But she hadn’t thought for weeks. She was tired of thinking.

Sunday Night. Joseph’s Blessing.

There were almost no cars and no people in the car park outside the custody block.

Harry switched off the ignition and the engine died with a death rattle.

He checked his watch: 23.10. Fifty minutes left.

The echo of his footsteps rebounded off Telje, Torp amp; Aasen’s exterior brick walls.

Harry took two deep breaths before he entered.

There was no-one behind the reception desk and there was total silence in the room. He detected a movement to his right. The back of a chair rotated slowly in the duty office. Harry caught sight of half a face with a liver-coloured scar running down like a tear from an eye staring blankly at him. Then the chair returned to its former position and turned its back on him.

Groth. He was alone. Strange. Or perhaps not.

Harry found the key to cell number nine behind the reception desk to the left. Then he walked to the cells. There were voices coming from the warders’ room, but conveniently enough number nine was situated so that he didn’t have to pass it.