Jo Nesbo - The Redeemer

'Yes.'

'Where are Li and Li?'

'They're questioning witnesses at the station. A couple of girls were standing next to him when he fired.'

'OK. Ask Ola to make a list of family and friends of the victim. That's where we'll start to see if there are any obvious motives.'

'I thought you said this was the work of a pro?'

'We have to keep several balls in the air at once, Halvorsen. And start looking wherever it seems promising. Family and friends are easy to find as a rule. Eight out of ten murders are committed-'

'-by someone who knows the victim,' Halvorsen sighed.

They were interrupted by someone calling Harry Hole. They turned in time to see the press bearing down on them through the snow.

'Show time,' Harry said. 'Point them to Hagen. I'm off down to the station.'

The suitcase had been checked in with the airline and he was walking towards the security channel. He was in high spirits. The final job was done. He was in such a good mood that he decided to run the gauntlet. The woman at security shook her head when he took the blue envelope from his inside pocket to show his ticket.

'Mobile telephone?' she asked.

'No.' He put the envelope on the table between the X-ray machine and the metal detector while taking off his camel-hair coat, discovered he was still wearing his neckerchief, removed it and put it in the pocket, placed the coat in the tray the official gave him and walked through the detector watched by two further pairs of alert eyes. Including the man screening his coat, and the one at the end of the conveyor belt, he counted five security people whose sole job it was to make sure he didn't take anything with him that could be used as a weapon on board the plane. On the other side of the detector, he put on his coat and went back to collect his ticket on the table. No one stopped him, and he walked past the officials. That is how easy it would have been to smuggle a knife blade through in the envelope. He emerged into the large departure hall. The first thing that struck him was the view from the enormous panoramic window. There wasn't one. The snow had drawn a white curtain in front of the scene outside.

Martine sat bent over the steering wheel as the windscreen wipers swished the snow away.

'The minister was positive,' David Eckhoff said with satisfaction. 'Very positive.'

'You already knew that,' Martine said. 'People like that don't come for soup and invite the press if they're going to say no. They want to be re-elected.'

'Yes,' Eckhoff said with a sigh. 'They have to be re-elected.' He looked out of the window. 'Good-looking boy, Rikard, isn't he?'

'You're repeating yourself, Daddy.'

'He just needs a bit of guidance to be a really good man for us.'

Martine drove down to the garage under HQ, pressed the remote control and the steel doors jolted open. They rumbled in and the studded tyres crunched over the concrete floor of the empty car park.

Beneath one of the roof lights, beside the commander's blue Volvo, stood Rikard, wearing overalls and gloves. But it wasn't him she was looking at. It was the tall, blond man standing next to him, and she recognised him instantly.

She parked alongside the Volvo, but sat in the car searching for something in her bag while her father got out. He left the door open and she heard the policeman say:

'Eckhoff?' The sound echoed off the walls.

'That's right. Anything I can help you with, young man?'

The daughter recognised the voice her father had assumed. The friendly but authoritative commander's voice.

'My name is Inspector Harry Hole, Oslo district. It's about one of your employees. Robert…'

Martine could feel the policeman's eyes on her as she got out of the car.

'… Karlsen,' Hole went on, turning back to the commander.

'A brother,' David Eckhoff said.

'I beg your pardon?'

'We like to think of our colleagues as members of a family.'

'I see. In that case, I am afraid I have to announce a death in the family, herr Eckhoff.'

Martine felt her chest constrict. The policeman waited to let it sink in before continuing: 'Robert Karlsen was shot dead in Egertorget at seven o'clock this evening.'

'Good God,' her father exclaimed. 'How?'

'All we know is that an unidentified person in the crowd shot him and fled the scene.'

Her father shook his head in disbelief. 'But… but at seven o'clock, you say? Why… why haven't I been told until now?'

'Because there are routine procedures in cases like these and we inform relatives first. I regret to say we have not been able to get hold of them.'

Martine realised from the detective's factual, patient response that he was accustomed to people reacting to news of bereavement with that kind of irrelevant question.

'I understand,' Eckhoff said, blowing out his cheeks and then releasing the air through his mouth. 'Robert's parents don't live in Norway any more, but you must have contacted his brother, Jon, haven't you?'

'He's not at home, and he isn't answering his mobile phone. I was told he might be here at HQ, working late. However, the only person I've met is this young man.' He nodded towards Rikard, who was standing there with glazed eyes like a dejected gorilla, arms limp, hanging down by his sides and capped off with enormous specialist gloves, sweat gleaming from his blue-black top lip.

'Any idea where I can find the brother?' the policeman asked.

Martine and her father looked at each other and shook their heads.

'Any idea who would want to take Robert Karlsen's life?'

Again, they shook their heads.

'Well, now you know. I need to get going, but we would like to come back to you with more questions tomorrow.'

'Of course, Inspector,' the commander said, straightening up. 'But before you go, might I ask you for more details about what has happened?'

'Try teletext. I have to be off.'

Martine watched her father's face change colour. Then she turned towards the policeman and met his gaze.

'I apologise,' he said. 'Time is an important factor in this phase of the investigation.'

'You… you could try my sister's place. Thea Nilsen.' All three of them turned to Rikard. He gulped. 'She lives in the Army block in Goteborggata.'

The policeman nodded. He was about to go when he turned back to Eckhoff.

'Why don't the parents live in Norway?'

'It's a long story. They lapsed.'

'Lapsed?'

'They abandoned their faith. People brought up in Army ways often find it difficult when they choose a different path.'

Martine observed her father. But not even she – his daughter – could detect the lie in his granite features. The policeman moved off, and she felt the first tears flow. After the sound of his footsteps had faded away, Rikard cleared his throat. 'I put the summer tyres in the boot.'

By the time the announcement finally came over Gardemoen Airport's tannoy system, he had already guessed:

'Due to weather conditions, the airport has been temporarily closed.'

Matter-of-fact, he said to himself. Like an hour before, when the first announcement was made about the delay due to snow.

They had waited while the snow laid thick blankets over the aircraft outside. He had kept an unconscious eye on uniformed personnel. They would be uniformed at an airport, he imagined. And when the woman in blue behind the counter by Gate 42 lifted the microphone, he could see it written over her face. The flight to Zagreb was cancelled. She was apologetic. Said it would depart at 10.40 the following morning. There was a collective but muted groan from the passengers. She twittered on that the airline would cover the cost of the train back to Oslo and a hotel room at the SAS hotel for transit passengers and those travelling on a return ticket.

Matter-of-fact, he thought once more, as the train flew through the blackened night landscape. It stopped just once before Oslo, at an assortment of houses on white terrain. A dog sat shivering under one of the benches on the platform as the snow drifted in cones of light. It looked like Tinto, the playful stray that had run around the neighbourhood in Vukovar when he was small. Giorgi and a couple of the other older boys had given him a leather collar inscribed with: Name: Tinto; Owner: Svi. Everyone. No one wished Tinto any harm. No one. Sometimes that wasn't enough.