Jo Nesbo - The Redeemer

Secondly, they had no forensic evidence, except that the ballistics expert at Krimteknisk had established that the projectile that had penetrated Robert Karlsen's head in fact matched the empty casing they had found.

And, thirdly, they didn't have a motive.

Beate Lonn finished and Harry handed over to Magnus Skarre.

'This morning I spoke to the boss of the Fretex shop in Kirkeveien where Robert Karlsen worked,' said Skarre, whose surname, with fate's usual impish sense of humour, meant to roll your 'r's, and indeed he did. 'She was devastated and said Robert was a person everyone liked, full of charm and good cheer. She conceded he could be a bit unpredictable, not turning up for work on the odd occasion, but she could not imagine he would have any enemies.'

'Same comments from those I've interviewed,' said Halvorsen.

During the discussion Gunnar Hagen had sat with his hands folded behind his head watching Harry with a tiny expectant smile, as though he were at a magic show waiting for Harry to pull a rabbit out of a hat. But there was nothing. Apart from the usual suspects. The theories.

'Guesses?' Harry said. 'Come on. You're allowed to make asses of yourselves. After this meeting is over, permission is withdrawn.'

'Shot down in full view of everyone, in one of Oslo's busiest areas,' Skarre said. 'There's only one line of business that does this kind of thing. This is a professional hit job to deter others who don't pay their drug debts.'

'Well,' said Harry, 'none of the undercover guys in the Narco Unit has seen or heard of Robert Karlsen. He's clean. No previous, nothing. Has anyone here heard of drug addicts who have never been arrested?'

'Forensics didn't find any illegal substances in the blood samples,' Beate said. 'Nor was there any mention of needle marks or other indications.'

Hagen cleared his throat and the others turned round. 'A Salvation Army soldier would not be involved in that sort of thing. Go on.'

Harry noticed red patches developing on Magnus Skarre's forehead. Skarre was short and stocky, an ex-gymnast, with smooth brown hair and a side parting. He was one of the youngest detectives, an arrogant and ambitious arriviste who in many ways was reminiscent of a young Tom Waaler. But without Waaler's very special intelligence and talent for police work. In the last year, however, Skarre's self-confidence had evaporated somewhat, and Harry had begun to think it was not impossible that they would make a decent policeman out of him after all.

'On the other hand, Robert Karlsen had an experimental bent,' Harry said. 'And we know that addicts can serve their sentences in Fretex shops. Curiosity and accessibility are a bad combination.'

'Exactly,' Skarre said. 'And when I asked the lady in Fretex whether Robert was single, she said she thought so. Even though there had been a foreign girl in a couple of times asking after him, but she seemed too young. She guessed the girl came from somewhere in ex-Yugoslavia. Bet you she's Kosovar-Albanian.'

'Why's that?' Hagen asked.

'Kosovar-Albanian. Drugs.'

'Whoa there,' clucked Hagen, rocking back on his chair. 'That sounds like gross prejudice, young man.'

'Right,' Harry said. 'And our prejudices solve cases. Because they are not based on lack of knowledge, but on actual facts and experience. In this room we reserve the right to discriminate against everyone, regardless of race, religion or gender. Our defence is that it is not exclusively the weakest members of society who are discriminated against.'

Halvorsen grinned. He had heard this rule before.

'Homosexuals, active believers and women are, from a statistical point of view, more law-abiding than heterosexual men between eighteen and sixty. But if you are female, lesbian and a Kosovar-Albanian with religious convictions, the chances that you are drug-dealing are nevertheless a lot higher than for a fat, Norwegian-speaking, male chauvinist pig with tattoos all over his forehead. So if we have to choose – and we do – we bring in the Albanian woman for questioning first. Unfair to law-abiding Kosovar-Albanians? Of course. But since we work with probabilities and limited resources, we cannot afford to ignore knowledge wherever we find it. If experience had taught us that an unexpectedly high percentage of those we arrested at customs in Gardemoen Airport were wheelchair users smuggling drugs in their orifices, we would put on rubber gloves, drag them out of their chairs, and finger-fuck every single one of them. We just keep our mouths shut about that sort of thing when we talk to the press.'

'Interesting philosophy, Hole.' Hagen checked around to gauge the reaction among the others, but the closed faces told him nothing. 'Well, back to the case.'

'OK,' Harry said. 'We'll continue where we left off, searching for the murder weapon, but the area will be increased to a radius of six blocks. We'll continue questioning witnesses and take a trip round the shops that were closed last night. We won't waste any more time on CCTV footage. Let's wait until we have something specific to look for. Li and Li, you have the address of Robert Karlsen's flat and the search warrant. Gorbitz gate, isn't it?'

Li and Li nodded.

'Check out his office as well. You may find something of interest there. Bring any correspondence and hard disks here from both places so that we can see who he's been in contact with. I have spoken to Kripos, who have contacted Interpol today to find out if there are similar cases in Europe. Halvorsen, you're coming with me to the Salvation Army HQ later. Beate, I would like a few words with you after the meeting. Off you go!'

Scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet.

'One moment, gentlemen!'

Silence. They looked at Gunnar Hagen.

'I can see that some of you are coming to work in ragged jeans and items of clothing advertising what I assume is Valerengen football club. The previous boss may have approved of that, but I do not. The press will be following us with Argus eyes. From tomorrow I want to see clothing which is whole and intact and does not display advertising slogans. The general public is out there and we want to be seen as neutral public servants. And I would ask all of you with the rank of inspector or above to stay behind.'

As the room emptied, Harry and Beate stayed behind.

'I'm going to draw up a document for all inspectors in the unit instructing them to carry weapons, starting next week,' Hagen said.

Harry and Beate both looked at him with incredulity.

'The war is hotting up out there,' Hagen said, raising his chin. 'We have to get used to the idea that weapons will be a necessity in the police force of the future. And then high-ranking officers will have to set an example and show the way. A weapon must not be an unfamiliar item but a normal tool of the trade like a mobile phone or a computer. OK?'

'Well,' Harry said, 'I don't have a firearms licence.'

'I assume you're joking,' Hagen said.

'I missed the test last autumn and had to hand in my gun.'

'I'll issue a licence. I have the authority to do that. You'll find a requisition order in your pigeonhole and you can pick the weapon up. No one will be excluded. Off you go.'

Hagen departed.

'He's out of his mind,' Harry said. 'What the hell do we need guns for?'

'Time to patch our jeans and buy a gun belt then, eh?' Beate said with a glint of amusement in her eyes.

'Mm. I wouldn't mind a peep at the pictures Dagbladet took of Egertorget.'

'Help yourself.' She passed him a yellow folder. 'May I ask you something, Harry?'

'Goes without saying.'

'Why did you do that?'

'Do what?'

'Why did you defend Magnus Skarre? You know he's a racist and you didn't mean one iota of what you said about discrimination. Is it to irritate the new POB? Or make sure you're really unpopular from day one?'