Jo Nesbo - The Redeemer

Beate didn't answer.

Harry went on. 'Stankic fires his last bullet at Jon and misses. So he attacks Halvorsen with a sharp instrument. Why? Well, to get his service revolver off him and chase Jon. That's why there's blood on Halvorsen's waistband. You don't look for a wallet there, you look for a gun. But he doesn't find one because he doesn't know it's in the car. And now Jon has locked himself in the house and Stankic has only a knife. So he gives up and makes a run for it.'

'Great theory,' Beate said with a yawn. 'We could have asked Stankic, but he's dead. So it doesn't matter.'

Harry observed Beate. Her eyes were small and red from lack of sleep. She had been tactful enough not to mention that he stank of recent and not so recent booze. Or wise enough to know there was no point confronting him. But he also understood that at this moment she had no confidence in him.

'What did the witness in the car say?' Harry asked. 'That Stankic made off down the left-hand side of the road?'

'Yes, she watched him in the mirror. Then he fell on the corner. Where we found a Croatian coin.'

He focused on the corner. That was where the beggar with the beard had been standing the last time he had been here. Perhaps he had seen something? But now it was minus twenty-two and no one was around.

'Let's go to Forensics,' Harry said.

Without a word they drove up Toftes gate to Ring 2. Past Ulleval Hospital. They were passing white gardens and English-style brick houses in Sognsveien when Harry broke the silence.

'Pull in.'

'Now? Here?'

'Yes.'

She checked her mirror and did as he said.

'Put the hazard lights on,' Harry said. 'And then concentrate on me. Do you remember the association game I taught you?'

'You mean the one about speaking before you think?'

'Or saying what you think before thinking that you shouldn't think that. Empty your mind.'

Beate closed her eyes. Outside, a family passed them on skis.

'Ready? OK. Who sent Robert Karlsen to Zagreb?'

'Sofia's mother.'

'Mm,' Harry said. 'Where did that come from?'

'No idea,' Beate said, opening her eyes. 'She has no motive as far as we're aware. And she is definitely not the type. Perhaps because she is a Croat like Stankic. My subconscious doesn't have such complicated thoughts.'

'All of that may be correct,' Harry said. 'Apart from the last part about your subconscious. OK. Ask me.'

'Must I ask… aloud?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Just do it,' he said, closing his eyes. 'I'm ready.'

'Who sent Robert Karslen to Zagreb?'

'Nilsen.'

'Nilsen? Who's Nilsen?'

Harry opened his eyes again.

He blinked into the lights of the oncoming traffic, a little dazed. 'I suppose it must be Rikard.'

'Funny game,' Beate said.

'Drive,' Harry said.

Darkness had fallen over Ostgard. The radio on the windowsill jabbered away.

'Is there really no one who can recognise you?' Martine asked.

'There are some who can,' he said. 'But it takes time to learn my face. Not many have taken the time.'

'So it's not about you. It's the others?'

'Maybe. But I don't want them to recognise me. That's… something I do.'

'You flee.'

'No, on the contrary. I infiltrate. I invade. I make myself invisible and sneak into places I want to be.'

'But if no one sees you, what's the point?'

He looked at her in surprise. There was a jingle on the radio and then a woman's voice began to speak with the neutral gravity of a newsreader.

'What is she saying?' he asked.

'It's going to get even colder. Nursery schools closing. Old people warned to stay inside and not to save electricity.'

'But you saw me,' he said. 'You recognised me.'

'I'm a people-watcher,' she said. 'I see them. That's my one talent.'

'Is that why you're helping me?' he asked. 'Is that why you haven't tried to run away even once?'

She studied him. 'No, that's not why,' she said at length.

'Why?'

'Because I want Jon Karlsen to die. I want him to be even deader than you are.'

He gave a start. Was she out of her mind?

'Me, dead?'

'That's what they have been claiming on the news for the past few hours,' she said, nodding towards the radio.

She breathed in and put on the grave, imperious voice of the newsreader. 'The man suspected of the Egertorget murder died last night, shot by police Special Forces during a raid on the container terminal. According to Sivert Falkeid, the Special Forces commander, the suspect refused to surrender and went for his gun. Oslo Crime Squad head, Chief Inspector Gunnar Hagen, has said the case will be put in the hands of SEFO, the independent police investigation authority, as a matter of routine. Chief Inspector Hagen commented that this case is another example of the police having to deal with ever more brutal organised crime and that discussion of whether to arm the police should not only be about effective law enforcement but also the safety of our police officers.'

He blinked twice. Three times. Then it dawned on him. Kristoffer. The blue jacket.

'I'm dead,' he said. 'That's why they left before we arrived. They think it's over.' He placed his hand on Martine's. 'You want Jon Karlsen to die.'

She stared into space. Breathed in as if she were going to speak, then released the air with a groan as though the words she had found were not the correct ones, and tried again. At the third attempt she succeeded. 'Because Jon Karlsen knew. He's known for all these years. And that's why I hate him. And that's why I hate myself.'

Harry eyed the naked corpse on the table. It almost didn't affect him any more to see them like this. Almost.

Room temperature was around fourteen degrees and the smooth cement walls returned a short, harsh echo as the female pathologist answered Harry's question.

'No, we weren't thinking of doing an autopsy on him. The queue's long enough as it is, and the cause is fairly obvious in this case, don't you think?' She motioned towards the face with the big, black hole that had taken with it most of the nose and the top lip, leaving the mouth and the upper set of teeth open.

'Bit of a crater,' Harry said. 'Doesn't look like the work of an MP5. When will I have the report?'

'Ask your boss. He asked for it to go straight to him.'

'Hagen?'

'Yup. So you'd better ask him for a copy if you're in a hurry.'

Harry and Beate exchanged glances.

'Listen,' said the pathologist, the corners of her mouth stretched in what Harry realised was meant to be a smile, 'we're understaffed this weekend and I have a lot on my plate, so if you wouldn't mind?'

'Of course,' Beate said.

The pathologist and Beate made for the door, but both stopped when they heard Harry's voice.

'Has anyone noticed this?'

They turned to Harry, who was bent over the body.

'He's got syringe marks. Have you checked his blood for drugs?'

The pathologist sighed. 'He came in this morning and all we have managed to do is put him in the freezer.'

'When can you have it done?'

'Is it vital?' she asked, and seeing Harry's hesitation, went on. 'An honest answer would be nice, because if we prioritise it that will mean all the other cases you're nagging us for will be even more delayed. It's hell right now, coming in to Christmas.'

'Well,' Harry said, 'perhaps he had the odd fix.' He shrugged. 'But he's dead. And so I suppose it's not that vital. Did you take his watch?'

'Watch?'

'Yes, he was wearing a Seiko SQ50 when he was withdrawing money from the ATM the other day.'

'He didn't have a watch.'

'Mm,' Harry said, looking at his own bare wrist. 'Must have lost it.'

'I'll nip down to the intensive care unit,' Beate said when they were outside.

'OK,' Harry said, 'I'll catch a taxi. Will you get the identity confirmed?'