Jo Nesbo - The Redeemer

'I have one last question while we're into Salvation Army secrets.'

'Come on then,' the commander said, impatient now and packing his fishing tackle into a bag.

'Do you know anything about a rape which took place at Ostgard twelve years ago?'

Harry went on the assumption that a face like Eckhoff 's was limited in its ability to express surprise. And since this limit appeared to have been exceeded, he considered it fairly certain that his question was news to the commander.

'That must be erroneous, Inspector. If not, it would be terrible. Who was involved?'

Harry hoped his face would not give anything away. 'Professional vow of silence prevents me from saying.'

Eckhoff scratched his chin with the mitten. 'Of course. But… hasn't this crime passed its sell-by date?'

'Depends on how you look at it,' Harry said, scanning the shore. 'Shall we go?'

'Perhaps it's best if we return separately. The weight…'

Harry swallowed and nodded.

On reaching the beach without a soaking, Harry turned round. The wind had risen and snow was drifting across the ice making it look like a flying smokescreen. Eckhoff seemed to be walking on clouds.

In the car park, the windows of Harry's car were already covered with a fine layer of white frost. He got in, started the engine and put the heating on full blast. The hot air streamed up against the cold glass. While waiting for the windscreen to clear he was reminded of something Skarre had said. Mads Gilstrup had called Halvorsen. He took out the business card he still had in his pocket and dialled the number. No answer. As he was putting the phone back in his pocket it rang. He saw from the number that it was Hotel International.

'How are you?' the woman said in her clipped English.

'So-so,' Harry said. 'Did you get…?'

'Yes, I did.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Was it him?'

'Yes,' she sighed. 'It was him.'

'Are you absolutely sure? I mean, it's not so easy to identify someone from just-'

'Harry?'

'Yes?'

'I'm quite sure.'

Harry had an inkling that this English teacher had mastered stress and intonation to such an extent that she meant what she said. She was absolutely sure.

'Thank you,' he said and hung up. Hoping with all his heart that she was right. For it would all start now.

And it did.

As Harry activated the windscreen wipers and they pushed the melting frost crystals to both sides, his mobile rang for the second time.

'Harry Hole.'

'This is fru Miholjec. Sofia's mother. You said I could call this number if…'

'Yes?'

'Something has happened. To Sofia.'

Monday, 22 December. The Silence.

The shortest day of the year.

It was on the front page of the Aftenposten lying on the table in front of Harry in the doctor's waiting room in Storgata. He checked the clock on the wall. Then realised he had a watch of his own.

'He'll see you now, herr Hole,' called a woman's voice from the hatchway where he had explained that he wanted to speak to the doctor who had seen Sofia Miholjec and her father a few hours ago.

'Third door on the right down the corridor,' the woman called out.

Harry jumped up and left behind him the silent, drooping band of people in the waiting room.

Third door on the right. Of course, chance might have sent Sofia to the second door on the left. Or the third door on the left. But no, third door on the right.

'Hi, I heard it was you,' smiled Mathias Lund-Helgesen, standing up to proffer his hand. 'What can I help you with this time?'

'It's about a patient you saw this morning. Sofia Miholjec.'

'Really? Take a seat, Harry.'

Harry did not allow himself to be irritated by the other man's friendly tone, but this was an invitation he was reluctant to accept. Not because he was too proud but because it was going to be embarrassing for them both.

'Sofia's mother called me to say she had been woken up this morning by Sofia crying in her room,' Harry said. 'She went in and found her daughter bruised and bleeding. Sofia said she had been out with friends and had slipped on the ice on the way home. The mother woke the father and he brought her here.'

'It may be true,' Mathias said. He had leaned forward on his elbows as if to show how much this interested him.

'However, the mother maintains she's lying,' Harry went on. 'She checked the bed after Sofia and her father had gone. And there was blood not only on the pillow, but also on the sheet. "Down there" as she put it.'

'Mm-hm.' The sound Mathias made was neither support nor denial, but a sound which Harry knew for a fact they rehearsed in the therapy unit of the psychology department. Rising intonation on the final syllable was meant to encourage patients to continue. Mathias's intonation had gone up.

'Sofia has locked herself in her room now,' Harry said. 'She's crying and refuses to say a word. And according to her mother she won't, either. The mother has called Sofia's girlfriends. Not one of them saw her yesterday.'

'I see.' Mathias pinched the bridge of his nose. 'And now you're asking me to ignore patient confidentiality for you?'

'No,' said Harry.

'No?'

'Not for me. For them. For Sofia and her parents. And for others he may have raped and will rape.'

'Those are strong words.' Mathias smiled, but the smile faded with the silence. He coughed. 'You understand, I'm sure, that I have to mull this over first, Harry.'

'Was she raped last night or not?'

Mathias sighed. 'Harry, patient confidentiality is-'

'I know what confidentiality is,' Harry interrupted. 'I'm subject to it as well. When I ask you to make an exception in this case it's not because I take patient confidentiality lightly, but because I have made an assessment of the brutal nature of this crime and the potential danger of its recurrence. If you would trust me and rely on my assessment I would be grateful. If you don't you will have to try and live with it as best you can.'

Harry wondered how many times he had given this spiel in similar situations.

Mathias blinked and his face fell.

'It's good enough if you nod or shake your head,' Harry said.

Mathias Lund-Helgesen nodded.

It had done the trick again.

'Thank you,' Harry said, getting up. 'Things going well with Rakel and you and Oleg?'

Lund-Helgesen nodded again with a wan smile. Harry leaned forward and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder. 'Happy Christmas, Mathias.'

The last thing Harry saw as he went out of the door was Mathias Lund-Helgesen sitting in the chair with slumped shoulders, looking as though someone had given him a slap.

The last daylight leaked out between orange clouds over the spruce trees and housetops to the west of Norway's largest cemetery. Harry walked past the stone monument for Yugoslavia's war dead, the Norwegian Labour Party's plot, the gravestones for Prime Ministers Einar Gerhardsen and Trygve Bratteli to the Salvation Army's own plot. As expected, he found Sofia by the freshest grave. She was sitting erect in the snow wrapped up in a large Puffa jacket.

'Hi,' said Harry, settling down beside her.

He lit a cigarette and exhaled into the icy breeze, which carried the blue smoke away.

'Your mother said you'd just left,' Harry said. 'And you took the flowers your father had bought you. It wasn't hard to guess.'

Sofia didn't answer.

'Robert was a good friend, wasn't he? Someone you could rely on. And talk to. Not a rapist.'

'Robert was the one who did it,' she whispered lethargically.

'Your flowers are on Robert's grave, Sofia. I believe someone else raped you. And he did it again last night. And he may have done it several times.'

'Leave me in peace!' she screamed and struggled to her feet in the snow. 'Don't you lot listen?'