Jo Nesbo - The Redeemer

It had been so… humiliating. Just like the time when he was thirteen and his father had beaten him with his belt because his mother had found semen stains on his bed sheets.

When Robert had threatened he would tell all to the high command of the Salvation Army if he so much as looked in Sofia's direction again, Jon had realised there was one option left. And it was not to stop meeting Sofia. For what neither Robert nor Ragnhild nor Thea understood was that he had to have her, it was the only way he could achieve redemption and true satisfaction. In a couple of years Sofia would be too old and he would have to find someone else. However, until then she would be his little princess, the light of his soul and the flame of his loins, as Martine had been when the magic had worked for the first time in Ostgard.

More people arrived on the platform. Perhaps nothing would happen. Perhaps he would have to await events for a couple of weeks and then return. Return to Thea. He took out his mobile and texted her. Dad's ill. Flying to Bangkok tonight. I'll call tomorrow.

He pressed SEND and patted the black bag. Five million kroner in dollar notes. Dad would be so happy to hear he could pay off the debt and be free at last. I'm carrying the sins of others, he thought. I'll set them free.

He stared into the tunnel, the black eye socket. Eighteen minutes past eight. Where was it?

Where was Jon Karlsen? He scanned the rows of backs in front of him while slowly lowering the revolver. The finger had obeyed and slackened the pressure on the trigger. How close he had been to firing the gun he would never know, but now he knew this: Jon Karlsen was not here. He had not come. That was the reason for the confusion when they were taking their seats.

The music became quieter, the brushes flitted across the drums and the guitar strumming slowed to a stroll.

He saw Jon Karlsen's girlfriend duck down and her shoulders move as if searching for something in her bag. She sat still for a few seconds with bowed head. Then stood up, and he followed her with his eyes as, with jerky, impatient movements, she danced along the row of people standing up and making room. He knew what he had to do.

'Excuse me,' he said, getting up. He barely noticed the glares of the people standing up with affected effort and sighs; all he was concerned about was that his last chance to find Jon Karlsen was leaving the auditorium.

Emerging into the foyer, he stopped and heard the padded auditorium door slip back into place as the music died, as if by a flick of the fingers. The woman had not gone far. She was standing by a pillar in the middle of the foyer texting. Two men in suits stood talking by the other entrance to the auditorium, and two cloakroom attendants were sitting behind the counter staring absent-mindedly into the distance. He checked that the coat hanging over his arm still hid the revolver and was about to approach her when he heard the sound of running to his right. He turned in time to see a tall man with reddened cheeks and wild eyes charging towards him. Harry Hole. He knew it was too late; the coat was in the way and he would not be able to get a clear shot. He staggered backwards against the wall as the policeman's hand hit him in the shoulder. And watched in amazement as Hole grabbed the handle to the auditorium door, tore it open and was gone.

He leaned back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he slowly straightened up, saw the woman pacing with the phone to her ear and a desperate expression on her face and walked towards her. He stood facing her, pulled the coat to one side so that she could see the revolver and said in a slow, clear voice: 'Please come with me. Otherwise I will have to kill you.'

He could see her eyes darken as her pupils dilated with terror and she dropped her mobile phone.

It fell and hit the railway track with a thud. Jon looked at the phone which continued to ring. For a moment, before he saw that it was Thea on the line, he had thought it was the voiceless person from last night ringing again. She hadn't said a word, but it had been a woman, he was sure of that now. It had been her; it had been Ragnhild. Stop! What was going on? Was he going mad? He concentrated on breathing. He mustn't lose control now.

He clung to the black bag as the train glided into the station.

The train doors opened with a puff of air, he boarded, put the suitcase and rucksack in the luggage compartment and found an empty seat.

There was a gap in the row of seats like a missing tooth. Harry studied the faces on either side of the empty seat, but they were too old, too young or the wrong gender. He ran to the first seat in row 19 and crouched down by the old white-haired man sitting there.

'Police. We're-'

'What?' the man shouted with a hand behind his ear.

'Police,' Harry said, louder this time. In a row a bit further forward he noticed a man with a wire behind his ear move and talk to his lapel.

'We're on the lookout for someone who was supposed to be sitting in the middle of this row. Have you seen anyone leave or-'

'What?'

An elderly lady, obviously his companion for the evening, leaned over. 'He just left. The auditorium, that is. During the performance. ..' She said the latter in such a way that it was clear she assumed that this was the reason the police wanted to talk to him.

Harry ran up the aisle, pushed open the door, stormed through the foyer and down the stairs to the front doors. He saw the uniformed back outside and shouted from the stairs. 'Falkeid!'

Sivert Falkeid turned, saw Harry and opened the door.

'Did a man just come out here?'

Falkeid shook his head.

'Stankic is in the building,' Harry said. 'Sound the alarm.'

Falkeid nodded and raised his lapel.

Harry raced back into the foyer, spotted a small, red mobile phone on the floor and asked the women in the cloakroom if they had seen anyone leaving the auditorium. They looked at each other and answered no in unison. He asked if there were other exits apart from down the stairs to the front doors.

'The emergency exit,' one suggested.

'Yes, but the doors make such a noise when they shut we would have heard it,' the other one said.

Harry stood by the auditorium door surveying the foyer from left to right as he tried to figure out escape routes. Had Stankic really been here? Had Martine told him the truth this time? At that very instant he knew she had. There was that sweet smell in the air again. The man who had been standing in the way when Harry arrived. He knew in an instant where Stankic must have made his getaway.

Harry tore open the door to the men's toilet and was met by a gust of ice-cold wind from the open window on the far side. He went to the window, looked down at the cornice and the car park beneath and thumped the sill with his fist. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

A sound came from one of the toilet cubicles.

'Hello!' Harry shouted. 'Is there anyone in there?'

By way of an answer the urinal flushed with an angry hiss.

There was that sound again. A sort of sobbing. Harry's eyes ran along the locks on the cubicle doors and found one with red for engaged. He threw himself down on his stomach and saw a pair of legs and pumps.

'Police,' Harry shouted. 'Are you hurt?'

The sobbing ceased. 'Has he gone?' asked a tremulous woman's voice.

'Who?'

'He said I had to stay here for fifteen minutes.'

'He's gone.'

The cubicle door slid open. Thea Nilsen was sitting on the floor, between the bowl and the wall, with make-up running down her face.

'He said he would kill me if I didn't say where Jon was,' she said through her tears. As though to apologise.

'And what did you say?' Harry asked, helping her up onto the toilet lid.

She blinked twice.

'Thea, what did you tell him?'