Jo Nesbo - Nemesis

'Mother,' he whispered.

'Do you want the money or not?' the faceless one said. 'Twenty-five seconds to go.'

'I decide how long this takes!' Harry roared, jabbing the barrel into his open black mouth. 'It was you. I knew it was all the time. You're going to die in six seconds. Fear for your life!'

A tooth hung on a thread from the gum and blood ran from the faceless one's mouth, but he spoke as if he were unaware: I cannot defend the commitment of time and resources with personal considerations and emotions. Somewhere the frenetic tones of a telephone sounded.

'Fear for your life! Fear for your life as she did!'

'Don't let it become an idйe fixe, Harry.' Harry felt the mouth chewing the gun barrel.

'She was a colleague, you bastard! She was my best…' The mask stuck to Harry's mouth and made it difficult to breathe. But the voice of the faceless one went on regardless: 'Gave her the heave-ho.'

'…friend.' Harry squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes.

Harry's first thought was that he had just dropped off. He was sitting in the same green chair looking into the lifeless TV screen. The coat was new though. It lay over him, covering half his face; he could taste the wet material in his mouth. And daylight filled the room. Then he felt the sledgehammer. It hit a nerve behind his eyes, time and time again, with merciless precision. The result was both a dramatic and a familiar pain. He tried to rewind the tape. Did he end up at Schrшder's? Had he started drinking at Anna's? But it was all as he dreaded: a void. He remembered sitting in the sitting room after talking to Anna on the phone, but after that it was a blank. At that moment the contents of his stomach rose. Harry leaned over the edge of the chair and heard the vomit splashing on the parquet floor. He groaned, closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sound of the telephone ringing and ringing. When the answerphone cut in, he had fallen asleep.

It was as if someone had been snipping away at his time and had discarded the scraps. Harry woke up again, but delayed opening his eyes to find out if there was any improvement. None that he could detect. The only differences were that the sledgehammers were now spread over a wider area, he stank of vomit and he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He counted to three, got up, staggered the eight steps into the bathroom with his head down by his knees and emptied his stomach. He stood clutching the toilet bowl as he struggled to regain his breath. To his surprise, he saw that the yellow matter running down the white porcelain contained microscopic red and green particles. He managed to catch one of the red bits between his forefinger and thumb, took it over to the tap where he washed it and held it up to the light. Then he cautiously placed it between his teeth and chewed. He pulled a face as he tasted the burning juices of japone chilli. He washed his face and stood up straight. And caught sight of the huge black eye in the mirror. The light in the sitting room stung his eyes as he played back the message on the answerphone.

'This is Beate Lшnn. Hope I'm not disturbing, but Ivarsson said I should ring everyone immediately. There's been another bank robbery. Den norske Bank in Kirkeveien, between Frogner park and the Majorstuen crossroads.'

The Fog

The sun had disappeared behind a layer of steel-grey clouds which had crept in very low over Oslo fjord, and the southerly wind was gusting near to gale force, like an overture to the rain that had been forecast. Roof gutters whistled and awnings flapped all along Kirkeveien. The trees were completely stripped now; it was as though the last colours had been sucked out of the town and Oslo had been left in black and white. Harry bent into the wind and put his hands in his pockets to hold onto his coat. He noted that the bottom button had decamped, probably during the evening or night, and it wasn't the only thing to have gone missing. When he went to call Anna for some help reconstructing the night, he discovered he had lost his mobile phone, too. And on ringing her from a fixed line, he heard a voice which vaguely reminded him of an announcer from the past. It said the person he was trying to contact was unavailable at the moment, but he could leave his number or a message. He hadn't bothered.

Harry was soon on the mend and found it surprisingly easy to resist the urge to continue drinking, to take the all too short walk to Vinmonopolet or Schrшder's. Instead he took a shower, dressed and walked from Sofies gate past Bislett stadium, via Pilestredet, past Stenspark and across Majorstuen. He wondered what he had been drinking. In the absence of the obligatory abdominal pains autographed by Jim Beam, a fog lay over him coating all his senses, and even the fresh blasts of wind were unable to lift it.

Two police patrol cars with rotating blue lights stood outside the branch of Den norske Bank. Harry flashed his ID to one of the uniformed officers, ducked under the police tape and went to the entrance where Weber was talking to one of his men from Krimteknisk, the forensics department.

'Good afternoon, Inspector,' Weber said, emphasising the 'afternoon'. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Harry's shiner. 'Missus started beating you?'

Harry couldn't come up with any repartee, so he flipped a cigarette out of the packet instead: 'What have we got here then?'

'Masked man with an AG3.'

'And the bird has flown?'

'Very much flown.'

'Anyone talked to witnesses?'

'Yes, indeed. Li and Li are busy down at HQ.'

'Any details about what happened yet?'

'The robber gave the female branch manager twenty-five seconds to unlock the ATM while he held the gun to the head of one of the women behind the counter.'

'And he made her do the talking?'

'Yup. And when he came into the bank, he used the same English words.'

'This is a hold-up. Nobody move!' a voice behind them said, followed by a short, staccato laugh. 'So nice you were able to come, Hole. Oh dear, slipped in the bath?'

Harry lit his cigarette with one hand while passing the pack to Ivarsson, who shook his head. 'Filthy habit, Hole.'

'You're right.' Harry put the pack of Camel in his inside pocket. 'You should never offer your cigarettes but assume that a gentleman buys his own. Benjamin Franklin.'

'Really?' Ivarsson said, ignoring Weber's grin. 'You're very knowledgeable, Hole. Perhaps you know our bank robber has struck again-just as we said he would?'

'How do you know it was him?'

'As you've probably heard, it's a carbon copy of the Nordea robbery in Bogstadveien.'

'Oh?' Harry said, inhaling deeply. 'Where's the body?'

Ivarsson and Harry eyeballed each other. The reptilian teeth glinted. Weber interposed: 'The branch manager was fast. She emptied the cash machine in twenty-three seconds.'

'No murder victims,' Ivarsson said. 'Disappointed?'

'No,' Harry said, releasing the smoke through his nostrils. A gust of wind dispersed the smoke. But the fog in his head refused to let go.

Halvorsen looked up from Silvia as the door opened.

'Can you fix me a high-octane espresso pronto?' Harry said, collapsing in his office chair.

'Good morning to you, too,' Halvorsen said. 'You look bloody awful.'

Harry put his face in his hands: 'I can't remember diddly-squat about what happened last night. I have no idea what I was drinking, but I'll never let a drop pass my lips ever again.'

He peeped out between his fingers and saw his colleague with a deep frown of concern etched in his brow.

'Relax, Halvorsen, it was just one of those things. I'm as sober as this desk now.'

'What happened?'

Harry gave a hollow laugh. 'Stomach contents suggest I had dinner with an old friend. I've rung several times to have that confirmed, but she won't answer.'