Jo Nesbo - Nemesis

Tom Waaler stood observing her. She had ruined everything with what she had just said. The little tingle of excitement he had felt was gone. She suddenly looked much older. Perhaps it was because the effect of the alcohol was wearing off. It had smoothed out the wrinkles and softened her mouth, which hardened now into a crooked, pink fissure.

'Sit down, Tom. I'll make us some coffee.'

He dropped into the sofa as Vigdis disappeared into the kitchen. He spread his legs and noticed a faded stain on the material. It reminded him of the stain on his sofa, left by menstrual blood.

He smiled at the thought.

The thought of Beate Lшnn.

Sweet, innocent Beate Lшnn, who had sat on the opposite side of the coffee table and swallowed every word he had said as if they were sugar lumps in her cafй latte, the little girl's drink. I think it's crucial to have the courage to be yourself. The most important thing in a relationship is honesty, don't you think? It was difficult to know where to pitch your selection of pseudo-profound clichйs with young girls, but he had obviously hit the bullseye with Beate. She had docilely followed him home after he had concocted a drink for her which was anything but a young girl's.

He had to laugh. Even the day after, Beate Lшnn had thought her blackout was due to tiredness, and the fact that the drink had been stronger than she was used to. Getting the dose right was everything.

The best bit had been when he went into the living room in the morning and she was rubbing a wet cloth over the sofa where, the evening before, they had done the basics before she passed out and the real fun had started.

'I'm sorry,' she said, close to tears. 'I've only just seen it. It's so embarrassing. I didn't think I was due until next week.'

'Doesn't matter,' he had answered and patted her cheek. 'As long as you do your best to get the shit off.'

Then he had had to dart into the kitchen. He had turned on the tap and clattered the refrigerator door to drown his laughter. As Beate Lшnn scrubbed at the bloodstain left by Linda. Or was it Karen?

Vigdis called from the kitchen. 'Do you have milk in your coffee, Tom?' Her voice sounded hard; there was an Oslo West End edge to it. Anyway, he had discovered what he needed.

'I've just remembered I have a meeting in town,' he said. He turned and saw her standing in the kitchen doorway with two coffee cups and large, surprised eyes. As if he had slapped her. He lingered on the thought.

'You need time to yourself,' he said, getting up. 'I know. I've recently lost a close friend, as I said.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Vigdis said, perplexed. 'I didn't even ask who it was.'

'Her name was Ellen. A colleague. I liked her very much.' Tom Waaler tilted his head to the side and watched Vigdis, who responded with a tentative smile.

'What are you thinking about?' she asked.

'I might pop by one day and see how you're getting on.' He sent her an extra warm smile, his best David Hasselhoff, and thought what a chaotic world it would be if people could read each others' minds.

Dysosmia

The afternoon rush-hour traffic had started and in Grшnlandsleiret car-borne wage slaves slowly trooped past Police HQ. A hedge sparrow sat on a branch and saw the last leaf let go, lift off and flutter past the window of the meeting room on the fifth floor.

'I'm no public speaker,' Bjarne Mшller began, and those who had heard Mшller's previous speeches nodded in assent.

A bottle of Opera sparkling wine costing seventy-nine kroner, fourteen plastic glasses-still in the packet-and everyone who had been involved in the Expeditor case waited for Mшller to finish.

'First of all, I would like to pass on warm greetings from Oslo City Council, the Mayor and the Chief Constable, and thank you all for a job well done. We were, as you know, under quite a lot of pressure when we realised that what we were dealing with was a serial bank robber…'

'I didn't know there was any other type!' Ivarsson shouted and was rewarded with a ripple of laughter. He had positioned himself at the back of the room by the door from where he had an overview of the assembled officers.

'I suppose you could say that.' Mшller smiled. 'What I wanted to say was that…erm…as you know…we're glad the whole thing is over. Before we take a glass of champagne I would like to say a special thank you to the person who should take most of the credit…'

Harry could feel the others looking at him. He hated this type of occasion. The boss's speech, speeches to the boss, thanks to the clowns, the theatre of triviality.

'Rune Ivarsson, who led the investigation. Congratulations, Rune.'

Round of applause.

'Would you like to say a few words, Rune?'

'No,' Harry muttered between gritted teeth.

'Yes, I would,' Ivarsson said. The assembled officers craned their heads. He cleared his throat. 'Unfortunately, I don't have the privilege to be able to say, as you did, Bjarne, that I am no public speaker. Because I am.' More laughter. 'And from my experience as a speaker at the successful conclusion of other cases, I know it is tiring to thank all and sundry. Police work is, as we all know, teamwork. Beate and Harry had the honour of scoring the goal, but the team did the groundwork.'

With disbelief, Harry watched the assembly nod in agreement.

'So, thank you, everyone.' Ivarsson passed his gaze over the officers, with the evident intention of making each individual feel noted and thanked. Then, more upbeat, he shouted: 'Let's crack open the champagne sharpish, shall we!'

Someone passed him the bottle and after giving it a good shake he started to loosen the cork.

'I can't be bothered with this,' Harry whispered to Beate. 'I'm off.'

She sent him a reproachful look.

'Watch out!' The cork popped and flew up to the ceiling. 'Everyone take a glass!'

'Sorry,' Harry said. 'See you tomorrow.'

He walked through the office and collected his jacket. In the lift on the way down, he leaned against the wall. He had only slept a couple of hours in Albu's chalet last night. At six in the morning, he had driven to the railway station in Moss, found a telephone box and the number of Moss police and reported the body in the sea. He knew they would ask Oslo police for assistance. When he arrived in Oslo at eight, he sat in Kaffebrenneriet in Ullevеlsveien and drank a cortado until he was sure the case had been given to others and he could go to his office in peace.

The lift doors slid open and Harry went out through the swing doors. Into the cold, clear autumn air of Oslo, reported to be more polluted than the air in Bangkok. He told himself there was no rush and forced himself to slow down. He didn't want to think about anything today, just sleep and hope he wouldn't dream. Hope tomorrow all the doors would have closed behind him.

All except one. The one which would never close, the one he didn't want to close. He wasn't going to think about that until tomorrow, though. Then he would walk with Halvorsen along the river Akerselva. Stop by the tree where they had found her. Reconstruct what happened for the hundredth time. Not because they had forgotten anything, but to get the feeling back, the smell in your nostrils. He was dreading it already.

He took the narrow path across the lawn. The short cut. He didn't look at the grey prison building on the left. Where Raskol had presumably packed away the chess set for the time being. They would never find anything in Larkollen or anywhere else to point to the gypsy or any of his henchmen, even if Harry himself took on the case. They would have to keep going for as long as was necessary. The Expeditor was dead. Arne Albu was dead. Justice is like water, Ellen had once said. It always finds a way. They knew it wasn't true, but at least it was a lie they could find solace in every now and then.