Jo Nesbo - Nemesis

Harry heard the sirens. He had heard them for a while. The white cars with rotating blue lights passed him and disappeared down Grшnlandsleiret. He tried not to think why they had been called out. Probably nothing to do with him. If it was, it would have to wait. Until tomorrow.

Tom Waaler realised he was too early. Residents of the pale yellow block did other things than sit at home during the day. He had just pressed the bottom button in the row. He turned to walk away when he caught the caged, metallic sound of a voice: 'Hello?'

Waaler spun round. 'Hello, is that…?' He looked at the nameplate beside the button. 'Astrid Monsen?'

Twenty seconds later he was on the landing looking at a scared, freckled face peering up at him from behind a security chain.

'May I come in, frшken Monsen?' he asked, baring his teeth in a David Hasselhoff special.

'Rather you didn't,' she squeaked. She probably hadn't seen Baywatch.

He gave her his ID.

'I've come to ask if there is anything we ought to know about Anna Bethsen's death. We're not so sure it was a suicide any more. I understand a colleague of mine has been conducting a private investigation and I was wondering if you had spoken to him.'

Tom Waaler had heard that animals, especially predators, can smell fear. It didn't surprise him. What surprised him was that not everyone could smell fear. Fear had the same transitory, bitter odour that cow piss had.

'What are you frightened of, frшken Monsen?'

Her pupils dilated even further. Waaler's antennae were whirring now.

'It's very important you help us,' Waaler said. 'The most important aspect of the relationship between the police and the general public is honesty, don't you agree?'

Her eyes went walkabout and he took a risk: 'I believe my colleague may be involved in the case somehow.'

The chin dropped and she sent him a helpless look. Bingo.

They sat down in the kitchen. The brown walls were covered in children's drawings. Waaler guessed she must have been an auntie to loads of kids. He took notes as she talked.

'I heard a crashing noise in the corridor, and when I went out a man was on all fours on the landing outside my door. He had obviously had a fall so I asked him if he needed any help, but I didn't really get a proper answer. I went upstairs and rang Anna Bethsen's bell, but no answer there, either. When I went back down I helped him to stand up. All the things from his pockets were strewn everywhere. I found his wallet with his name and address. Then I helped him into the street, hailed an unoccupied taxi and gave the driver the address. That's all I know.'

'And you're sure it's the same person who visited you later? Harry Hole, that is?'

She gulped. And nodded.

'That's fine, Astrid. How did you know he'd been at Anna's?'

'I heard him arrive.'

'You heard him arrive and you heard him go into Anna's?'

'My study is right next to the corridor. You can hear everything that goes on there. This block's quiet; not much happens here.'

'Did you hear any other movements near Anna's flat?'

She hesitated. 'I thought I heard someone creeping up to Anna's after the policeman had gone. But it sounded like a woman. High heels, you see. They make a different sound. But I think it was fru Gundersen on the third.'

'Oh?'

'She usually creeps in when she's had a few at Gamle Major.'

'Did you hear any shots?'

Astrid shook her head. 'The walls between flats are well insulated.'

'Do you remember the number of the taxi?'

'No.'

'What was the time when you heard the crashing in the corridor?'

'A quarter past eleven.'

'Are you absolutely sure, Astrid?'

She nodded. Took a deep breath.

Waaler was surprised by the sudden firmness in her voice as she said: 'He killed her.'

He could feel his pulse quicken. A tad. 'What makes you say that, Astrid?'

'I knew something was wrong when I heard Anna was supposed to have committed suicide that night. There was that person lying dead drunk on the stairs, wasn't there, and she didn't answer the door. I considered contacting the police, but then he came here…' She looked at Tom Waaler as if she was drowning and he was a lifeguard. 'The first thing he asked me was if I recognised him. And of course I knew what he meant by that.'

'What did he mean by that, Astrid?'

Her voice rose half an octave. 'A murderer asking the sole witness if she recognises him? What do you think? He came to warn me what would happen if I gave him away. I did what he wanted. I told him I had never seen him.'

'But you said he came back later to ask you about Arne Albu?'

'Yes, he wanted me to foist the blame on someone else. You must understand how frightened I was. I pretended I didn't realise and played along…' He could hear sobs begin to catch hold of her vocal cords.

'But now you would be willing to tell us about this? In a court of law, on oath as well?'

'Yes, if you're…if I know I'm safe.'

The ping of an e-mail arriving sounded from another room. Waaler checked his watch. 4.30. He would have to move fast, this evening if possible.

At 4.35, Harry unlocked the door to his apartment and instantly realised he had forgotten that he and Halvorsen had arranged a bike session at the gym. He kicked off his shoes, went into the sitting room and pressed PLAY on the flashing answer machine. It was Rakel.

'Court makes its decision on Wednesday. I've booked tickets for Thursday. We'll be in Gardemoen at eleven. Oleg asked if you could come and pick us up.'

Us. She had said the decision would have immediate effect. If they lost, there would be no us to pick up, just someone who had lost everything.

She hadn't left a number for him to ring back, to be told it was all over and she wouldn't need to keep looking over her shoulder any more. He sighed and slumped into the green armchair. Closed his eyes and saw her there. Rakel. The white sheet which was so cold it burned his skin, the curtains which barely moved against the open window and let in a strip of moonlight which fell on her naked arm. He ran the tips of his fingers so gently across her eyes, her hands, her narrow shoulders, her long, slim neck, her legs entangled in his. He felt her calm, warm breath against his neck, heard the breathing from the sleeping body imperceptibly change rhythm as he gently caressed the small of her back. Her hips which also imperceptibly began to move towards his as if she had only been hibernating, waiting.

At 5.00, Rune Ivarsson picked up the phone in his Шsterеs home to tell the caller that his family had just sat down to eat. Meals were holy in their house; would they mind ringing back later?

'Apologies for the disturbance, Ivarsson. This is Tom Waaler.'

'Hi, Tom,' Ivarsson said with a half-chewed potato in his mouth. 'Listen…'

'I need a warrant for the arrest of Harry Hole. Along with a warrant to search his apartment. Plus five people to do the search. I have reason to believe Hole is implicated in a murder case in a very unfortunate way.'

The potato went down the wrong way.

'It's urgent,' Waaler said. 'There's a risk that evidence will be destroyed.'

'Bjarne Mшller,' was all Ivarsson could splutter between coughing fits.

'Right, I know strictly speaking this is Mшller's responsibility,' Waaler said. 'But I bet you agree with me that he is prejudiced. He and Harry have worked together for ten years.'

'You've got a point. But we had another job to do last thing today, so my lads have their hands tied.'

'Rune…' This was Ivarsson's wife. He was reluctant to provoke her; he had arrived home twenty minutes late after the champagne celebration and then the alarm had gone off at the Grensen branch of Den norske Bank.