Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

He clenched his fist and hit the steering wheel again.

'It's not about being judges of life and death, but about giving a belief in justice back to ordinary people. Sometimes it takes the death penalty to give them that belief.'

Harry tapped a cigarette out of the packet, opened the window a little and stared at the yellow slagheaps that broke the monotony of the arid landscape.

'So what do you say, Harry?'

'You'll have to put your foot down if I'm going to make that flight, Isaiah.'

Isaiah punched the steering column so hard Harry was amazed it survived.

Lainz Zoo, Vienna. 27 June 1944.

Helena sat alone in the back seat of Andre Brockhard's black Mercedes. The car pitched gently between the large horse-chestnut trees lining both sides of the avenue. They were on their way to the stables at Lainz Zoo.

She looked out on to the green clearings. A cloud of dust rose behind them from the dry gravel track, and even with the window open it was almost unbearably hot in the car.

A herd of horses grazing in the shade from the edge of a beech wood raised their heads as the car passed.

Helena loved Lainz Zoo. Before the war she had often spent her Sundays in the large wooded area to the south of the Vienna Woods, picnicking with her parents, aunts and uncles or riding with her friends.

Early this morning when the hospital matron passed on a message to her that Andr6 Brockhard wanted to talk to her she had been prepared for everything and anything. He was going to send a car before lunch. Ever since she had received the recommendation from the hospital and her travel permit, she had been walking on cloud nine and the first thing she thought was that she would use the opportunity to thank Christopher's father for the help the governing board had given her. Her second thought was that it was hardly likely that Andre Brockhard had summoned her to receive her gratitude.

Calm down, Helena, she said to herself. They can't stop us now. Early tomorrow morning we'll be gone.

The day before she had packed some clothes and her treasured belongings into two suitcases. The crucifix over her bed was the last thing she put into her case. The music box her father had bought her was still on the dressing-table. Things she had never believed she would part with lightly; it was strange how little they meant now. Beatrice had helped her and they had talked about old times as they listened to Mother's pacing of the floor beneath them. It was going to be an awkward, difficult parting. Now she was only looking forward to the evening. Uriah had said it would be a terrible shame if he didn't see anything of Vienna before leaving, so he had invited her out to dinner. Where, she didn't know. He had simply winked confidentially and asked if she thought they would be able to borrow the forester's car.

'Here we are, Fraulein Lang,' the chauffeur said, pointing to the fountain where the avenue came to an end. A gilt cupid balanced on one leg atop a soapstone globe over the water. A large mansion in grey stone stood behind it. Connected to the two sides of the main house were long, low, red wooden buildings which together with a simple stone house formed an inner courtyard.

The chauffeur stopped the car, got out and opened the door for Helena.

Andr6 Brockhard had been standing on the front steps of the mansion. Now he came towards them, his shiny riding boots glinting in the sun. Andre Brockhard was in his mid-fifties, but there was as much spring in his step as in a young man's. He had unbuttoned his red woollen jacket, fully aware that his athletic upper torso would thus be seen to its advantage. His riding breeches were tight against muscular thighs. Brockhard Snr could hardly have been less like his son.

'Helena!' The voice was precisely as hearty and warm as it is with men who are so powerful that they are the ones who determine when a situation is going to be hearty and warm. It was a long time since she had seen him, but he looked as he always did, Helena thought: white-haired, erect, two blue eyes looking at her from either side of a large, majestic nose. The heart-shaped mouth did suggest that the man had a softer side, but for most this was something that still had to be proved.

'How is your mother? I do hope it was not too impertinent of me to take you away from your work like this,' he said, passing his hand to her for a brief, dry handshake. He continued without waiting for an answer.

'I had to have a word with you, and I thought it couldn't wait.' He motioned towards the house. 'Yes, you've been here before.'

'No,' Helena said, peering up at him with a smile.

'No? I assumed Christopher would have brought you here. You were as thick as thieves when you were younger.'

'Your memory must be playing tricks on you, Herr Brockhard. Christopher and I knew each other well enough, but -'

'Really? In that case I'll have to show you around. Let's go down to the stables.'

He placed a hand lightly against the middle of her back and steered her in the direction of the wooden buildings. The gravel crunched as they walked.

'What happened to your father is sad, Helena. I'm really sorry. I wish there were something I could do for you and your mother.'

You could have invited us to the Christmas party last winter as you used to, Helena thought, but she said nothing. She would have been pleased because then she wouldn't have had to put up with her mother's insistence on going.

'Janjic!' Brockhard shouted to a black-haired boy standing in the sun and polishing saddle gear. 'Go and fetch Venezia.'

The boy went into the stable while Brockhard stood still, whacking his whip lightly against his knee and rocking on his boot heels. Helena cast a glance at her wristwatch.

'I'm afraid I cannot stay here long, Herr Brockhard. My shift…'

'No, of course. I understand. Let me come to the point.'

From inside the stable they heard fierce whinnying and the sound of hooves clattering on wooden boards.

'Your father and I used to do a fair amount of business together. Before the sad bankruptcy, of course.’

‘I know.'

'Yes, and you probably also know that your father was in a lot of debt. Indirectly, that was why things happened as they did. I mean this unfortunate…' He searched for the right word. And found it.'… affinity with the Jewish loan sharks was of course very damaging for him.'

'You mean Joseph Bernstein?' I can't remember the names of these people.’

‘You should do, he went to your Christmas party’

‘Joseph Bernstein?' Andr6 Brockhard smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. 'That must have been many years ago.’

‘Christmas 1938. Before the war.'

Brockhard nodded and darted an impatient glance towards the stable door.

'You have a good memory, Helena. That's good. Christopher could do with a good head. Since he occasionally loses his own, I mean. Apart from that, he's a good boy, you'll see that.'

Helena could feel her heart beginning to pound. Had something gone wrong after all? Brockhard Snr was talking to her as if she were his future daughter-in-law. Instead of feeling terror, she felt anger gaining the upper hand. When she spoke again, she meant to sound friendly, but anger had her larynx in a stranglehold and made her voice sound hard and metallic.

'I hope there has not been a misunderstanding, Herr Brockhard.'

Brockhard must have noticed the timbre in her voice; at any rate there was not much left of the warmth he had greeted her with when he said:

'In that case let us clear up these misunderstandings. I would like you to look at this.'

He pulled a sheet from the inside pocket of his red jacket, straightened it and passed it to her.

Burgschaft, it said at the head of what appeared to be a contract. Her eyes ran across the dense text. She didn't understand much of what was written there except that the house in the Vienna Woods was mentioned and that her father's and Andre Brockhard's names were at the bottom with their respective signatures. She sent him a quizzical look. 'This appears to be a surety.'