Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

'Sindre Fauke has given me a list of the Norwegians who were together at the Sennheim training camp. Gudbrand Johansen, Hallgrim Dale, you and Fauke.'

'You forgot Daniel Gudeson.'

'Did I? Didn't he die before the war was over?'

'Yes, he did.'

'So, why do you mention his name?’

‘Because he was with us at Sennheim.'

'My understanding from Fauke was that many Norwegians went through Sennheim, but that you four were the only ones to survive.’

‘That's right.'

'So why mention Gudeson in particular?'

Edvard Mosken stared at Harry. Then he shifted his gaze into a void.

'Because he was with us for such a long time. We thought he would survive. Well, we almost believed Daniel Gudeson was indestructible. He was no ordinary person.'

'Do you know that Hallgrim Dale is dead?'

Mosken shook his head.

'You don't seem very surprised.'

'Why should I be? Nowadays I'm more surprised to hear who is still alive.'

'What about if I tell you that he was murdered?'

'Oh, well, that's different. Why are you telling me this?'

'What do you know about Hallgrim Dale?'

'Nothing. The last time I saw him was in Leningrad. He was suffering from shell-shock.'

'You didn't travel back together?'

'How Dale and the others got home I have no idea. I was wounded in winter 1944 as the result of a grenade thrown from a Russian fighter plane into the trench.'

'A fighter plane? From a plane?' Mosken smiled laconically and nodded.

'When I woke up in the field hospital the retreat was in full swing. Later that summer I ended up in the field hospital in Sinsen School, Oslo. Then came the capitulation.'

'So you didn't see any of the others after you were wounded?'

'Just Sindre. Three years after the war.'

After you had served your time?'

'Yes. We ran into each other in a restaurant'

'What do you think about him deserting?'

Mosken shrugged.

'He must have had his reasons. At least he took sides at a time when no one knew how the war would end. That's more than you can say about most Norwegian men.'

'What do you mean?'

'There was a saying during the war: Those who decide late will always decide right. At Christmas in 1943 we could see that our front was moving backwards, but we had no real idea how bad it was. Anyway, no one could accuse Sindre of changing like a weather-vane. Unlike those at home who sat on their backsides during the war and suddenly rushed to join the Resistance in the last months. We used to call them the "latter-day saints". A few of them today swell the ranks of those who make public statements about the Norwegians' heroic efforts for the right side.'

'Is there anyone in particular you're thinking about?'

'Of course you always think about the odd person who has been given the shining hero treatment afterwards. It's not that important, though.'

'What about Gudbrand Johansen? Do you remember him?'

'Of course. He saved my life at the end there. He…'

Mosken bit his lower lip. As if he had already said too much, Harry wondered.

'What happened to him?'

'Gudbrand? Damned if I know. The grenade… Gudbrand, Hallgrim Dale and I were in the trench when it came bouncing across the ice and hit Dale on the helmet. I can only remember that Gudbrand was closest to it when it exploded. I came out of the coma later and no one could tell me what had happened to Gudbrand or Dale.'

'What do you mean? Had they disappeared?'

Mosken's eyes searched for the window.

'This happened the same day the Russians launched their full offensive. It was chaotic, to put it mildly. Our trenches had long since passed into Russian hands when I woke up and the regiment had been transferred. If Gudbrand survived, he would probably have ended up in the Nordland regiment field hospital, in the Northern Sector. The same would be true of Dale if he had been wounded. I suppose I must have been there too, but when I woke up I was somewhere else.'

'Gudbrand Johansen's name isn't in the Civil Register.'

Mosken shrugged. 'So he must have been killed by the grenade. That was what I assumed.'

'And you've never tried to trace him?'

Mosken shook his head.

Harry looked around for something, anything, that might suggest Mosken had coffee in the house-a coffee pot, a coffee cup. There was a photograph of a woman in a gold frame on the hearth.

Are you bitter about what happened to you and the other Eastern Front soldiers after the war?'

As far as the punishment goes, no. I'm a realist. People had to be brought to justice because it was a political necessity. I had lost a war. I'm not complaining.'

Edvard Mosken suddenly laughed-it sounded like a magpie's cackle. Harry had no idea why he had laughed. Then Mosken became serious again.

'What smarted was being labelled a traitor. But I console myself with the fact that we know that we defended our country with our lives.’

‘Your political views at that time…’

‘If they are the same today?'

Harry nodded, and Mosken said with a dry smile, 'That's an easy question to answer, Inspector. No. I was wrong. Simple as that.’

‘You haven't had any contact with neo-Nazis since?'

'God forbid-no! There was a meeting in Hokksund a few years ago and one of the idiots rang me up to ask if I would go and talk about the war. I think they called themselves "Blood and Honour". Something like that.'

Mosken leaned across the coffee table. On one corner there was a pile of magazines, neatly stacked and aligned with the edge.

'What is POT actually looking for? Are you trying to monitor the neo-Nazis? If that's the case, you've come to the wrong place.'

Harry was unsure how much to tell him at this point. His answer was honest enough though.

'I don't really know what we're looking for.'

'That sounds like the POT I know.'

He laughed his magpie cackle again. It was an unpleasant, high-pitched sound.

Harry later concluded it must have been the combination of the scornful laugh and the fact that he wasn't offered any coffee that made him ask the next question in the way that he did.

'How do you think it must have been for your son to grow up with an ex-Nazi as a father? Do you think that's why Edvard Mosken Jr is doing time for a drugs offence?'

Harry regretted it the second he saw the anger and pain in the old man's eyes. He knew that he could have found out what he wanted without hitting beneath the belt.

'The trial was a farce!' Mosken fizzed. 'The defence lawyer they gave my son is the grandson of the judge who sentenced me after the war. They're punishing my child to hide their own shame at what they did during the war. I -'

He stopped abruptly. Harry waited for him to go on, but nothing came. Without any prior warning, he suddenly felt the pack of hounds in the pit of his stomach tug at the chains. They hadn't stirred for quite a while now. They needed a drink.

'One of the "latter-day saints"?' Harry asked.

Mosken shrugged. Harry knew the topic was closed for now. Mosken angled his watch.

'Planning to go somewhere?' Harry asked. 'Going on a walk to my chalet.’

‘Oh yes? Far away?'

'Grenland. I need to be off before it gets dark.'

Harry stood up. In the hall they stood searching for suitable parting words when Harry suddenly remembered something.

'You said you were wounded in Leningrad during winter 1944 and were sent to Sinsen School later that summer. What did you do in the intervening period?'

'What do you mean?'

'I've just been reading one of Even Juul's books. He's a war historian.’

‘I'm quite aware who Even Juul is,' Mosken said with an inscrutable smile.

'He writes that the Norge regiment was dissolved in Krasnoje Selo in March 1944. Where were you from March to the time you arrived at Sinsen School?'