Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

The shift would be over in a couple of hours and she would go home, take a shower and nip up to Kim's in Helgesens gate, five minutes in her charged sexual state. She giggled.

Six times! She grabbed the phone from under the handbrake.

'This is Tom Waaler's answerphone. Unfortunately herr Waaler is not here. Please leave a message.'

She meant it as a joke. Actually she had meant to say who she was afterwards, but for some reason she just sat listening to the heavy breathing at the other end. Perhaps for a thrill, perhaps she was just curious. At any rate, she suddenly twigged that the person at the other end thought he had reached the answerphone and was waiting for the bleep! She pressed one of the keys. Bleep.

'Hi, this is Sverre Olsen.'

'Hi, Harry, this is…'

Harry turned, but the rest of Kurt Meirik's sentence was swallowed up in the bass as the self-elected DJ cranked up the volume of the music blasting out of the loudspeaker directly behind Harry.

That don't impress me much… Harry had been at the party for barely twenty minutes, had already checked his watch twice and managed to ask himself the following questions four times: Did the murder of Dale have anything to do with the Marklin rifle deal? Who would be capable of cutting someone's throat so quickly and efficiently that he could do it in broad daylight in a back alley in the centre of Oslo? Who is the Prince? Could the sentencing of Mosken's son have anything to do with this case? What had happened to the fifth Norwegian soldier at the front, Gudbrand Johansen? And why hadn't Mosken made an effort to find him after the war if, as he maintained, Johansen had saved his life?

He was standing in the corner now beside one of the loudspeakers, with a Munkholm-in a glass to avoid questions about why he drank non-alcoholic beer-while watching a couple of the youngest POT employees dancing.

'Sorry, I didn't catch that,' Harry said.

Kurt Meirik was twirling the stem of an orange-coloured drink between his fingers. He seemed more erect than ever, standing there in his blue striped suit. Fitted perfectly, as far as Harry could see. Harry pulled his jacket sleeves down, aware that his shirt was sticking out way beyond his cuff links. Meirik leaned in closer.

'I'm trying to tell you this is the head of our foreign department, Inspector…'

Harry noticed the woman by his side. Slim figure. Plain red dress. He experienced a faint premonition.

So she had the looks, but did she have the touch?

Brown eyes. High cheekbones. Dark complexion. Short, dark hair framing a narrow face. Her smile was already in her eyes. He remembered she was good-looking, but not so… ravishing. It was the only word that occurred to him to cover the meaning: ravishing. He knew the fact that she was standing opposite him now ought to have rendered him speechless with astonishment, but there was somehow a kind of logic about it, something that made him inwardly acknowledge the whole situation with a nod.

'… Rakel Fauke,' Meirik said.

'We've already met,' Harry said.

'Oh?' Kurt Meirik exclaimed in surprise.

Rakel and Harry looked at each other.

'We have,' she said, 'but I don't think we got as far as exchanging names.'

She extended her hand with a slightly angled wrist, which once again made him think of piano and ballet lessons. 'Harry Hole,' he said.

'Aha,' she said. 'Of course you are. From Crime Squad, isn't that right?’

‘Right.'

'I didn't realise you were the new inspector in POT when we met. Had you said that then…’

‘Then what?' Harry asked. She cocked her head to one side.

'Yes, then what?' She laughed. Her laughter forced the idiotic word to pop up into Harry's brain again: ravishing.

'Then at least I would have told you that we work in the same place,' she said. 'I don't usually tell people what I do for a living. You get so many strange questions. I'm sure it's the same for you.'

'Yes, of course.'

She laughed again. Harry wondered what it would take to make her laugh like that all the time.

'How is it I haven't seen you in POT before?' she asked.

'Harry's office is down at the end of the corridor,' Kurt Meirik said.

'Aha.' She nodded as if she understood, still with the sparkling smile in her eyes. 'The office right at the end, really?'

Harry inclined his head gloomily.

'Yes, well,' Meirik said. 'So now you've been introduced. We were on our way to the bar, Harry.'

Harry waited for the invitation. It didn't come. 'Talk to you later,' Meirik said.

Understandable, Harry thought. The head of POT and the inspector probably had lots of collegial boss-to-subordinate backslaps to give tonight. He leaned against the loudspeaker, but cast a furtive glance after them. She had recognised him. She had remembered that they hadn't exchanged names. He downed his beer in one draught. It tasted of nothing.

Waaler slammed the door after him.

'No one has seen, talked to or ever heard of Ayub,' he said. 'Drive.’

‘Right,' Ellen said, checked the mirror and swung out from the kerb. 'You've begun to like Prince, too, I hear.’

‘Have I?'

'You turned up the volume while I was away, anyway.’

‘Oh.' She had to ring Harry. 'Is something the matter?'

Ellen stared rigidly ahead of her, at the wet black tarmac glistening in the light from the street lamps.

'The matter? What could be the matter?'

'I don't know. You look as if something has happened to you.'

'Nothing has happened, Tom.'

'Did anyone ring? Hey!' Tom stiffened in his seat and placed both palms firmly on the dashboard. 'Didn't you see that car or what?'

'Sorry.'

'Shall I take over?’

‘Driving? Why?'

'Because you're driving like a…’

‘Like a what?'

'Forget it. I asked if anyone had rung.'

'No one rang, Tom. If anyone had rung, I would have said, wouldn't

She had to ring Harry. Quick. 'Why did you turn off my mobile?’

‘What?' Ellen eyed him aghast.

'Keep your eyes on the road, Gjelten. I asked: Why -’

‘No one rang. You must have switched off the phone yourself Unconsciously, her voice had risen. She heard it screech in her own ears.

'OK, Gjelten,' he said. 'Relax, I was just wondering.'

Ellen tried to do as he instructed. Breathing evenly and concentrating on the traffic in front of her. She took a left off the roundabout down Vahls gate. Saturday evening, but the streets in this part of town were practically deserted. The lights were green. To the right along Jens Bjelkes gate. Left, down Toyengata. Into the Police HQ car park. She could feel Tom's eyes studying her the whole way.

Harry hadn't looked at his watch once since meeting Rakel Fauke. He had even joined Linda for a round of introductions to some of his colleagues. The conversation had been stiff. They asked him what his position was, and once he answered the conversation petered out. Probably an unwritten rule in POT that you mustn't ask too much. Or they didn't give a toss. Fair enough, he wasn't particularly interested in them either. He had resumed his position by the speaker. He had seen a glimpse of her red dress a couple of times. As far as he could judge, she was circulating and didn't spend much time with anyone. She hadn't danced, he was fairly sure of that.

My God, I'm behaving like a teenager, he thought.

Then he did look at his watch: 9.30. He could go over to her, say a few words, see what happened. And if nothing happened, he could slink off, get the promised dance with Linda out of the way, and then off home. Nothing happened? What sort of self-delusion was this? Another inspector, as good as married. He could do with a drink. No. He stole one more look at his watch. He shuddered at the thought of the dance he had promised. Back home to his flat. Most of them were good and drunk now. Even in a sober state they would hardly have noticed the new inspector disappearing down the corridor. He could just stroll out the door and take the lift down. Outside his Ford Escort was loyally waiting for him. Linda looked as if she was having fun on the dance floor where she had a tight hold on a young officer who was swinging her round with a sweaty smile on his lips.