Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

Oleg hadn't said a lot to Harry the first two times he visited. But that was fine. Harry didn't know what to say to Oleg either. Their discomfort had eased slightly when Harry discovered he had Tetris on his GameBoy. With neither mercy nor shame, Harry had played at his best and beaten the six-year-old boy by over 40,000 points. After that Oleg had begun to ask Harry about cases, and why snow was white, and all the other things that give grown men deep furrows in their foreheads and make them concentrate so hard that they forget to be embarrassed. Last Sunday Oleg had seen a hare in its winter coat and had run on ahead, leaving Harry to hold Rakel's hand. It was cold on the outside and warm on the inside. She had twisted her head round and smiled at him as she swung her arms high, forwards and backwards, as if to say: We're playing games, this isn't for real. He had noticed she became tense when people approached and he had let go of her hand. Afterwards they had drunk cocoa on the Frogner slopes and Oleg had asked why it was spring.

He had invited Rakel out for a meal. This was the second time. The first time she had said she would think about it and rang back to say no. This time she had also said she would think about it, but at least she hadn't said no. Yet.

The telephone rang. It was Halvorsen. He sounded sleepy.

'I've checked 70 out of the 110 suspected of using a weapon in GBH assaults,' he said. 'So far, I've found eight skinheads.'

'How did you find that out?'

'I rang them. It's amazing how many of them are at home at four in the morning.'

Halvorsen laughed a little insecurely as Harry's end went quiet. 'You rang each one?' Harry asked.

'Of course,' Halvorsen said. 'Or their mobiles. It's amazing how many of them have -'

Harry interrupted him.

'And so you asked these violent criminals if they wouldn't mind giving an up-to-date description of themselves to the police?'

'Not exactly. I said we were looking for a suspect with long red hair and asked if they had dyed their hair recently,' Halvorsen said.

I don't follow you.'

'If you'd shaved your head, what would you answer?’

‘Hm,' Harry said. 'There are obviously a few canny types up there in Steinkjer.'

The same nervous laugh.

'Fax me up the list,' Harry said. 'You'll have it as soon as I'm back.’

‘Back?'

'One of the officers down here was waiting for me when I got in. Needed to see the case notes I've been working on. Must be urgent.’

‘I thought Kripos was working on the Gjelten case now,' Harry said. 'Obviously not.' "Who is it?'

'I think he's called Vole, or something like that,' Halvorsen said.

'There's no Vole in Crime Squad. Do you mean Waaler?'

'That's it,' Halvorsen said and, a little ashamed, added, 'There are so many new names right now…'

Harry felt like giving the young constable a bollocking for handing over case material to people whose names he hardly knew, but this wasn't the time to be sharp with him. The boy had been up for three nights in a row and was probably dead on his feet.

'Good work,' Harry said, and was about to put down the phone.

'Wait! Your fax number?'

Harry stared out the window. The clouds had begun to draw in over Ekeberg Ridge again.

'You'll find it on the telephone list,' he said.

The phone rang the second he put it down. It was Meirik, who asked him to go to his office straight away.

'How's it going with the report on the neo-Nazis?' he asked as soon as he saw Harry in the doorway.

'Badly,' Harry said, sinking into the chair. In the picture above Meirik's head the Norwegian King and Queen peered down at him. 'The E on my keyboard has got stuck,' Harry added.

Meirik forced a smile, much like the man in the picture, and asked Harry to forget the report for the time being.

'I need you to do something else. The Chief Information Officer from the trade unions has just called. Half the trade union leaders have been faxed death threats today. Signed 88, a short form for Heil Hitler.

It's not the first time, but this time it's been leaked to the press. They've already started ringing us. We've managed to trace the death threats to a public fax machine in Klippan. That's why we have to take the threat seriously.’

‘Klippan?'

'A little place three miles east of Helsingborg. Sixteen thousand inhabitants and the worst Nazi nest in Sweden. You'll find families there who have been Nazis in unbroken lineage since the thirties. Some Norwegian neo-Nazis go on pilgrimages there to see and learn. I want you to pack a big bag, Harry.'

Harry had an unpleasant premonition.

'We're sending you there to do some undercover work, Harry. You have to infiltrate the local network. Job, identity and other details we'll sort out for you bit by bit. Be prepared to stay there for quite some time. Our Swedish colleagues have already sorted out somewhere for you to live.'

'Undercover work,' Harry repeated. He could hardly believe his ears. I know diddle about spying, Meirik- I'm a detective. Or had you forgotten?'

Meirik's smile had become dangerously thin. 'You'll learn fast, Harry. That's not a problem. Look upon it as an interesting, useful experience.’

‘Hm. For how long?' A few months. Maximum six.’

‘Six?' Harry yelled.

'Be positive, Harry. You've got no family ties, no -’

‘Who else is in the team?' Meirik shook his head.

'No team. You're on your own. It seems more plausible that way. And you report directly to me.' Harry rubbed his chin.

'Why me, Meirik? You have a whole department of experts here on infiltration and the extreme right.’

‘There's always a first time.'

'And what about the Marklin rifle? We've traced it to an old Nazi and now there are these threats signed Heil Hitler. Isn't it better that I continue my work here…?'

'I have made up my mind, Harry' Meirik didn't bother to smile any more.

Something stank. Harry could smell it a long way off, but he didn't know what it was or where it was coming from. He stood up and Meirik followed suit.

'You leave after the weekend,' Meirik said. He put out his hand.

It struck Harry that was an odd thing to do and the same thought seemed to have crossed Meirik's mind at that moment too-there was self-consciousness in his expression. But now it was too late. The hand hung in the air, helpless, with splayed fingers, and Harry quickly pressed flesh to get the embarrassing situation over with.

As Harry passed Linda in reception, she shouted that there was a fax for him in his pigeon-hole and Harry nabbed it on his way past. It was Halvorsen's list. He ran his eye down the list of names while trudging up the corridor trying to work out which part of him would benefit from six months' socialising with neo-Nazis in some hole in southern Sweden. Not the part of him that was trying to stay sober. Not the part of him that was waiting for Rakel's response to his dinner invitation. And definitely not the part trying to find Ellen's murderer. He stopped in his tracks.

The last name…

There was no reason for him to be surprised that old acquaintances popped up on the list, but this was quite different. This was the sound he heard when he had cleaned his Smith amp; Wesson and then put it together again. The smooth click that told him everything fitted.

He was in his office and on the phone to Halvorsen in seconds. Halvorsen noted down his questions and promised to ring back as soon as he had something.

Harry leaned back. He could hear his heart beating. As a rule, this was not his forte, putting together small pieces of information which didn't seem to have anything in common. Must have been a moment of inspiration. When Halvorsen rang a quarter of an hour later, Harry had the feeling he had been waiting for hours.