Jo Nesbo - The Thirst

Steffens stared at the closed door that would soon be opening. Wondered if they would ever understand. That morality – which some people imagine is God-given and eternal – is as malleable and learned as our ideas of beauty, our enemies, our fashion trends. It seemed unlikely. And as a result, it was hardly surprising that humanity was unable to understand and accept radical research projects which went against their own engrained thoughts. Unable to understand that it was as logical and necessary as it was cruel.

The door opened.

‘Good morning, Oleg. Come in, have a seat.’

‘Thanks.’ The young man sat down. ‘Before you take the sample, can I ask you for a favour?’

‘A favour?’ Steffens pulled on a pair of white rubber gloves. ‘You know that my research could benefit you, your mother and the whole of your future family?’

‘And I know that research is more important to you than a slightly longer life is to me.’

Steffens smiled. ‘Wise words for such a young man.’

‘I’m asking on my father’s behalf if you could spare two hours to attend and give a professional opinion during a friend’s disputation. Harry would very much appreciate it.’

‘A disputation? By all means, it would be an honour.’

‘The only problem is …’ Oleg said, then cleared his throat, ‘that it starts now, or soon, and we’d need to go as soon as you’ve got your blood sample.’

‘Now?’ Steffens looked down at the diary that lay open in front of him. ‘I’m afraid I have a meeting which—’

‘He’d really appreciate it,’ Oleg said.

Steffens looked at the young man as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘You mean … your blood in exchange for my time?’

‘Something like that,’ Oleg said.

Steffens leaned back in his office chair and clasped his hands together in front of his mouth. ‘Just tell me one thing, Oleg. What is it that leads you to have such a close relationship to Harry Hole? After all, he isn’t your biological father.’

‘You tell me,’ Oleg said.

‘Answer that and give me your blood, and I’ll go with you to this disputation.’

Oleg thought. ‘I almost said that it’s because he’s honest. That in spite of the fact that he isn’t the best father in the world or anything like that, I can trust what he says. But I don’t think that’s the most important thing.’

‘So what is the most important thing?’

‘That we hate the same groups.’

‘That you what?’

‘Music. We don’t like the same music, but we hate the same stuff.’ Oleg pulled his padded jacket off and rolled up his sleeve. ‘Ready?’

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

RAKEL LOOKED UP at harry as they walked arm in arm across Universitetsplassen towards the Domus Academica, one of three buildings belonging to the University of Oslo in the centre of the city. She had persuaded him to wear the smart shoes she had bought him in London, even though he had said they were too slippery for this sort of weather.

‘You ought to wear a suit more often,’ she said.

‘And the council should grit more often,’ Harry said, pretending to slip again.

She laughed and held him tight. Felt the hard yellow file he had folded and stuffed into his inside pocket. ‘Isn’t that Bjørn Holm’s car, and a very illegal piece of parking?’

They passed the black Volvo Amazon, which was parked right in front of the steps.

‘Police authorisation behind the windscreen,’ Harry said. ‘Clear case of misuse.’

‘It’s because of Katrine,’ Rakel smiled. ‘He’s just worried she’ll fall.’

There was a buzz of voices in the vestibule outside the Gamle festsal auditorium. Rakel looked for familiar faces. It was mostly professional colleagues and family. But there was someone she recognised at the other end of the room, Truls Berntsen. He evidently hadn’t understood that a suit was the correct attire for a disputation. Rakel forged a path for herself and Harry over to Katrine and Bjørn.

‘Congratulations, you two!’ Rakel said, and hugged them both.

‘Thanks!’ Katrine beamed, stroking her bulging stomach.

‘When …?’

‘In June.’

‘June,’ Rakel repeated, and saw Katrine’s smile twitch.

Rakel leaned forward, put a hand on Katrine’s arm and whispered: ‘Don’t think about it, it’ll be fine.’

Rakel saw Katrine look at her as if in shock.

‘Epidural,’ Rakel said. ‘They’re brilliant things. They get rid of any pain just like that!’

Katrine blinked twice. Then she laughed. ‘Do you know, I’ve never been to a disputation before. I had no idea it was so formal until I saw Bjørn putting on his finest bootlace tie. What actually happens?’

‘Oh, it’s fairly straightforward really,’ Rakel said. ‘We go into the auditorium first, stand as the chair of the defence, the candidate and the two opponents come in. Smith is probably pretty tense even if he’s already had to give an examination lecture to them either yesterday or this morning. He’s probably most worried that Ståle Aune’s going to be awkward, but there can’t be much chance of that.’

‘No?’ Bjørn Holm said. ‘But Aune’s said he doesn’t believe in vampirism.’

‘Ståle believes in serious scholarship,’ Rakel said. ‘The opponents are supposed to be critical, and get to the heart of the subject of the dissertation, but they have to stay within the bounds of the subject and the premise of the occasion, not ride their own hobbyhorses.’

‘Wow, you’ve done your homework!’ Katrine said as Rakel took a deep breath.

Rakel nodded and went on. ‘The opponents have three-quarters of an hour each, and between them brief questions from the hall are permitted, known as ex auditorio , but that doesn’t usually happen. After that there’s the disputation dinner, paid for by the candidate, but we’re not invited to that. Which Harry thinks is a great shame.’

Katrine turned towards Harry. ‘Is that true?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Who doesn’t like a bit of meat and gravy and dozing off to half-hour speeches made by the relatives of someone you really don’t know that well?’

People started to move around them, and a few cameras flashed.

‘The next Justice Minister,’ Katrine said.

It was as if the waters parted before Mikael and Ulla Bellman as they walked in, arm in arm. They were smiling, but Rakel didn’t think that Ulla was really smiling . Perhaps she wasn’t the smiling type. Or perhaps Ulla Bellman had been that beautiful, bashful girl who had learned that an exaggerated smile only led to more unwanted attention, and that a chilly exterior made life easier. If that was the case, Rakel couldn’t help wondering what she was going to make of life as the wife of a cabinet minister.

Mikael Bellman stopped next to them when a question was yelled out and a microphone stuck in front of his face.

‘Oh, I’m just here to celebrate one of the men who contributed to us solving the vampirist case,’ he said in English. ‘Dr Smith is the one you should be talking to today, not me.’ But Bellman did as he was asked and posed happily as the photographers called out their requests.

‘International press,’ Bjørn said.

‘Vampirism is hot,’ Katrine said, looking at the crowd. ‘All the crime reporters are here.’

‘Except Mona Daa,’ Harry said as he looked around.

‘And everyone from the boiler room,’ Katrine said, ‘except Anders Wyller. Do you know where he is?’

The others shook their heads.

‘He called me this morning,’ Katrine said. ‘Asked if he could have a chat with me on his own.’

‘What about?’ Bjørn wondered.