Jo Nesbo - The Thirst

And Berna Lien – yes, that was her name, and she did look a bit like Bernadette in The Big Bang Theory , short with glasses and breasts that were too big for her – had replied: ‘And if I prioritise this, do you promise not to tell anyone that I don’t think the child abuse case in Aker or the honour killings in Stovner are important enough?’ Katrine hadn’t realised that the pleading note in her voice was fake, until Lien went on in her normal, serious voice: ‘Naturally, I agree with you that it’s extremely urgent if it can prevent more murders, Bratt. And it’s that – and not the fact that you’re appearing on television – that weighs most heavily. I’ll get back to you within twenty minutes, OK?’

Katrine had merely nodded and walked away. She went straight to Police HQ, locked herself in the toilet and wiped off the make-up she had put on before heading off to Krimteknisk.

The theme music began to play, and the presenter – who was already sitting up – sat up even straighter as he warmed up his facial muscles with a couple of exaggeratedly wide smiles that he wasn’t likely to need given the subject matter of that evening’s programme.

Katrine felt her phone vibrate in her trouser pocket. As lead investigator, she needed to be accessible at all times, and had ignored the demand to switch her phone off altogether during the broadcast. It was a text from Bjørn.

Found a match for fingerprints on the front door of Penelope’s building. Valentin Gjertsen. Watching TV. Break a leg .

Katrine nodded to the girl beside her who was telling her again that she should walk towards the presenter as soon as she heard her name, and which chair she should sit in. Break a leg . As if she were about to go onstage. But Katrine realised that she was smiling inside anyway.

Harry stopped inside the door of the Jealousy Bar. And realised that the sound of a noisy crowd wasn’t real. Because, unless there were people hiding in the booths along one wall, he was the only customer. Then he caught sight of the football match on the television behind the bar. Harry sat down on one of the bar stools and watched.

‘Beşiktaş–Galatasaray,’ the bartender smiled.

‘Turkish teams,’ Harry said.

‘Yes,’ the bartender said. ‘Interested?’

‘Not really.’

‘That’s fine. It’s all crazy anyway. In Turkey, if you support the visitors and they win, you have to rush home at once so you don’t get shot.’

‘Hm. Religious differences or class?’

The bartender stopped polishing glasses and looked at Harry. ‘It’s about winning.’

Harry shrugged. ‘Of course. My name’s Harry Hole, I’m … I used to be a detective with Crime Squad. I’ve been brought back in to—’

‘Elise Hermansen.’

‘Precisely. I read in your witness statement that you had a customer who was wearing cowboy boots at the same time Elise and her date were here.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Can you tell me anything else about him?’

‘Not really. Because as I remember it, he came in just after Elise Hermansen and sat in that booth over there.’

‘Did you get a look at him?’

‘Yes, but not long enough or carefully enough to give much of a description. Look, you can’t see into the booths from here, and he didn’t order anything before he was suddenly gone again. That happens fairly often – presumably they think the place is a bit too quiet. That’s the way with bars – you need a crowd to attract a crowd. But I didn’t see when he left, so I haven’t really thought about it. Anyway, she was murdered inside her flat, wasn’t she?’

‘She was.’

‘You think he might have followed her home?’

‘It’s a possibility, at least.’ Harry looked at the bartender. ‘Mehmet, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’

There was something about the guy that Harry liked instinctively, which made him decide to come straight out and say what he was thinking. ‘If I don’t like the look of a bar, I turn at the door, and if I go in, I order something. I don’t just sit in a booth. He might have followed her here, then – once he’d read the situation and realised she was likely to be going home without the guy soon – he may have gone to her flat and waited for her there.’

‘Seriously? Sick man. And poor girl. Speaking of poor sods, here comes her date from that night.’ Mehmet inclined his head towards the door and Harry turned round. The Galatasaray fans had drowned out the entrance of a bald, rather overweight man in a padded gilet and black shirt. He sat down at the bar and nodded to the bartender with a stiff expression on his face. ‘A large one.’

‘Geir Sølle?’ Harry asked.

‘Preferably not,’ the man said with a hollow laugh, without changing his expression. ‘Journalist?’

‘Police. I’d like to know if either of you recognise this man.’ Harry put a copy of the photofit picture of Valentin Gjertsen down on the bar. ‘He’s probably had extensive plastic surgery since this was produced, so use your imagination.’

Mehmet and Sølle studied the picture. They both shook their heads.

‘You know what, forget the beer,’ Sølle said. ‘I just remembered I need to get home.’

‘As you can see, I’ve already poured it,’ Mehmet said.

‘The dog needs walking – give it to our police officer here, he looks thirsty.’

‘One last question, Sølle. In your witness statement, you said she told you about a stalker who had been following her and threatening men she was with. Did you get the impression that was true?’

‘True?’

‘It wasn’t just something she was saying to keep you away?’

‘Ha, right. You tell me. Presumably she had her own methods of getting rid of frogs.’ Geir Sølle’s attempt at a smile turned into a grimace. ‘Like me.’

‘And do you think she’d had to kiss a lot of frogs?’

‘Tinder can be disappointing, but you never give up hope, do you?’

‘This stalker, did you get the impression he was just a passing nutter, or someone she’d had a relationship with?’

‘No.’ Geir pulled the zip of his gilet all the way up to his chin, even though it was mild outside. ‘I’m going now.’

‘A man she’d had a relationship with?’ the bartender said, giving him his change. ‘I thought these murders were just about drinking blood. And sex.’

‘Maybe,’ Harry said. ‘But it’s usually about jealousy.’

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘Then it might be about what you said.’

‘Blood and sex?’

‘About winning.’ Harry looked down into the glass. Beer had always made him feel bloated and tired. He used to like the first few sips, but after that it just tasted dull. ‘Talking of winning. Looks like Galatasaray are going to lose, so would you mind turning over to The Sunday Magazine on NRK1 instead?’

‘What if I’m a Beşiktaş fan?’

Harry nodded to the corner of the top shelf in front of the mirror. ‘Then you probably wouldn’t have a Galatasaray banner up there next to that bottle of Jim Beam, Mehmet.’

The bartender looked at Harry. Then he grinned, shook his head and pressed the remote.

‘We can’t say with one hundred per cent certainty that the man who attacked the woman in Hovseter yesterday is the same person who killed Elise Hermansen and Ewa Dolmen,’ Katrine said, and it struck her how quiet the studio was, as if everything around them was listening. ‘But what I can say is that we have physical evidence and witness statements linking a specific individual to the attack. And because this person is already a wanted man, an escaped prisoner who was convicted of sex offences, we’ve decided to go public with his name.’