Jo Nesbo - The Thirst

The girl looked up from her pad. ‘Is that all?’

‘Yes,’ Harry smiled.

She hurried to the bar as if someone was timing her. And who knows, maybe Rita was standing behind the bar doing just that.

Anders Wyller had texted to say that he was waiting for Harry at Tattoos & Piercings on Storgata. Harry started to write a reply, saying that Anders would have to deal with it on his own, when he suddenly heard someone sit down in front of him.

‘Hello, Rita,’ he said without looking up.

‘Hello, Harry. Bad day?’

‘Yes.’ He tapped in the old-fashioned smiley: colon, right-hand bracket.

‘And now you’re here to make it even worse?’

Harry didn’t answer.

‘Know what I think, Harry?’

‘What do you think, Rita?’ His finger tried to find the Send button.

‘I don’t think this is a crack in the ice.’

‘I’ve just ordered a beer from Freckly-Fia.’

‘Who we’re still calling Marte. And I’ve cancelled that beer. The devil on your right shoulder might want a drink, Harry, but the angel on your left steered you to a place where they don’t serve spirits, but where there is a Rita who you know will serve you coffee instead of beer, have a chat with you, then send you home to Rakel.’

‘She’s not at home, Rita.’

‘Aha, so that’s why. Harry Hole has managed to fuck up again. You men always seem to find a way.’

‘Rakel’s sick. And I need a beer before I call Oleg.’ Harry looked down at his phone. Looked again for the Send button as he felt Rita’s stubby warm hand settle on his.

‘Things usually turn out OK in the end, Harry.’

He stared at her. ‘Of course they don’t. Unless you actually know someone who made it out alive?’

She laughed. ‘ In the end is somewhere between what’s dragging you down today, and the day when nothing can drag us down any more, Harry.’

Harry looked at his phone again. Then he tapped in Oleg’s name instead and pressed the Call button.

Rita stood up and left him alone.

Oleg answered after the first ring. ‘It’s good that you called! We’re in a seminar, discussing paragraph 20 of the Police Act. You have to interpret it to mean that if the situation demands it, every police officer is subordinate to one of a higher rank and must obey orders from that higher rank even if they don’t work in the same department, or even at the police station, don’t you? Paragraph 20 says that the ranking officer decides if the situation is precarious and requires that. Come on, tell me I’m right! I’ve just bet these two idiots here a drink …’ Harry could hear laughter in the background.

Harry closed his eyes. Of course there was something to hope for, something to look forward to: the time that comes after what’s dragging you down today. The day when nothing can drag you down any more.

‘Bad news, Oleg. Your mum’s in Ullevål.’

‘I’ll have the fish,’ Mona said to the waiter. ‘Skip the potatoes, sauce and vegetables.’

‘Then there’s only the fish left,’ the waiter said.

‘Precisely,’ Mona said, handing him the menu. She looked around the lunchtime customers at the new but already popular restaurant where they had got hold of the last table for two.

‘Just fish?’ Nora said, after ordering the Caesar salad with no dressing, but Mona already knew her friend would capitulate and order dessert to go with coffee.

‘Deffing,’ Mona said.

‘Deffing?’

‘Getting rid of subcutaneous fat so that the muscles stand out better. It’s the Norwegian Championships in three weeks.’

‘Bodybuilding? You’re really going to take part?’

Mona laughed. ‘With these hips, you mean? I’m hoping my legs and upper body will get me enough points. And my winning personality, obviously.’

‘You seem nervous.’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s three weeks away, and you never get nervous. What is it? Something to do with the vampirist murders? Thanks for the advice, by the way – Smith was great. And Bratt came up with the goods too, in her own way. Have you seen Isabelle Skøyen, that former Councillor for Social Affairs? She called us to ask if The Sunday Magazine would be interested in having Mikael Bellman on as a guest.’

‘So he could answer criticism of the fact that Valentin Gjertsen was never caught? Yes, she’s called us about that too. Quite an intense woman, to put it mildly!’

‘Are you running it? Christ, anything even vaguely related to the vampirist gets published.’

‘ I wouldn’t have taken it. But my colleagues aren’t quite so fussy.’ Mona tapped on her iPad and passed it to Nora, who read out loud from VG ’s online edition:

‘“Former Councillor for Social Affairs, Isabelle Skøyen, rejects criticism of the Oslo Police and says that the Chief of Police is firmly in charge: ‘ Mikael Bellman and his police officers have already identified the vampirist murderer, and are now deploying all their resources to find him. Among other things, the Chief of Police has brought in renowned murder detective Harry Hole, who was more than willing to help his former senior officer, and is looking forward to slapping a pair of handcuffs on this wretched pervert .’”’ Nora passed the iPad back. ‘That’s pretty tawdry. So what do you think of Hole? Would you kick him out of bed?’

‘Definitely. Wouldn’t you?’

‘Don’t know.’ Nora stared into space. ‘Not kick. Maybe just a little push. Sort of please-leave-and-don’t-touch-me-there-and-not-there-and-definitely-not-there.’ She giggled.

‘Bloody hell,’ Mona said, shaking her head. ‘It’s people like you who are driving up the figures for misunderstanding-rapes.’

‘Misunderstanding-rapes? Is that a thing? And what does it actually mean?’

‘You tell me. No one’s ever misunderstood me.’

‘Which reminds me that I’ve finally worked out why you use Old Spice.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Mona said with a sigh.

‘Yes, I have! As protection against rape. That’s it, isn’t it? Aftershave that smells of testosterone. It chases them off as effectively as pepper spray. But has it occurred to you that it’s chasing all the other men away as well, Mona?’

‘I give up,’ Mona groaned.

‘Yes, give up! Tell me!’

‘It’s because of my father.’

‘What?’

‘He used Old Spice.’

‘Of course. Because you used to be so close. You miss him, poor—’

‘I use it as a constant reminder of the most important thing he taught me.’

Nora blinked. ‘Shaving?’

Mona laughed and picked up her glass. ‘Never giving up. Never .’

Nora tilted her head and gave her friend a serious look. ‘You are nervous, Mona. What is it? And why wouldn’t you have taken that Skøyen piece? I mean, you own the vampirist murders.’

‘Because I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ Mona moved her hands from the table as the waiter appeared again.

‘I certainly hope so,’ Nora said, looking at the pathetic little fillet the waiter put down in front of her friend.

Mona prodded it with her fork. ‘And I’m nervous because I’m probably being watched.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t tell you, Nora. Or anyone else. Because that’s the agreement, and for all I know we might be being bugged now.’

‘Bugged? You’re kidding! And there was me saying that Harry Hole could—’ Nora put her hand over her mouth.

Mona smiled. ‘That’s unlikely to be used against you. The thing is, I’m looking at what might be the scoop of the century in crime reporting. Ever, in fact.’

‘You’ve got to tell me!’

Mona shook her head firmly. ‘What I can tell you is that I’ve got a pistol.’ She patted her handbag.