The three units at Police HQ arranged a Christmas party in the canteen. Seating was fixed and Bjarne Mřller, Beate Lřnn and Halvorsen ended up sitting next to each other. Between them, an empty chair and a plate with Harry's name card on.
'Where is he?' Mřller asked, pouring wine for Beate.
'Out looking for one of Sverre Olsen's pals who says he saw Olsen and another guy on the night of the murder,' Halvorsen said, struggling to open a beer bottle with a disposable lighter.
'That's frustrating,' Mřller said. 'Tell him not to work himself to death. A Christmas dinner doesn't take up much time after all.'
'You tell him,' Halvorsen said.
'Perhaps he just doesn't want to be here,' Beate said.
The two men looked at her and smiled.
'What's the matter?' She laughed. 'Don't you think I know Harry as well?'
They toasted. Halvorsen hadn't stopped smiling. He just watched. There was something–he couldn't quite put his finger on what–different about her. The last time he saw her was in the meeting room, but she hadn't had this life in her eyes. The blood in her lips. The posture, the willowy back.
'Harry would rather go to prison than to affairs like these,' Mřller said and told them about the time Linda from reception in POT had forced him to dance. Beate laughed so much she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then she turned to Halvorsen and tilted her head: 'Are you going to sit there gawping all night, Halvorsen?'
Halvorsen could feel his cheeks burning and managed to stammer out a puzzled 'Not at all' before Mřller and Beate burst out laughing again.
Later that evening he plucked up the courage to ask her if she felt like a whirl on the dance floor. Mřller sat alone until Ivarsson came over and sat on Beate's chair. He was drunk, slurring his speech, and he talked about the time he sat terrified out of his wits in front of a bank in Ryen.
'It's a long time ago, Rune,' Mřller said. 'You were straight out of college. You couldn't have done anything anyway.'
Ivarsson leaned back and studied Mřller. Then he got up and left. Mřller guessed Ivarsson was a lonely person who didn't even know it himself.
When the DJs Li and Li finished by playing 'Purple Rain' Beate and Halvorsen bumped into one of the other couples dancing and Halvorsen noticed how Beate's body suddenly stiffened. He looked up at the other couple.
'Sorry,' said a deep voice. The strong white teeth in the David Hasselhoff face shone in the dark.
When the evening was over, it was impossible to get hold of a taxi and Halvorsen offered to accompany Beate home. They trudged eastwards in the snow and it took them over an hour before they were standing outside her door in Oppsal.
Beate smiled and faced Halvorsen. 'If you would like that, you're very welcome,' she said.
'I'd love it,' he said. 'Thank you.'
'Then it's a deal,' she said. 'I'll tell my mother tomorrow.'
He said goodnight, kissed her on the cheek and began the polar expedition westwards again.
* * *
The Norwegian Meteorological Institute announced that the twenty-year-old snowfall record for December was about to be broken.
The same day the SEFO wound up the Tom Waaler case.
The panel concluded that nothing contrary to regulations had been uncovered. Quite the contrary, Waaler was praised for having acted correctly and maintained his composure in an extremely tense situation. The Chief Superintendent called the Chief Constable to make a tentative enquiry about whether he thought they should recommend Waaler for an award. However, since Alf Gunnerud's family was one of the more distinguished in Oslo–his uncle was on the City Council–they felt it might be perceived as inappropriate.
* * *
It was Christmas Eve and Christmas peace and goodwill settled over, well, at least, little Norway.
Rakel had chased Harry and Oleg out of the house and made Christmas lunch. When they returned, the whole house smelt of ribs. Olav Hole, Harry's father, arrived with Sis in a taxi.
Sis was ecstatic about the house, the food, Oleg, everything. During the meal she and Rakel chatted away like best friends while old Olav and young Oleg sat opposite each other and exchanged monosyllables for the most part. But they thawed when it was time for presents and Oleg opened his large parcel with 'from Olav to Oleg' on. It was Jules Verne's collected works. Open-mouthed, Oleg flicked through one of the books.
'He was the one who wrote about the moon rocket that Harry read to you,' Rakel said.
'Those are the original illustrations,' Harry said, pointing to the drawing of Captain Nemo standing by the flag at the South Pole and he read aloud: ' "Farewell. My new empire begins with six months of darkness." '