‘My name’s Hans Christian. I … apologise for having to be so negative. But a lot of bizarre enquiries regarding the case have come in, and it’s essential that Rakel has some peace now. I’m her solicitor.’
‘Hers?’
‘Theirs. Hers and Oleg’s. Would you like to come in?’
Harry nodded.
On the living-room table there were piles of papers. Harry went over to them. Case documents. Reports. The height of the pile suggested they had not stinted on their searches.
‘Dare I ask what has brought you here?’ Hans Christian asked.
Harry flicked through the papers. DNA tests. Witness statements. ‘Well, do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Why are you here? Haven’t you got an office where you can prepare the defence?’
‘Rakel wants to be involved. She is a lawyer herself. Listen, Hole. I know very well who you are and I know you’ve been close to Rakel and Oleg, but—’
‘And how close are you exactly?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, it sounds as if you’ve assumed responsibility for their all-round care.’
Harry ignored the overtone to his voice and knew that he had revealed himself, knew the man was watching him in amazement. And knew he had lost the upper hand.
‘Rakel and I are old friends,’ Hans Christian said. ‘I grew up close to here, we studied law together, and … well. When you spend the best years of your life together there are bonds of course.’
Harry nodded. Knew that he should keep his mouth shut. Knew that everything he said would make things worse.
‘Mm. With bonds of that kind it’s strange I never saw or heard about you when Rakel and I were together.’
Hans Christian was unable to answer. The door opened. And there she was.
Harry felt a claw close around his heart and wrench it round.
Her figure was the same: slim, erect. The face was the same: heart-shaped with dark brown eyes and the broadish mouth that liked to laugh so much. The hair was almost the same: long, though the darkness was perhaps a tad lighter. But the eyes were changed. They were the eyes of a hunted animal, widened, wild. But when they fell on Harry it was as if something returned. Something of the person she had been. Of what they had been.
‘Harry,’ she said. And at the sound of her voice, the rest came, everything came back.
He took two long strides and held her in his arms. The scent of her hair. Her fingers on his spine. She was the first to let go. He retreated a step and looked at her.
‘You look good,’ he said.
‘You too.’
‘Liar.’
She smiled quickly. Tears had already formed in her eyes.
They stayed standing like that. Harry let her study him, let her absorb his older face with its new scar. ‘Harry,’ she repeated, tilted her head and laughed. The first tear trembled on her eyelashes and fell. A stripe ran down her soft skin.
Somewhere in the room a man with a polo player on his shirt coughed and said something about having to go to a meeting.
Then they were alone.
While Rakel was making coffee he saw her gaze fix on his metal finger, but neither of them made a comment. There was an unspoken agreement that they would never mention the Snowman. So Harry sat at the kitchen table and instead talked about his life in Hong Kong. Told her what he was able to tell. What he wanted to tell. That the job as ‘debt consultant’ for Herman Kluit’s outstanding accounts consisted in meeting customers with payments that had fallen behind and jogging their memories in a friendly way. In brief, the consultation involved advising them to pay as soon as was practical and feasible. Harry said his major and basically sole qualification was that he measured 1 metre 92 centimetres in his stockinged feet, had broad shoulders, bloodshot eyes and a newly acquired scar.
‘Friendly, professional. Suit, tie, multinationals in Hong Kong, Taiwan and Shanghai. Hotels with room service. Elegant office blocks. Civilised, Swiss-style private banks with a Chinese twist. Western handshakes and courtesy phrases. And Asian smiles. By and large they pay the next day. Herman Kluit is content. We understand each other.’
She poured coffee for both of them and sat down. Took a deep breath.
‘I got a job with the International Court of Justice in The Hague, with offices in Amsterdam. I thought that if we left this house behind us, this town, all the attention …’
Me, Harry thought.
‘… the memories, everything would be alright. And for a while it was. But then it started. At first, the senseless bouts of temper. As a boy Oleg never raised his voice. He was grumpy, yes, but never … like that. Said I’d ruined his life by taking him away from Oslo. He said that because he knew I had no defence. And when I started to cry, he started to cry. Asked me why I’d pushed you out. You’d saved us from … from …’