The Redbreast(102)

‘I had Oleg when I was in Moscow,’ she said.

‘His father and I lived together for two years.’

‘What happened?’

She shrugged.

‘Nothing happened. We simply fell out of love.

And I came back to Oslo.’

‘So you are . . .’

‘A single mum. What about you?’

‘Single. Only single.’

‘Before you began with us, someone mentioned

something about you and the girl you shared an

office with in Crime Squad.’

‘Ellen? No. We just got on well. Get on well. She

still helps me out now and then.’

‘What with?’

‘The case I’m working on.’

‘Oh, I see, the case.’

She looked at her watch again. ‘Shall I help you

to get the door open?’ Harry asked.

She smiled, shook her head and gave it a shove

with her shoulder. The door squealed on its hinges

as it swung open.

The Holmenkollen slopes were quiet, except for a

gentle whistling in the fir trees. She placed a foot

in the snow outside.

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

‘Just one thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘When I came here last time, why didn’t you ask

me what I wanted from your father?’

‘Professional habit. I don’t ask about cases I’m

not involved in.’

‘Aren’t you curious anyway?’

‘I’m always curious. I just don’t ask. What’s it

about?’

‘I’m looking for an ex-soldier your father may

have known at the Eastern Front. This particular

man has bought a Märklin rifle. By the way, your

father didn’t give the impression of being at all

bitter when I talked to him.’

‘The writing project seems to have excited him.

I’m surprised myself.’

‘Perhaps one day you’ll get closer again?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said.

Their eyes met, hooked on to each other almost

and couldn’t let go. ‘Are we flirting now?’ she

asked. ‘Highly improbable.’

He could see her laughing eyes long after he had

parked illegally in Bislett, chased the monster back

under the bed and fallen asleep without noticing

the little red flashing light on the answerphone.

Sverre Olsen quietly closed the door behind him,

took off his shoes and crept up the stairs. He

skipped the step he knew would creak, but he knew

this was a waste of effort.

‘Sverre?’

The shout came from the open bedroom door.

‘Yes, Mum?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Just out, Mum. I’m going to bed now.’

He closed his ears to her words; he knew more or

less what they would be. They fell like slushy sleet

and were gone as soon as they hit the ground. Then

he closed the door to his room and was alone. He

lay down on the bed, stared at the ceiling and went

through what had happened. It was like a film. He

scrunched up his eyes, tried to shut it out, but the

film continued to run.

He had no idea who she was. As arranged, the

Prince had met him in Schous plass and they had

driven to the street where she lived. They had

parked so that they weren’t visible from her flat,

but they would be able to see her if she left the

building. He had said it could take all night, told

him to relax, put on that bloody nigger music and

lowered the back of his seat. But the front door had

opened after just half an hour and the Prince had

said, ‘That’s her.’

Sverre had loped after her, but he didn’t catch up

until they were in the dark street and there were

too many people around them. She had suddenly

turned and looked straight at him. For a moment he

was sure he had been sussed, that she had seen the

baseball bat up his sleeve sticking out over his

jacket collar. He had been so frightened that he had

not been able to control the twitches in his face,

but later when she had run out of 7-Eleven, the

terror had turned into anger. He remembered, and

yet didn’t remember, details from when they were

under the light on the path. He knew what had

happened, but it was as if fragments had been

removed, like in one of those quiz games on TV

where you are given pieces of a picture and you

have to guess what the picture is.

He opened his eyes again. Stared at the bulging

plasterboard on the ceiling. When he had the

money, he would get a builder to fix the leak Mum

had been nagging him about for so long. He tried to

think about roof repairs, but he knew it was

because he was attempting to drive the other

thoughts away. He knew something was wrong. It

had been different this time. Not like with slit-eyes

at Dennis Kebab. This girl had been a normal

Norwegian woman. Short brown hair, blue eyes.