The Redbreast(110)

brain occasionally and listen to your body and your

heart. Then the doorbell rang, providing an

unwelcome interruption. Rakel went out to answer

it and returned with a tall man with a close-shaven

head and bloodshot eyes. She introduced him as a

colleague from POT. Brandhaug had definitely

heard the name before, he just couldn’t remember

when and in what context. He took an immediate

dislike to everything about him. He disliked the

interruption, the fact that the man was drunk and

that he sat down on the sofa and stared at him, like

Oleg, without uttering a word. But what he disliked

most was the change in Rakel, who brightened up,

ran to make coffee and laughed with abandon at

this man’s cryptic monosyllable answers as if they

contained brilliant flashes of wit. And there was

genuine concern in her voice when she refused to

allow him to drive his own car home. The only

redeeming feature Brandhaug could discern in the

man was that he suddenly went on his way and

immediately afterwards they heard his car starting

up, which might of course mean that he would have

the decency to kill himself. The damage he had

done to the atmosphere was irreparable, however,

and not long afterwards Brandhaug was sitting in

his own car on his way home. It was then that his

old hypoth- esis came back to him – there are four

possible causes for men deciding that they have to

possess a woman. And the most crucial one is that

you know she desires someone else.

When he rang Kurt Meirik the following day to

ask who the tall, fair-haired policeman was, he

was initially very surprised, then he started to

laugh. Because it was the very person he had

promoted and deployed in POT. An irony of fate,

naturally, but fate is also on occasion subject to the

counsel of the Royal Norwegian Ministry for

Foreign Affairs. When Brandhaug put down the

receiver, he was already in better spirits. He

strode through the corridors to the next meeting,

whistling on his way, and reached the conference

room in under seventy seconds.

61

Police HQ. 27 April 2000.

HARRY STOOD IN THE DOORWAY OF HIS OLD OFFICE,

LOOKING at a blond-haired young man sitting in

Ellen’s chair. He was concentrating so hard on the

computer screen he didn’t notice Harry until he

coughed.

‘So you’re Halvorsen then, are you?’

‘Yes,’ the young man said with an inquisitive

expression on his face.

‘From the police station in Steinkjer?’

‘Correct.’

‘Harry Hole. I used to sit where you’re sitting

now, but in the other chair.’

‘It’s knackered.’

Harry smiled. ‘It’s always been knackered.

Bjarne Møller asked you to check a couple of

details with regard to the Ellen Gjelten case?’

‘A couple of details?’ Halvorsen exclaimed in

protest. ‘I’ve been working non-stop for three

days.’

Harry sat down on his old chair, which had been

shifted to Ellen’s table. It was the first time he had

seen what the office looked like from her position.

‘What have you found out, Halvorsen?’

Halvorsen frowned.

‘Don’t worry,’ Harry said. ‘I was the one who

asked for this information. Check it out with

Møller, if you like.’

Halvorsen’s face suddenly lit up.

‘Of course! You’re Hole from POT! Sorry, I was

a bit slow on the uptake.’ A big smile spread

across his boyish face. ‘I remember the case in

Australia. How long ago is that now?’

‘A while. As I said . . .’

‘Oh yes, the list!’ He tapped a pile of computer

print-outs with his knuckles. ‘These are all the

guys who have been brought in, charged with or

convicted of GBH over the last ten years. There

are over a thousand names. That part was easy; the

problem is finding out which ones are skinheads.

The info says nothing about that. This could take

weeks . . .’

Harry leaned back in his chair. ‘I know. But

criminal records have codes for the weapons used.

Run searches for the codes for firearms and see

how many you’re left with.’

‘In fact, I was going to suggest that to Møller

when I saw how many names there were. Most of

them used knives, guns or fists. I should have a

new list ready in a few hours.’

Harry stood up.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember my internal

number, but you’ll find it on the telephone list. And

next time you have a good suggestion, don’t

hesitate to make it. We aren’t that smart down here in Oslo.’

Halvorsen, a little unsure of himself, sniggered.

62

POT. 2 May 2000.

THE RAIN HAD BEEN LASHING DOWN ALL MORNING