The Redbreast(111)

BEFORE the sun made an unanticipated, brash

appearance, and in the blinking of an eye it burned

off all the clouds in the sky. Harry was sitting with

his feet on the desk and his hands behind his head,

kidding himself that he was thinking about the

Märklin rifle. But his thoughts had wandered

outside the window, along the newly washed

streets which smelled warm now, along the wet

tarmac and the tramlines up to the top of

Holmenkollen, to the grey smudges of snow still

lying in the shadow of the spruce forest, where

Rakel, Oleg and he had hopped around on the

muddy paths to avoid the deepest puddles. Harry

had vague memories of going on Sunday walks like

that even when he was Oleg’s age. If they were

long walks, and he and Sis were lagging behind,

his father had put pieces of chocolate on the lowest

branches. Sis was still convinced that Kvikklunsj

bars grew on trees.

Oleg hadn’t said a lot to Harry the first two times

he visited. But that was fine. Harry didn’t know

what to say to Oleg either. Their discomfort had

eased slightly when Harry discovered he had

Tetris on his GameBoy. With neither mercy nor

shame, Harry had played at his best and beaten the

six-year-old boy by over 40,000 points. After that

Oleg had begun to ask Harry about cases, and why

snow was white, and all the other things that give

grown men deep furrows in their foreheads and

make them concentrate so hard that they forget to

be embarrassed. Last Sunday Oleg had seen a hare

in its winter coat and had run on ahead, leaving

Harry to hold Rakel’s hand. It was cold on the

outside and warm on the inside. She had twisted

her head round and smiled at him as she swung her

arms high, forwards and backwards, as if to say:

We’re playing games, this isn’t for real. He had

noticed she became tense when people approached

and he had let go of her hand. Afterwards they had

drunk cocoa on the Frogner slopes and Oleg had

asked why it was spring.

He had invited Rakel out for a meal. This was the

second time. The first time she had said she would

think about it and rang back to say no. This time

she had also said she would think about it, but at

least she hadn’t said no. Yet.

The telephone rang. It was Halvorsen. He

sounded sleepy.

‘I’ve checked 70 out of the 110 suspected of

using a weapon in GBH assaults,’ he said. ‘So far,

I’ve found eight skinheads.’

‘How did you find that out?’

‘I rang them. It’s amazing how many of them are

at home at four in the morning.’

Halvorsen laughed a little insecurely as Harry’s

end went quiet.

‘You rang each one?’ Harry asked.

‘Of course,’ Halvorsen said. ‘Or their mobiles.

It’s amazing how many of them have —’

Harry interrupted him.

‘And so you asked these violent criminals if they

wouldn’t mind giving an up-to-date description of

themselves to the police?’

‘Not exactly. I said we were looking for a suspect

with long red hair and asked if they had dyed their

hair recently,’ Halvorsen said.

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘If you’d shaved your head, what would you

answer?’

‘Hm,’ Harry said. ‘There are obviously a few

canny types up there in Steinkjer.’

The same nervous laugh.

‘Fax me up the list,’ Harry said.

‘You’ll have it as soon as I’m back.’

‘Back?’

‘One of the officers down here was waiting for

me when I got in. Needed to see the case notes I’ve

been working on. Must be urgent.’

‘I thought Kripos was working on the Gjelten

case now,’ Harry said.

‘Obviously not.’

‘Who is it?’

‘I think he’s called Vole, or something like that,’

Halvorsen said. ‘There’s no Vole in Crime Squad.

Do you mean Waaler?’

‘That’s it,’ Halvorsen said and, a little ashamed,

added, ‘There are so many new names right now . .

.’

Harry felt like giving the young constable a

bollocking for handing over case material to

people whose names he hardly knew, but this

wasn’t the time to be sharp with him. The boy had

been up for three nights in a row and was probably

dead on his feet.

‘Good work,’ Harry said, and was about to put

down the phone.

‘Wait! Your fax number?’

Harry stared out the window. The clouds had

begun to draw in over Ekeberg Ridge again.

‘You’ll find it on the telephone list,’ he said.

The phone rang the second he put it down. It was

Meirik, who asked him to go to his office straight

away.