The Redbreast(118)

Scene Unit is listening?’

They glared at each other. Møller was almost as

tall as Harry.

‘I’m just saying it’s bloody funny,’ Harry said,

turning away. ‘That’s all.’

‘That’s enough, Harry! I don’t know what made

you come out here after Waaler or whether you

suspected that something was going to happen, but

I know that I don’t want to hear any more about it. I

don’t want to hear another damned word

insinuating anything. Understood?’

Harry’s eyes lingered on the Olsen family’s

yellow house. It was smaller than the other houses

and it didn’t have the same high hedge around it as

the rest in this quiet-afternoon residential street.

The other hedges made this ugly, Eternit-cladded

home seem unprotected. The neighbouring houses

seemed to be cold-shouldering it. There was the

acidic smell of bonfires, and the distant metallic

voice of the commentator from Bjerke trotting track

came and went with the wind.

Harry shrugged. ‘Sorry. I . . . you know.’

Møller put his hand on his shoulder.

‘She was the best. I know that, Harry.’

65

Schrøder’s. 2 May 2000.

THE OLD MAN WAS READING AFTENPOSTEN. HE WAS

DEEPLY engrossed, studying the form for the trotting

races when his attention was caught by the

waitress standing by his table.

‘Hello,’ she said, putting the large glass in front

of him. As usual, he didn’t answer, merely

observed her as she counted his change. Her age

was indefinable, but he guessed somewhere

between thirty-five and forty. And she looked as if

the years had been as hard to her as to the clientele

she served. But she had a nice smile. Could knock

back a drink or two. She left and he downed the

first swig of his beer as his eyes wandered round

the room.

He looked at his watch. Then he got up, went

over to the coin-operated phones at the back of the

room, deposited three one-krone coins, punched in

the number and waited. After three rings the phone

was picked up.

‘Juul.’

‘Signe?’

‘Yes.’

He could hear from her voice that she was

already frightened, she knew who was ringing.

This was the sixth time, so perhaps she had

worked out the pattern and knew he would ring

today.

‘This is Daniel,’ he said.

‘Who is that? What do you want?’ Her breath

came in quick, successive pants.

‘I just told you, it’s Daniel. I only want you to

repeat what you said years ago. Do you

remember?’

‘Please stop this. Daniel is dead.’

‘Until death us do part, Signe. Until death us do

part.’

‘I’ll phone the police.’

He put down the receiver. Then he donned his hat

and coat and walked slowly out into the sunshine.

In Sankthanshaugen Park the first buds had

appeared. It wouldn’t be long now.

66

Dinner. 5 May 2000.

RAKEL’S LAUGHTER PENETRATED THE CONSTANT

BUZZ OF voices, cutlery and busy waiters in the

packed restaurant.

‘. . . and I was almost scared when I saw that

there was a message on the answerphone,’ Harry

said. ‘You know that small flashing eye. And then

your voice of authority.’

He lowered his voice into a deep key.

‘ This is Rakel. Dinner at eight on Friday. Don’t

forget, nice suit and wallet. Helge was scared out

of his wits. I had to give him two millet cobs

before he calmed down.’

‘I didn’t say that!’ she protested between bursts

of laughter. ‘It was similar.’

‘No, it wasn’t! And it was your fault. It was the

message you’ve got on your answerphone.’

She tried to find the same deep key: ‘This is

Hole. Speak to me. That is just so . . . so . . .’

‘Harry-like?’

‘Exactly.’

It had been a perfect dinner, a perfect evening,

and now it was time to ruin it, Harry thought.

‘Meirik has given me my orders. I have to go to

Sweden on an undercover assignment,’ he said,

fidgeting with his glass of Farris water. ‘Six

months. I’m leaving after the weekend.’

‘Oh.’

He was surprised when he didn’t see a reaction

register on her face.

‘I rang Sis and my father and told them earlier

today,’ he went on. ‘My father spoke. He even

wished me good luck.’

‘That’s nice.’ She gave him a fleeting smile and

busied herself with the dessert menu.

‘Oleg will miss you,’ she said in a low voice.

He looked at her, but couldn’t catch her eye.

‘And what about you?’ he asked.

A wry smile flitted across her face.