The Redbreast(120)

recognised him from the photo and furthermore

they could give us the date. You see, Kripos had

been there to check his alibi in connection with the

Hallgrim Dale case before Christmas. But I faxed

all that up to your office earlier today.’

‘I know. I’ve just come from there now.’

‘Now? I thought you were going out for dinner

this evening?’

‘Well, we finished early.’

‘And you went back to work?’ Halvorsen asked,

in disbelief.

‘Yes, I suppose I did. It was your fax which

started me thinking. I was wondering if you could

check a couple of other things for me tomorrow.’

Halvorsen groaned. First of all, Møller had told

him in a way that brooked no misunderstanding:

Harry was to have nothing to do with the Ellen

Gjelten case. And second: tomorrow was

Saturday.

‘Are you there, Halvorsen?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can imagine what Møller said. Don’t take any

bloody notice. Now you’ve got the chance to learn

a little more about detective work.’

‘The problem is, Harry —’

‘Keep quiet and listen, Halvorsen.’

Halvorsen cursed to himself. And listened.

68

Vibes Gate. 8 May 2000.

THE SMELL OF FRESHLY BREWED COFFEE WAFTED

INTO THE hall where Harry was hanging his jacket

on an overloaded coat stand.

‘Thank you for receiving me at such short notice,

herr Fauke.’

‘Not at all,’ Fauke mumbled from the kitchen. ‘An

old man like me is only too happy to help. If I can

help.’

He poured coffee into two large mugs and put

them on the kitchen table. Harry ran the tips of his

fingers along the rough surface of the dark, heavy

oak table.

‘From Provence,’ Fauke said without any

prompting. ‘My wife liked French peasant

furniture.’

‘Wonderful table. Your wife had good taste.’

Fauke smiled.

‘Are you married? No? Never been married? You

shouldn’t wait too long, you know. You become

difficult, on your own all the time.’

He laughed.

‘I know what I’m talking about. I was past thirty

when I got married. That was late for the time.

May 1955.’

He pointed to one of the photographs hanging on

the wall over the kitchen table.

‘Is that really your wife?’ Harry asked. ‘I thought

it was Rakel.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ after first looking at Harry in

surprise. ‘I forgot that you and Rakel knew each

other from POT.’

They went into the sitting room, where the piles

of paper had grown since his last visit and

occupied all the chairs except the one at the desk.

Fauke cleared a place for them to sit by the

overflowing coffee table.

‘Did you find out anything about the names I gave

you?’ he asked.

Harry summarised what he had discovered.

‘However, there are a few new elements,’ he

said. ‘A policewoman has been murdered.’

‘I read something about it in the paper.’

‘That case has been solved. We’re waiting for the

results of a DNA test. Do you believe in

coincidences, herr Fauke?’

‘Not really.’

‘Neither do I. That’s why I ask myself questions

when the same people keep cropping up in cases

which are apparently unrelated. On the same

evening Ellen Gjelten was murdered, she left a

message on my answer-phone saying “We’ve got

him now”. She was helping me to search for the

person who had ordered the Märklin gun from

Johannesburg. Of course, there doesn’t have to be

any connection between this person and the killer,

but they are adjacent thoughts. Especially since she

was clearly very concerned to get hold of me. This

was a case I had been dealing with for weeks, yet

she tried to contact me several times that night.

And she sounded very agitated. That may suggest

that she felt threatened.’

Harry placed his forefinger on the coffee table.

‘One of the people on your list, Hallgrim Dale,

was murdered last autumn. In the alley where he

was found there were also, among other things, the

remains of vomit. A link was not made

immediately since the blood group didn’t match

that of the victim, and the image of an extremely

cold-blooded professional murderer didn’t square

with someone who throws up at the scene of a

crime. Kripos, however, did not exclude the

possibility that the vomit belonged to the murderer

and sent off a saliva sample for DNA testing.

Earlier today one of my colleagues compared these

results with the tests done on the cap we found by

the murdered policewoman. They are identical.’

Harry paused and looked at the other man.