The Redbreast(137)
HALVORSEN HAD taken their first sip of coffee and
Harry, with a grimace, had told him what he
thought of it.
‘I think the connection between the newspaper
article and the killing is a dead duck.’
‘Why?’ Møller stretched back in his chair.
‘In Weber’s opinion, the killer had been hiding in
the forest since early in the day, so at most a few
hours after Dagbladet had hit the stands. This was
not a spontaneous action; it was a well-planned
attack. The killer had known he was going to shoot
Brandhaug for some days. He had been out to recce
the area; he knew about Brandhaug’s comings and
goings; he had found the best place to fire from,
with the least risk of being seen; he knew how he
was going to get in and out, hundreds of tiny
details.’
‘So you think this is the murder he bought the
Märklin rifle for?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
‘Thanks. That got us a long way,’ Møller said
acidly.
‘I only mean that it is a possibility. On the other
hand, it’s all completely out of proportion. It seems
slightly over the top to smuggle in the world’s most
expensive assassination rifle to kill a high-ranking
though relatively nondescript bureaucrat without a
bodyguard or any security staff. Any hitman could
literally ring the doorbell and shoot him with a
handgun at close range. This is a little like . . . like
. . .’
Harry made circle movements with his hands.
‘Shooting sparrows with a cannon,’ Halvorsen
said.
‘Exactly,’ Harry said.
‘Hm.’ Møller closed his eyes. ‘And what kind of
role do you see for yourself in the continuing
investigation, Harry?’
‘As a kind of sweeper,’ Harry smiled. ‘I’m the
guy from POT who does his own thing, but can
request assistance from all other departments
whenever necessary. Who reports to Meirik, but
has access to all the documents in the case. Who
asks questions, but can’t be questioned. That sort
of thing.’
‘What about a licence to kill as well?’ Møller
said. ‘And a very fast car?’
‘In fact, this is not my idea,’ Harry said. ‘Meirik
has just been talking to the Chief Constable.’
‘The Chief Constable?’
‘Yup. I suppose you’ll get an email about it
during the course of the day. The Brandhaug case
has top priority from this minute and the Chief
Constable does not want to leave any stone
unturned. This is one of those FBI deals where
investigation teams have to some degree
overlapping duties in order to avoid the
standardisation of ideas you get on big cases. You
must have read about it.’
‘No.’
‘The point is that even if you have to duplicate a
few of the jobs, and even if the same investigative
work is carried out several times by different
teams, this is more than outweighed by the
advantages of different approaches and different
lines of investigation.’
‘Thank you,’ Møller said. ‘What has this got to do
with me? Why are you sitting here now?’
‘Because, as I said, I can request assistance from
all other —’
‘. . . departments if necessary. I heard that. Spit it
out, Harry.’ Harry angled his head towards
Halvorsen, who was smiling somewhat sheepishly
at Møller. Møller groaned.
‘Please, Harry! You know we’re down to the
bare bones in Crime Squad.’
‘I promise you’ll get him back in good condition.’
‘I said no!’
Harry said nothing. He waited, entwining his
fingers and studying the cheap reproduction of
Kittelsen’s Soria Maria Castle hanging on the
wall over the book shelves.
‘When will I get him back?’ Møller asked. ‘As
soon as the case is over.’
‘As soon . . . That’s how a section head answers
an inspector, Harry. Not the other way around.’
Harry shrugged.
‘Sorry, boss.’
76
Irisveien. 11 May 2000.
HER HEART WAS ALREADY BEATING LIKE A SEWING
MACHINE gone wild when she picked up the
receiver.
‘Hi, Signe,’ the voice said. ‘It’s me.’
She felt the tears coming immediately.
‘Stop this,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’
‘Until death us do part. That’s what you said,
Signe.’
‘I’m getting my husband.’
The voice gave a chuckle. ‘But he’s not there, is
he.’
She was squeezing the telephone so tight that her
hand hurt. How could he know that Even wasn’t at
home? And how come he only called when Even
was out?