The Redbreast(138)

The next thought made her throat constrict; she

couldn’t breathe and she began to feel faint. Was

he calling from a place where he could see the

house, where he could see when Even went out?

No, no, no. With an effort of will, she pulled

herself together and concentrated on breathing. Not

too quickly, deep breaths. Calm, she told herself,

as she had told the injured soldiers who were

brought in to them from the trenches; crying, panic-

stricken and hyperventilating. She had her terror

under control. And she could hear from the sounds

in the background that he was calling from

somewhere with a lot of people. Her house was in

a residential area.

‘You were so beautiful in your nurse’s uniform,

Signe,’ the voice said. ‘So shining white and pure.

White, exactly like Olaf Lindvig in his white

leather tunic. Do you remember him? You were so

pure that I thought you could never betray us, that

you didn’t have it in your heart. I thought you were

like Olaf Lindvig. I saw you touch him, his hair,

Signe. One moonlit night. You and he, you looked

like angels, as if you were sent from heaven. But I

was mistaken. There are, by the way, angels which

are not heaven-sent, Signe. Did you know that?’

She didn’t answer. Her thoughts churned around

her head in a maelstrom. Something he said had set

them in motion. The voice. She could hear it now.

He was distorting his voice.

‘No,’ she forced herself to answer.

‘No? You should do. I am such an angel.’

‘Daniel’s dead,’ she said.

The other end went quiet. Only his breath

wheezing against the membrane. Then the voice

again.

‘I have come to pass judgment. On the living and

the dead.’

Then he rang off.

Signe closed her eyes. She got up and went into

the bedroom. She stood behind the drawn blinds

and saw herself reflected in the window. She was

shaking as if she had a high temperature.

77

Harry’s Old Office. 11 May 2000.

IT TOOK HARRY TWENTY MINUTES TO MOVE BACK

INTO HIS old office. Everything he needed found

space in a bag from the 7-Eleven. The first thing he

did was to cut out a picture of Bernt Brandhaug

from Dagbladet. Then he pinned it on to the

notice-board, beside the archive pictures of Ellen,

Sverre Olsen and Hallgrim Dale. Four clues. He

had sent Halvorsen up to the Department of

Foreign Affairs to make enquiries and see if he

could find out who the woman at the Continental

was. Four people. Four lives. Four stories. He sat

down in the wrecked chair and studied them, but

they just stared past him, vacantly.

He rang Sis. She really wanted to keep Helge, at

least for a while. They had become such good

friends, she said. Harry said that was fine as long

as she remembered to feed him.

‘It’s a her,’ Sis said.

‘Oh, yes. How do you know that?’

‘Henrik and I checked.’

He was going to ask how they had checked, but

decided he preferred not to know.

‘Have you talked to Dad?’

She had. She asked Harry if he was going to meet

the girl again.

‘Which girl?’

‘The one you said you’d been for a walk with, I

suppose. The one with a little boy.’

‘Oh, her. No, I don’t think so.’

‘Very stupid.’

‘Stupid? You’ve never met her, Sis.’

‘I think it’s stupid because you’re in love with

her.’

Now and then Sis was capable of saying things

Harry had no idea how to answer. They agreed to

go to the cinema one day. Harry wondered if that

meant Henrik would be joining them. Sis said it

did. That was the way it was when you had a

partner.

They rang off and Harry sat deep in thought. He

and Rakel had never met in the corridors yet, but

he knew where her office was. He made up his

mind and got up – he had to talk to her now, he

couldn’t wait any longer.

Linda flashed him a smile as he came in the door

to POT.

‘Back already, handsome?’

‘I was just going to nip in to see Rakel.’

‘Just, was it, Harry? I saw you two at the office

party, you know.

’ To his irritation, Harry could feel her

mischievous smile making his ears burn and could

hear that his attempt at a dry laugh didn’t quite

come off.

‘But you can save yourself the walk, Harry. Rakel

is at home today. Off sick. One moment, Harry . . .’

She picked up the telephone. ‘POT. Can I help

you?’

Harry was on his way out of the door when Linda

called after him.

‘It’s for you. Do you want to take it here?’ She

passed him the telephone.

‘Is that Harry Hole?’ It was a woman’s voice.