The Redbreast(142)
was obviously hoping Harry would ask him how
the trick worked, but Harry didn’t have the time.
‘Even Juul’s wife has disappeared,’ he said.
‘Jesus. Run off ?’
‘Don’t think so. Do you know her?’
‘I’ve never met her, but I know a lot about the
controversy when Juul was about to get married.
She was a nurse at the front and so on. What
happened?’
Harry told him about the telephone call and her
disappearance. ‘We don’t know any more than that.
I was hoping that you knew her and could give me
a lead.’
‘Sorry, but . . .’ Fauke stopped to take a sip from
his cup of coffee. He seemed to be thinking about
something. ‘What did you say was written on the
mirror?’
‘“God is my judge”,’ Harry said.
‘Hm.’
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘To be frank, I’m not sure myself,’ Fauke said,
rubbing his unshaven chin.
‘Come on, say it.’
‘You said that he might want to explain himself,
to be understood.’
‘Yes?’
Fauke walked over to the bookcase, pulled out a
thick book and began to leaf through.
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Just what I thought.’
He passed the book to Harry. It was a Bible
dictionary.
‘Look under Daniel.’
Harry’s eyes ran down the page until he found the
name. ‘“Daniel. Hebrew. God (El) is my judge”.’
He looked up at Fauke, who had lifted the pot to
pour coffee.
‘You’re looking for a ghost, Inspector Hole.’
80
Parkveien, Uranienborg. 11 May
2000.
JOHAN KROHN RECEIVED HARRY IN HIS OFFICE. THE
BOOK shelves behind him were crammed with
volumes of legal publications, bound in brown
leather. They contrasted oddly with the lawyer’s
childlike face.
‘We meet again,’ Krohn said, motioning Harry to
take a seat.
‘You have a good memory,’ Harry said.
‘There’s nothing wrong with my memory. Sverre
Olsen. You had a strong case there. Shame the
court didn’t manage to keep to the rule book.’
‘That’s not why I’ve come,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve got
a favour to ask.’
‘Asking costs nothing,’ Krohn said, pressing the
tips of his fingers together. He reminded Harry of a
child actor playing an adult.
‘I’m looking for a weapon which was imported
illegally and I have reason to believe that Sverre
Olsen might have been involved in some capacity
or other. As your client is dead you are no longer
prevented by client confidentiality from providing
us with information. It may help us to clear up the
murder of Bernt Brandhaug, whom we are fairly
positive was shot with precisely this weapon.’
Krohn gave a sour smile.
‘I would rather you let me decide the boundaries
of client confidentiality, officer. There is no
automatic assumption that it ceases upon death.
And you clearly have not considered the fact that I
may regard your coming here to ask for information
as somewhat brazen, bearing in mind that the
police shot my client?’
‘I’m trying to forget emotions and behave
professionally,’ Harry said.
‘Then try a little harder, officer!’ Krohn’s voice
merely became even squeakier when he raised it.
‘This is not very professional. In the same way as
killing a man in his own home was not very
professional.’
‘That was self defence,’ Harry said.
‘A technicality,’ Krohn said. ‘He is an
experienced policeman. He should have known
that Olsen was unstable and he should not have
burst in as he did. The policeman should obviously
have been prosecuted.’
Harry couldn’t let that go.
‘I agree with you that it’s always sad when a
criminal goes free on account of a technicality.’
Krohn blinked twice before he realised what
Harry meant.
‘Legal technicalities are a different kettle of fish,
officer,’ he said. ‘Taking an oath in court may
seem to be a detail, but without legal safeguards
—’
‘My rank is inspector.’
Harry concentrated on speaking softly and
slowly:
‘The legal safeguard you’re talking about cost my
colleague her life. Ellen Gjelten. Tell that to that
memory you’re so damn proud of. Ellen Gjelten.
Twenty-eight years old. The best investigative
talent in the Oslo police force. A smashed skull. A
very bloody death.’
Harry stood up and leaned across Krohn’s desk,
all one metre ninety of him. He could see the
Adam’s apple in Krohn’s scrawny vulture neck