The Redbreast(155)

‘I’m coming to that. You first.’

‘I tried to check Even Juul’s alibis for the time

his wife went missing. He claimed he was walking

round the city centre, popped into the

Kaffebrenneri in Ullevålsveien, but he didn’t meet

anyone there who could corroborate his story. The

staff working in the Kaffebrenneri say they’re too

busy to be able to prove or disprove anything.’

‘The Kaffebrenneri is right across the street from

Schrøder’s,’ Harry said.

‘So?’

‘I’m just stating a fact. What did Weber say?’

‘They haven’t found anything. Weber said that if

Signe Juul had been taken to the fortress in the car

the night-watchman saw, they would have found

something on her clothes, fibres from the back seat,

soil or oil from the boot, something.’

‘He’d spread out bin liners in the car,’ Harry

said.

‘That’s what Weber said too.’

‘Did you check the dry hay they found on her

coat?’

‘Yep. It could be from Mosken’s stable. Plus a

million other places.’

‘Hay. Not straw.’

‘There’s nothing special about the hay, Harry, it’s

just . . . hay.’

‘Damn.’ Harry looked around him grumpily.

‘What about Vienna?’

‘More hay. Do you know anything about coffee,

Halvorsen?’

‘Eh?’

‘Ellen used to make decent coffee. She bought it

in some shop here in Grønland. Maybe . . .’

‘No!’ Halvorsen said. ‘I’m not making you

coffee.’

‘Promise me you’ll try,’ Harry said, getting up

again. ‘I’ll be out for a couple of hours.’

‘Was that all you had to say about Vienna? Hay?

Not even a straw in the wind?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry. That was a dead

end too.You’ll get used to it.’

Something had happened. Harry walked up along

Grønlandsleiret as he tried to put his finger on

what it was. There was something about the people

in the streets, something had happened to them

while he was in Vienna. He was a long way up

Karl Johans gate before he realised what it was.

Summer had arrived. For the first time in years

Harry was aware of the smell of tarmac, of the

people passing him, of the flower shop in Grensen.

As he walked through the Palace Gardens the smell

of freshly mown grass was so intense that he had to

smile. A man and a woman wearing Palace

overalls stood looking up at the top of a tree,

discussing and shaking their heads. The woman

had unbuttoned the top of her overall and tied it

around her waist. Harry noticed that when she

looked up at the tree and pointed, her colleague

was stealing furtive glances at her tight T-shirt

instead.

In Hedgehaugsveien the hip and the not quite so

hip fashion boutiques were going through their

final paces to dress people up for the

Independence Day celebrations. The kiosks were

selling ribbons and flags, and in the distance he

could hear the echo of a band putting its final

touches to the traditional marching tune. Showers

were forecast, but it would be warm.

Harry was sweating when he rang the doorbell at

Sindre Fauke’s.

Fauke was not particularly looking forward to the

national holiday.

‘Too much fuss. And too many flags. No wonder

Hitler felt close to the Norwegians. Norwegians

are hugely nationalistic. We just dare not admit it.’

He poured the coffee.

‘Gudbrand Johansen ended up at the military

hospital in Vienna,’ Harry said. ‘The night before

he was supposed to leave for Norway he killed a

doctor. Since then no one has seen him.’

‘Well, I never,’ Fauke said, loudly slurping the

scalding hot coffee. ‘I knew there was something

wrong with that boy.’

‘What can you tell me about Even Juul?’

‘A lot. If I have to.’

‘Well, you have to.’

Fauke raised a bushy eyebrow.

‘Are you sure you’re not barking up the wrong

tree now, Hole?’

‘I’m not sure of anything at all.’

Fauke blew at his coffee thoughtfully.

‘OK. If it’s absolutely necessary. Juul and I had a

relationship which was like Gudbrand Johansen

and Daniel Gudeson’s in many ways. I was a

surrogate father for Even. It probably has

something to do with the fact that he had no

parents.’

Harry’s coffee cup stopped in mid-air on the way

to his mouth.

‘Not many people knew that because Even used

to make things up as he went along. His invented

childhood consisted of more people, details,

places and dates than most people would