making the dashboard vibrate. Prince’s shrill
falsetto pierced her eardrums.
‘Groovy or what?’ Tom shouted above the music.
Ellen didn’t really want to offend him, so she
simply shook her head. Not that she had any
preconceptions that Tom Waaler was easy to
offend, but she had decided not to go against the
grain for as long as it was possible. She hoped
until the pairing of Tom Waaler with Ellen Gjelten
came to an end. Bjarne Møller, the head of their
section, had definitely said that the pairing was
only provisional. Everyone knew that Tom would
get the new inspector’s post in the spring.
‘Black poof,’ Tom shouted. ‘ Too much.’
Ellen didn’t answer. It was raining so hard that,
even with the wipers on full speed, the water lay
like a soft filter on the windscreen and made the
buildings in Ullevålsveien look like soft toy houses
undulating to and fro. Møller had sent them off this
morning to find Harry. They had already rung his
flat in Sofies gate and established that he was not
at home. Or he didn’t want to open up. Or he
wasn’t capable of opening up. Ellen feared the
worst. She watched people hurrying along the
pavement. They had distorted, bizarre features too,
like in crazy mirrors at the fair.
‘Turn left here and pull over outside Schrøder’s,’
she said. ‘You can wait in the car and I’ll go in.’
‘Fine with me,’ Waaler said. ‘Drunks are the
worst.’
She glanced at him from the side, but his
expression didn’t betray whether he meant
Schrøder’s morning clientele in general or Harry
in particular. He pulled into the bus stop outside
and as Ellen got out she saw that a Kaffebrenneri
had opened on the other side of the street. Or
perhaps it had been there for ages and she simply
hadn’t noticed it. On the bar stools along the
windows young people in roll-necked sweaters sat
reading foreign newspapers or staring out into the
rain, holding large white coffee cups between their
hands, presumably wondering if they had chosen
the right subject at university, the right designer
sofa, the right partner, the right football club or the
right European town.
In the doorway to Schrøder’s she almost bumped
into a man wearing an Icelandic sweater. The
alcohol had washed nearly all the blue from his
irises; his hands were as big as frying pans and
black with dirt. Ellen caught the sweet smell of
sweat and stale alcohol as he sailed past. Inside,
there was a slow morning atmosphere. Only four of
the tables were occupied. Ellen had been there
before, a long time ago, and as far as she could
determine nothing had changed. Large pictures of
Oslo in centuries past hung on the walls, and the
brown paintwork and the faux glass ceiling in the
middle gave it a little of the feel of an English pub.
Very little, if you were absolutely honest. The
plastic tables and benches made it look more like
the smokers’ saloon bar on a ferry along the Møre
coast. At the back of the room a waitress wearing
an apron was leaning against a counter and
smoking while keeping half an eye on Ellen. Harry
was sitting right in the corner near the window
with his head down over the table. A half-empty
beer glass in front of him.
‘Hi,’ Ellen said, taking a seat opposite him.
Harry looked up and nodded. As if he had been
waiting exclusively for her. His head slipped
down again.
‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you. We rang
your flat.’
‘Was I at home?’ he said in a flat tone, no smile.
‘I don’t know. Are you at home, Harry?’ She
indicated the glass.
He shrugged.
‘He’s going to live,’ she said.
‘I heard. Møller left a message on my
answerphone.’ His diction was surprisingly clear.
‘He didn’t say how badly injured he was. Plenty of
nerves and stuff in the back, aren’t there?’
He cocked his head, but Ellen didn’t answer.
‘Perhaps he’ll only be paralysed?’ Harry said,
tapping his now-empty glass. ‘ Skål.’
‘Your sick leave runs out tomorrow,’ she
said.‘Then we’ll be expecting to see you back on
the job.’
He raised his head. ‘Am I on sick leave?’
Ellen pushed a little plastic folder across the
table. The back of a pink piece of paper could be
seen inside.
‘I’ve been talking to Møller. And Dr Aune. Take
this copy of the sick leave form. Møller said it was
normal to have a few days off to recover after a
shooting incident in the line of duty. Come in
tomorrow.’