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The Redbreast(62)

By:Jo Nesbo


remove the plates.

‘You make it sound like an interrogation.’

Helena’s dark eyebrows formed two ‘v’s in her

forehead.

‘Yes,’ Mother said, raising her glass, with a

beatific smile to Uriah. ‘This is an interrogation.’

Uriah raised his glass and returned the smile. ‘I

understand you, Frau Lang. She is your only

daughter. You are entirely within your rights. Well,

I would say it is even your duty to be absolutely

clear about what kind of man she has found

herself.’

Frau Lang’s narrow lips had formed into a pout to

drink, but the wineglass stopped in mid-air.

‘I am not well-off,’ Uriah went on. ‘But I am keen

to work. I have a good head on me and I will

manage to feed myself, Helena and undoubtedly

several more. I promise to take care of her as well

as I can, Frau Lang.’

Helena felt an intense desire to giggle and at the

same time a strange excitement.

‘Oh my goodness!’ the mother exclaimed and put

down her glass again. ‘You’re going a bit too far

now, young man, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Uriah took a large swig and stared at the

glass. ‘And I have to say again that this is a really

good wine, Frau Lang.’

Helena tried to kick his leg, but she couldn’t

reach under the wide oak table.

‘These are strange times though. And there is so

little of it.’ He put down the glass, but continued to

hold it in his gaze. The tiny hint of a smile Helena

thought she had seen had disappeared.

‘I have sat talking with my comrades on evenings

like this, Frau Lang. About all the things we would

do in the future, what the new Norway would be

like and all the dreams we would realise, some

great and some small. A few hours later they lay

dead on the battlefield, without any future.’

He raised his eyes and looked directly at Frau

Lang.

‘I move quickly because I have found a woman I

want and who wants me. A war is raging and all I

can tell you about my future plans is so much

eyewash. I have an hour to live a life in, Frau

Lang. And perhaps that is all you have too.’

Helena shot a rapid glance at her mother. She

seemed stunned.

‘I received a letter from the Norwegian police

today. I have to report to the field hospital at

Sinsen school in Oslo for an examination. I’ll be

leaving in three days. And I was thinking of taking

your daughter with me.’

Helena held her breath. The wall clock’s

ponderous tick boomed in the room. Mother’s

diamonds continued to glitter as the muscles under

the wrinkled skin of her neck tightened and

relaxed. A sudden gust of wind from the garden

door caused the flames to lie flat and the shadows

to leap between the dark furniture. Only the

shadow of Beatrice at the kitchen door seemed to

stand completely still.

‘ Apfelstrudel,’ Mother said with a wave to

Beatrice. ‘A Viennese speciality.’

‘I would like you to know that I am really looking

forward to it,’ Uriah said.

‘Yes, and so you should be,’ said Mother, forcing

another sardonic smile. ‘It’s made with apples

from our own garden.’

32

Johannesburg. 28 February 2000.

HILLBROW POLICE STATION WAS IN THE CENTRE OF

Johannesburg and looked like a fortress with

barbed wire on top of the walls and steel mesh in

front of windows, which were so small that they

were more like gun slits.

‘Two men, black, killed last night, in this police

district alone,’ Officer Isaiah Burne said as he led

Harry through a labyrinth of corridors with peeling

white walls and worn linoleum. ‘Did you see the

big Carlton Hotel? Closed. The whites moved out

to the suburbs a long time ago, so now we only

have each other to shoot at.’

Isaiah hitched up his pants. He was black, tall,

knock-kneed and more than a little overweight. The

white nylon shirt had dark rings of sweat in the

armpits.

‘Andreas Hochner is usually held in a prison we

call Sin City out of town,’ he said. ‘We brought

him in today for these interviews.’

‘Are there others apart from mine?’ Harry asked.

‘Here we are,’ Isaiah said, swinging open a door.

They went into a room where two men were

standing with folded arms and staring through a

brown window.

‘Two-way mirror,’ Isaiah whispered. ‘He can’t

see us.’

The two men in front of the window nodded to

Isaiah and Harry and moved away.

They looked into a small, dimly lit room with one

chair and one small table. On the table there was

an ashtray full of cigarette ends and a microphone

on a stand. The man sitting on the chair had dark