when you —’
‘Goodnight, Harry.’
44
Harry’s Office. 6 March 2000.
THE CLOCK IN RECEPTION SHOWED 8.30 AS HARRY
ARRIVED at work. It wasn’t much of a reception
area, more an entrance which functioned as a
funnel. The funnel boss was Linda, who looked up
from her computer and greeted him with a cheery
‘Good morning’. Linda had been in POT longer
than anyone and, strictly speaking, she was the only
person in security Harry needed to have any
contact with in order to carry out his daily work.
Apart from being the ‘funnel boss’, the tiny fast-
talking woman of fifty functioned as a kind of
communal secretary, receptionist and general
factotum. It had occurred to Harry a couple of
times that if he were a spy for a foreign power and
had to tap someone in POT for information, he
would choose Linda. Furthermore, she was the
only person in POT, apart from Meirik, who knew
what Harry was doing there. He had no idea what
the others thought. During his extremely rare visits
to the canteen to buy a yoghurt or cigarettes (which
they didn’t sell, it turned out) he had caught the
looks from the tables. He hadn’t tried to interpret
them, however; he had merely scuttled back to his
office.
‘Someone phoned for you,’ Linda said. ‘Spoke
English. I’ll just have a look . . .’
She took a yellow Post-it off her computer
monitor.
‘Hochner.’
‘Hochner?’ Harry exclaimed.
Linda looked at the slip of paper, uncertain. ‘Yes,
that was what she said.’
‘ She? He, don’t you mean?’
‘No, it was a woman. She said she would call
back . . .’ Linda turned and looked at the clock
behind her, ‘. . . now. She seemed pretty keen to
get hold of you. While I’ve got you here, Harry –
have you been round to introduce yourself yet?’
‘Haven’t had time. Next week, Linda.’
‘You’ve been here for a whole month. Yesterday
Steffensen asked me who the tall blond guy was
he’d met in the toilet.’
‘Really? And what did you tell him?’
‘I said it was on a need-to-know basis.’ She
laughed. ‘And you have to come to the department
do on Saturday.’
‘So I understand,’ he mumbled, picking up two
pieces of paper from his pigeon-hole. One was a
reminder about the party, the other an internal note
about the new arrangement for reps. Both sailed
into the bin as soon as he had closed his office
door.
Then he sat down, pressed rec and pause on the
answerphone and waited. After about thirty
seconds the telephone rang. Harry picked up,
expecting Hochner.
‘Harry Hole speaking.’
‘Herry? Spicking?’ It was Ellen.
‘Sorry. I thought it was someone else.’
‘He’s an animal,’ she said before he could say
anything else. ‘Føcking ønbelivebel, he is.’
‘If you’re talking about what I think you’re talking
about, I would prefer you to stop right there,
Ellen.’
‘Wimp. Who were you expecting a call from, by
the way?’
‘A woman.’
‘At last!’
‘Forget it. It’s probably a relative or the wife of a
guy I’ve interviewed.’ She sighed. ‘When are you
going to meet someone, Harry?’
‘You’re in love now, are you?’
‘Well guessed! Aren’t you?’
‘Me?’
Ellen’s joyous screech pierced his eardrum.
‘You didn’t deny it! I’ve caught you, Harry Hole!
Who is it, who, who?’
‘Stop it, Ellen.’
‘Tell me I’m right!’
‘I haven’t met anyone, Ellen.’
‘Don’t lie to Mummy.’
Harry laughed. ‘Tell me more about Hallgrim
Dale. How far has the investigation got now?’
‘Don’t know. Talk to Kripos.’
‘I will, but what does your intuition tell you about
the murder?’
‘That he’s a pro. It isn’t a passion killing. And
despite the fact that I said the murder seemed neat
and tidy, I don’t believe that it was carefully
planned in advance.’
‘No?’
‘The killing was efficient and there were no clues
left behind, but the scene of the crime was a poor
choice. He could easily have been seen from the
street or in the back alley.’
‘The other line is bleeping. I’ll call you back.’
Harry pressed the pause button on the answering
machine and checked that the tape was now
running before he switched to the other line.
‘Harry.’
‘Hello, my name is Constance Hochner?’