He peered up at a man with a red beard and a paper cup in his hand. The beard said something. Loud and angry.
'Excuse me?'
The man answered in English. Something about turf.
He could feel the gun in his pocket. One bullet. Instead he took out the large, sharp chunk of glass he kept in his other pocket. The beggar glowered at him but slunk off.
He dismissed the idea that Karlsen might not come. He had to come. And in the meantime he would be the Danube. Patient and unstoppable.
'Come in,' ordered the happy, buxom woman in the Salvation Army flat in Jacob Aalls gate. She pronounced the 'n'with the tip of her tongue against her teeth, as is often the case when adults learn Norwegian later in life.
'Hope we're not disturbing,' Harry said as he and Beate Lønn entered the hall. The floor was covered with shoes, big and small.
The woman shook her head while they started to take off their footwear.
'Cold,' she said. 'Hungry?'
'I've just had breakfast, thank you,' Beate said.
Harry shook his head with a friendly smile.
She led them into the sitting room. Around the table sat what Harry assumed was the Miholjec family: two men, a boy of Oleg's age, a small girl and a teenage girl Harry guessed would have to be Sofia. She hid her eyes behind a curtain of black hair and held a baby on her lap.
'Zdravo,' the older man said. He was lean with thick, greying hair and black eyes that Harry recognised, the angry, frightened eyes of an outcast.
'This is my husband,' the woman said. 'He understands Norwegian, but doesn't speak much. This is Uncle Josip. He's visiting us for Christmas. My children.'
'All four of them?' Beate asked.
'Yes,' she laughed. 'The last was a gift from God.'
'A real sweetie,' Beate said, pulling a face at the baby who gurgled back with delight. And, as Harry had already suspected, she couldn't resist the temptation to tweak the chubby, red cheeks. He gave Beate and Halvorsen one, maximum two years, before they produced one like it.
The man said something and the wife replied. Then she turned to Harry. 'He wants me to say that you only like Norwegians working in Norway. He's tried to find work, but can't get any.'
Harry met the man's eyes and sent him a nod, which went unanswered.
'Here,' the wife said, pointing to two vacant chairs.
They sat down. Harry saw that Beate had taken out her notepad before he started speaking.
'We've come here to ask about—'
'Robert Karlsen,' the wife said, looking at her husband, who was nodding assent.
'That's right. What can you tell us about him?'
'Not much. In fact, we've only just met him.'
'Just met him.' The wife's glance happened to catch Sofia, who was sitting with her nose buried in the baby's rumpled hair. 'Jon asked Robert to help us when we moved from the little flat in A Block this summer. Jon is a good person. He saw to it that we got a bigger flat when we had him there, you know.' She laughed at the baby. 'But Robert stood around chatting to Sofia most. And . . . well, she's fifteen.'
Harry noticed the young girl's face change colour. 'Mm. We'd also like to talk to Sofia.'
'Talk away,' the mother said.
'Alone,' Harry said.
The mother's and father's eyes met. The duel lasted two seconds, but Harry managed to read quite a bit into it. Perhaps once he had been the one who took the decisions, but in the new reality, in the new country, where she had turned out to be more adaptable, she was the decision-maker. She nodded to Harry.
'Sit in the kitchen. We won't disturb you.'
'Thank you,' Beate said.
'No need for thanks,' the wife said gravely. 'We want you to catch the man who did it. Do you know anything about him?'
'We believe he is a hired killer and lives in Zagreb,' Harry said. 'At least he phoned a hotel there from Oslo.'
'Which one?'
Startled, Harry looked at the father who had spoken in Norwegian.
'Hotel International,' he said, and watched the father exchange glances with the uncle. 'Do you know anything?'
The father shook his head.
'If so, I would be very grateful,' Harry said. 'The man is after Jon now. He peppered Jon's flat with bullets the day before yesterday.'
Harry watched the father's expression change to incredulity. But he held his tongue.
The mother led the way into the kitchen with Sofia dragging her feet behind her. As most teenagers would have done, Harry assumed. As Oleg might well do in a few years' time.
Once the mother was gone, Harry took out his notepad and Beate positioned herself on a chair opposite Sofia.
'Hi, Sofia. My name's Beate. Was Robert your boyfriend?'
Sofia looked down and shook her head.
'Were you in love with him?'
Another shake of the head.
'Did he hurt you?'
For the first time since their arrival Sofia opened the curtain of black hair and looked straight into Beate's eyes. Harry guessed that behind the heavy make-up there was a pretty girl. Now he could see only the father, angry and frightened. And a bruise on her forehead that the make-up could not quite conceal.