Beate sent him a swift, sharp glare. 'If you travel abroad it ought to be to assist the national police. Or as a holiday. Our instructions clearly state—'
'The latter,' Harry said. 'A short Christmas break.'
Beate sighed in desperation. 'I hope you give Halvorsen a little Christmas break, too. We were planning to visit his parents in Steinkjer. Where are you planning to celebrate Christmas this year?'
At that moment Harry's mobile phone went off and as he searched his coat pocket he answered: 'Last year I was with my dad and Sis. The year before with Rakel and Oleg. But this year I haven't had much time to think.'
He was thinking about Rakel when he saw he must have pressed the OK button in his pocket. And now he could hear her laughter in his ear.
'You can join me here,' she said. 'We have an open house on Christmas Eve and we always need volunteer helpers. At the Lighthouse.'
It took Harry two seconds to realise it wasn't Rakel.
'I was ringing to say I'm sorry about yesterday,' Martine said. 'I didn't mean to run away like that. I was caught a bit on the hop. Did you get the answers you wanted?'
'Ah, it's you, is it?' Harry said in what he considered a neutral voice, but he still noticed Beate's lightning reaction. And superior social intelligence. 'Can I call you back?'
'Of course.'
'Thanks.'
'Not at all.' Her tone was serious but Harry could hear the suppressed laughter. 'One tiny thing.'
'OK?'
'What are you doing on Monday? The twenty-second.'
'Don't know,' Harry said.
'We've got a spare ticket for the Christmas concert at the concert hall.'
'I see.'
'Doesn't sound like you're swooning with excitement.'
'Sorry. It's hectic here and I'm not much good at things you have to dress up for.'
'And the artistes are too bourgeois and boring.'
'I didn't say that.'
'No, I said it. And when I said we had a spare ticket I actually meant I had one.'
'I see.'
'It's a chance to see me in a dress. And I look good in it. All I'm missing is a tall, older guy. Think about it.'
Harry laughed. 'Thanks, I promise I will.'
'Not at all.'
Beate didn't say a word after he rang off, didn't comment on his grin that refused to go away, just mentioned that the snowploughs were going to be busy, according to the weather forecasts. Now and then Harry wondered if Halvorsen appreciated the coup he had pulled off in getting together with Beate.
Jon Karlsen had not made an appearance yet. Stiff, he got up from the pavement by Sofienberg Park. The cold felt as though it came from the inside of the earth and had spread around his body. The blood in his legs began to circulate as he walked and he welcomed the pain. He hadn't counted the hours he had been sitting cross-legged with the paper cup in front of him while following the comings and goings in the building in Gøteborggata, but daylight was fading. He put his hand in his pocket.
His takings for the day would be enough for a coffee, a bite to eat and, he hoped, a packet of cigarettes.
He hurried towards the crossroads and the café where he had got the paper cup. He had seen a telephone on the wall, but dismissed the idea. In front of the café he paused, pulled back the blue hood and saw his reflection in the glass. No wonder people took him for a poor destitute soul. His beard was growing fast and there were sooty stripes over his face from the fire in the container.
In the reflection he saw the lights change to red and a car stopped beside him. He glanced inside as he held the door to the café. And froze. The dragon. The Serbian tank. Jon Karlsen. In the passenger seat. Two metres away from him.
He entered the café, hurried to the window and watched the car. He thought he had seen the driver before, but couldn't remember where. At the Hostel. Yes, he was one of the policemen who had been with Harry Hole. A woman was sitting at the back.
The lights changed. He charged out and saw the white smoke from the exhaust pipe as the car accelerated along the road by the park. Then he began to run. Further ahead he saw the car turn into Gøteborggata.
He fumbled in his pockets. Felt the piece of glass from the hut window with almost numb fingers. His legs wouldn't obey him, they were dead prostheses, one false step and they would break like icicles, he feared.
The park with the trees and the nursery and the headstones flickered in front of his eyes like a moving screen. His hand found the gun. He must have cut himself on the glass because the handle felt sticky.
Halvorsen parked outside Gøteborggata 4, and he and Jon got out of the car to stretch their legs while Thea went in to pick up her insulin.
Halvorsen checked the deserted street from top to bottom. Jon seemed uneasy too as he walked around in the cold. Through the car window Halvorsen could see the centre console with the holster containing his service revolver – he had taken it off because it was digging into his ribs while he was driving. If anything happened he would be able to grab it within two seconds. He switched on his mobile and saw he had received a message on the journey. He tapped and a familiar voice repeated that he had a message. Then came the peep and an unfamiliar voice began to speak. Halvorsen listened with increasing amazement. He saw that Jon had become aware of the voice on the phone and had come closer. Halvorsen's amazement passed into incredulity.