'Yes, of course.'
'Shit, that's kind of you. Hang on until I've fixed this shot. Could you hold the match?'
'Wouldn't it be easier if I held the syringe?'
Kristoffer scowled at him. 'Hello, I may be green but I'm not falling for the oldest junkie trick in the world. Come on, hold the match.'
He took the match.
The powder dissolved in the water and became a clear, brown liquid, and Kristoffer put a piece of cotton wool in the spoon.
'To get rid of the crap,' he answered before the other asked, then sucked the liquid up into the syringe through the cotton wool and placed the tip against his arm. 'Can you see how wonderful my skin is? Scarcely a mark, can you see that? Wonderful, thick veins. Pure virgin territory, they say. But in a couple of years it will be yellow with inflamed scabs, like theirs. And no more Steadyhand, either. I know that and yet I still keep doing it. Crazy or what.'
While Kristoffer was talking he shook the syringe to cool the liquid. He had tightened the rubber strap around his upper arm, inserted the needle into the vein that wound like a blue snake under his skin. The metal slid through the skin. Then he injected the heroin into his bloodstream. His eyelids half closed and his mouth half opened. Then his head fell back and his eyes found the hovering dog's corpse.
He watched Kristoffer for a while. Then he threw away the burned match and unzipped the blue jacket.
When Beate Lønn did get through at last she could hardly hear Harry because of the disco version of 'Jingle Bells' reverberating in the background. But she heard enough to know that he was not sober. Not because his speech was slurred; quite the contrary, he was very articulate. She told him about Halvorsen.
'Cardiac tamponade?' Harry shouted.
'Internal bleeding that fills the area round the heart so that it can't beat properly. They had to drain a lot of blood. The situation has stabilised now, but he's still in a coma. We just have to wait. I'll ring you if there are any developments.'
'Thanks. Anything else I ought to know?'
'Hagen sent Jon Karlsen and Thea Nilsen back to Østgård with two babysitters. And I've spoken to Sofia Miholjec's mother. She promised to take Sofia to a doctor today.'
'Mm. What about the Veterinary Institute report about the bits of meat in the vomit?'
'They said they suggested Chinese restaurants because China is the only country in the world where they eat that kind of thing.'
'Eat what kind of thing?'
'Dog.'
'Dog? Hang on.'
The music was gone and in its place she heard traffic noise. Then Harry's voice was there again. 'But they don't serve dog meat in Norway, for Christ's sake.'
'No, this is special. The Veterinary Institute managed to pinpoint the breed, so I'll ring the Norwegian Kennel Club tomorrow. They have a register of all pedigree dogs and their owners.'
'I don't quite see how that will help us. There must be hundreds of thousands of dogs in Norway.'
'Four hundred thousand. At least one for every household. I've checked it. The point is that this one is rare. Have you ever heard of a black Metzner?'
'Please repeat that.'
She repeated. And for a couple of seconds all she heard was the traffic noise in Zagreb until Harry shouted: 'Of course! That makes sense. A man looking for shelter. Why didn't I think of that before?'
'Think of what?'
'I know where Stankic is hiding.'
'What?'
'You must get hold of Hagen and have him authorise an armed operation by Delta.'
'Where? What are you talking about?'
'The container terminal. Stankic is hiding in one of the containers.'
'How do you know that?'
'Because there aren't many bloody places in Oslo where you can eat black Metzner. Make sure Delta and Falkeid have surrounded the terminal by the time I arrive on the first plane tomorrow. But no arrests before I get there. Is that clear?'
After Beate rang off, Harry stood in the street looking at the hotel bar. Where the plastic music was pounding away. And the half-finished glass of poison was awaiting him.
He had him now, the mali spasitelj. All that was needed was a clear head and a steady hand. Harry thought about Halvorsen. Of a heart drowning in blood. He could go straight up to his room, where there was no more alcohol, lock the door and throw the key out of the window. Or he could go in and finish off his drink. Harry shivered and took a deep breath and switched off his mobile. Then he went into the bar.
Staff at the Salvation Army's Headquarters had long since switched off the lights and gone home, but the light in Martine's office was still on. She dialled Harry Hole's number while asking herself the same questions: Was it because he was older that made it so exciting? Or because there seemed to be so many repressed emotions? Or because he looked so helpless. The incident with the woman Harry snubbed on the landing ought to have frightened her off, but for some reason or other the opposite was the case; she had become more intent than ever to . . . yes, what did she want actually? Martine groaned when the voice announced that the phone subscriber had switched off or was in area with poor coverage. She rang enquiries, got the number of his landline in Sofies gate and called. Her heart leapt when she heard his voice, but it was only an answering machine. She had the perfect excuse for popping by on her way home from the office and now he wasn't there! She left another message. Saying she had to give him the ticket for the Christmas concert in advance because she would be helping at the concert hall from the morning onwards.