The Redeemer(132)

The cold scream of a crow in the woods rent the silence.

'Do you want . . . ?'

'No, I don't want to talk about it. There's not very much to talk about, anyway. It's a long time ago and I'm in one piece now. I'm just . . .' she snuggled up to him again, '. . . a tiny bit frightened.'

'Did you report it?'

'No. I wasn't up to it.'

'I know it's tough, but you should have done.'

She smiled. 'Yes, I've heard you should. Because another girl's next, isn't that right?'

'This is no joke, Martine.'

'Sorry, Daddy.'

Harry shrugged. 'I don't know if crime pays, but I do know it repeats itself.'

'Because it's in your genes, right?'

'That I don't know.'

'Have you read the research into adoption? It shows that children with criminal parents who grow up in a normal family with other children, unaware that they're adopted, have a much greater chance of turning out to be criminals than the other children in the family. So there has to be a criminal gene.'

'Yes, I've read that,' Harry said. 'Behavioural patterns may be hereditary. But I prefer to believe that in our own way each of us is infamous.'

'You think we're programmed creatures of habit?' She curled a finger and tickled Harry under the chin.

'I think we throw everything into one great calculation, lust and fear and excitement and greed and all that kind of thing. And the brain is brilliant. It computes away and almost never makes a mistake; that's why it produces the same answers every time.'

Martine propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down at Harry. 'And morality and free choice?'

'They're in the great calculation, too.'

'So you think a criminal will always—'

'No, otherwise I couldn't do my job.'

She ran a finger across his forehead. 'So people can still change?'

'That's what I hope anyway. That people learn.'

She rested her forehead on his. 'And what can you learn?'

'You can learn . . .' he began and was interrupted by her lips touching his, '. . . not to be lonely. You can learn . . .' the tip of her tongue caressed the bottom of his lower lip. '. . . not to be frightened. And you can . . .'

'Learn to kiss?'

'Yes. But not if the girl has just woken up and has a disgusting white coating on her tongue which . . .'

Her hand hit his cheek with a smack and her laughter tinkled like ice cubes in a glass. Then her hot tongue found his and she covered him with the duvet; she pulled up his sweater and T-shirt and the skin on her stomach glowed bed-warm and soft against his.

Harry's hand wandered under her top and up her back, felt the shoulder blades that moved under the skin and the muscles that tensed and relaxed as she wriggled towards him.

He unbuttoned her top and held her gaze as he moved his hand over her stomach, over her ribs until the soft skin of his thumb and forefinger was holding her stiff nipple. She panted hot air over him as her open mouth closed on him and they kissed. As she forced her hand down between their hips, he knew that this time he would not be able to stop. Nor did he want to.

'It's ringing,' she said.

'What?'

'The phone in your trousers, it's vibrating.' She began to laugh. 'Feel . . .'

'Sorry.' Harry dragged the silent phone up from his pocket, leaned over her and put it on the bedside table. But it was on its side and the throbbing display faced him. He tried to ignore it, but it was too late. He had seen that it was Beate.

'Shit,' he breathed. 'Just a moment.'

He sat up and studied Martine's face, which studied his as he listened to Beate. And her face was like a mirror; they seemed to be playing a mime game. Apart from seeing himself, Harry could see his fear, his pain and in the end his resignation reflected in her face.

'What's up?' she asked after he rang off.

'He's dead.'

'Who?'

'Halvorsen. He died in the night. Nine minutes past two. While I was out by the barn.'





Part Four

MERCY





29

Monday, 22 December.

The Commanding Officer.



IT WAS THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR, BUT FOR INSPECTOR Harry Hole the day seemed impossibly long before it had even started.

After hearing the news of Halvorsen's death he had first gone for a walk outdoors. Trudged through the deep snow to the woods and sat there watching day break. He had hoped the cold would freeze, alleviate or, at least, numb his feelings.

Then he had walked back. Martine had watched him with questions in her eyes, but said nothing. He had drunk a cup of coffee, kissed her on the cheek and got into the car. In the mirror, Martine had seemed even smaller standing on the step with her arms crossed.

Harry drove home, had a shower, changed clothes and flicked through the papers on the coffee table three times before giving up, bewildered. For the umpteenth time since the day before yesterday he would check his watch only to see his bare wrist. He fetched Møller's watch from the drawer in the bedside table. It was still working and would have to do for the time being. He drove to Police HQ and parked in the garage beside Hagen's Audi.