The Redeemer(136)

'No, not at all, the sale was approved at board level. But without his spadework and persuasive conclusions I really don't believe we would have dared to do it. Jon is a man of the future for us. Not to say a man of the present. And the best proof that his father has not stood in his way is that he and Thea Nilsen will be sitting on the other side of the Prime Minister in the VIP box tonight.' Eckhoff frowned. 'By the way, I tried to get hold of Jon today, but he's not answering his phone. You haven't spoken to him by any chance?'

'I'm afraid not. Suppose Jon weren't there . . .'

'Pardon?'

'Suppose Jon had been killed – as the gunman had intended – who would take his place?'

David Eckhoff raised not one but both eyebrows. 'Tonight?'

'I was thinking more of the post.'

'Oh, I see. Well, I won't be giving away any secrets if I say it would be Rikard Nilsen.' He chuckled. 'People have been muttering about parallels between Jon and Rikard and Josef and me all those years ago.'

'The same competition?'

'Wherever you find people you will find competition. Also in the Salvation Army. We have to hope that on the whole trials of strength place people where they do the best for themselves and serve the common cause. Well, well.' The commander pulled up the fishing line. 'I hope that's answered your question, Harry. Frank Nilsen can confirm the story about Josef for you, if you wish, but I hope you understand why I would not like it to get out.'

'I have one last question while we're into Salvation Army secrets.'

'Come on then,' the commander said, impatient now and packing his fishing tackle into a bag.

'Do you know anything about a rape which took place at Østgård twelve years ago?'

Harry went on the assumption that a face like Eckhoff 's was limited in its ability to express surprise. And since this limit appeared to have been exceeded, he considered it fairly certain that his question was news to the commander.

'That must be erroneous, Inspector. If not, it would be terrible. Who was involved?'

Harry hoped his face would not give anything away. 'Professional vow of silence prevents me from saying.'

Eckhoff scratched his chin with the mitten. 'Of course. But . . . hasn't this crime passed its sell-by date?'

'Depends on how you look at it,' Harry said, scanning the shore. 'Shall we go?'

'Perhaps it's best if we return separately. The weight . . .'

Harry swallowed and nodded.

On reaching the beach without a soaking, Harry turned round. The wind had risen and snow was drifting across the ice making it look like a flying smokescreen. Eckhoff seemed to be walking on clouds.

In the car park, the windows of Harry's car were already covered with a fine layer of white frost. He got in, started the engine and put the heating on full blast. The hot air streamed up against the cold glass. While waiting for the windscreen to clear he was reminded of something Skarre had said. Mads Gilstrup had called Halvorsen. He took out the business card he still had in his pocket and dialled the number. No answer. As he was putting the phone back in his pocket it rang. He saw from the number that it was Hotel International.

'How are you?' the woman said in her clipped English.

'So-so,' Harry said. 'Did you get . . . ?'

'Yes, I did.'

Harry took a deep breath. 'Was it him?'

'Yes,' she sighed. 'It was him.'

'Are you absolutely sure? I mean, it's not so easy to identify someone from just—'

'Harry?'

'Yes?'

'I'm quite sure.'

Harry had an inkling that this English teacher had mastered stress and intonation to such an extent that she meant what she said. She was absolutely sure.

'Thank you,' he said and hung up. Hoping with all his heart that she was right. For it would all start now.

And it did.

As Harry activated the windscreen wipers and they pushed the melting frost crystals to both sides, his mobile rang for the second time.

'Harry Hole.'

'This is fru Miholjec. Sofia's mother. You said I could call this number if . . .'

'Yes?'

'Something has happened. To Sofia.'





30

Monday, 22 December. The Silence.



THE SHORTEST DAY OF THE YEAR.

It was on the front page of the Aftenposten lying on the table in front of Harry in the doctor's waiting room in Storgata. He checked the clock on the wall. Then realised he had a watch of his own.

'He'll see you now, herr Hole,' called a woman's voice from the hatchway where he had explained that he wanted to speak to the doctor who had seen Sofia Miholjec and her father a few hours ago.

'Third door on the right down the corridor,' the woman called out.

Harry jumped up and left behind him the silent, drooping band of people in the waiting room.

Third door on the right. Of course, chance might have sent Sofia to the second door on the left. Or the third door on the left. But no, third door on the right.

'Hi, I heard it was you,' smiled Mathias Lund-Helgesen, standing up to proffer his hand. 'What can I help you with this time?'