The Redeemer(147)

'Who?'

'He said I had to stay here for fifteen minutes.'

'He's gone.'

The cubicle door slid open. Thea Nilsen was sitting on the floor, between the bowl and the wall, with make-up running down her face.

'He said he would kill me if I didn't say where Jon was,' she said through her tears. As though to apologise.

'And what did you say?' Harry asked, helping her up onto the toilet lid.

She blinked twice.

'Thea, what did you tell him?'

'Jon texted me,' she said, staring without focus at the toilet walls. 'His father's ill, he said. He's flying to Bangkok tonight. Imagine. This evening of all evenings.'

'Bangkok? Did you tell Stankic?'

'We were supposed to meet the Prime Minister this evening,' Thea said as a tear rolled down her cheek. 'And he didn't even answer me when I rang, the . . . the—'

'Thea! Did you tell him Jon was catching a plane this evening?' She nodded, like a somnambulist, as though none of this had anything to do with her.

Harry rose to his feet and strode into the foyer where Martine and Rikard were standing and talking to a man Harry recognised as one of the Prime Minister's bodyguards.

'Call off the alarm,' Harry shouted. 'Stankic is no longer in the building.'

The three of them turned towards him.

'Rikard, your sister is sitting in there. Could you look after her? And, Martine, could you come with me?'

Without waiting for an answer, Harry took her arm and she had to jog to keep up with him down the steps towards the exit.

'Where are we going?' she asked.

'Gardemoen Airport.'

'And what are you going to do with me there?'

'You will be my eyes, dear Martine. You will see the invisible man for me.'


He studied his facial features in the reflection from the train window. The forehead, the nose, the cheeks, the mouth, the chin, the eyes. Tried to see what it was, where the secret lay. But he couldn't see anything special above the red neckerchief, just an expressionless face with eyes and hair which, against the walls of the tunnel between Oslo Central and Lillestrøm, were as black as the night outside.





33

Monday, 22 December. The Shortest Day.



IT TOOK HARRY AND MARTINE EXACTLY TWO MINUTES AND thirty-eight seconds to run from the concert hall to the platform of the National Theatre station where, two minutes later, they boarded an Inter City train stopping at Oslo Central and Gardemoen Airport on its way to Lillehammer. True, this was a slower train but it was still faster than waiting for the next airport express. They dropped into the two free seats left in a carriage full of soldiers on their way home for Christmas leave and gangs of students with boxes of wine and Santa hats.

'What's going on?' Martine asked.

'Jon's making his getaway,' Harry said.

'Does he know Stankic is alive?'

'He's not fleeing from Stankic, but from us. He knows his cover is blown.'

Martine's eyes widened. 'What do you mean?'

'I hardly know where to begin.'

The train drew into Oslo Central. Harry scrutinised the passengers on the platform, but did not see Jon Karlsen.

'It all started when Ragnhild Gilstrup offered Jon two million kroner to help Gilstrup Invest buy some of the Salvation Army's properties,' Harry said. 'He turned her down because he wasn't convinced she was scrupulous enough to keep a secret. Instead he went behind her back and spoke to Mads and Albert Gilstrup. He demanded five million and they were instructed not to tell Ragnhild about the deal. They agreed.'

Martine's mouth fell. 'How do you know this?'

'After Ragnhild's death Mads Gilstrup more or less broke down. He decided to come clean about the whole business. So he rang the police. A telephone number on Halvorsen's business card. Halvorsen didn't answer, but he left the confession as a voicemail. A few hours ago I played the message. Among many other things he said Jon demanded a written agreement.'

'Jon likes things to be neat and tidy,' Martine muttered. The train pulled out of the station, past the stationmaster's Villa Valle and into east Oslo's grey landscape of backyards with wrecked bikes, bare clothes lines and soot-black windows.

'But what has this got to do with Stankic?' she asked. 'Who took out the contract? Mads Gilstrup?'

'No.'

They were sucked into the tunnel's black void, and in the dark her voice was barely audible above the rattle of the train on the rails. 'Was it Rikard? Say it wasn't Rikard . . .'

'Why do you think it's Rikard?'

'The night Jon raped me Rikard found me in the toilet. I said I had tripped in the dark, but I could see he didn't believe me. He helped me get to bed without waking any of the others. Even though he has never said anything I've always had the feeling that he saw Jon and knows what happened.'

'Mm,' Harry said. 'So that's why he's so protective. Rikard seems to like you, and it's genuine.'

She nodded. 'I suppose that's why I . . .' she began, then paused.