'Show time,' Harry said. 'Point them to Hagen. I'm off down to the station.'
The suitcase had been checked in with the airline and he was walking towards the security channel. He was in high spirits. The final job was done. He was in such a good mood that he decided to run the gauntlet. The woman at security shook her head when he took the blue envelope from his inside pocket to show his ticket.
'Mobile telephone?' she asked.
'No.' He put the envelope on the table between the X-ray machine and the metal detector while taking off his camel-hair coat, discovered he was still wearing his neckerchief, removed it and put it in the pocket, placed the coat in the tray the official gave him and walked through the detector watched by two further pairs of alert eyes. Including the man screening his coat, and the one at the end of the conveyor belt, he counted five security people whose sole job it was to make sure he didn't take anything with him that could be used as a weapon on board the plane. On the other side of the detector, he put on his coat and went back to collect his ticket on the table. No one stopped him, and he walked past the officials. That is how easy it would have been to smuggle a knife blade through in the envelope. He emerged into the large departure hall. The first thing that struck him was the view from the enormous panoramic window. There wasn't one. The snow had drawn a white curtain in front of the scene outside.
Martine sat bent over the steering wheel as the windscreen wipers swished the snow away.
'The minister was positive,' David Eckhoff said with satisfaction. 'Very positive.'
'You already knew that,' Martine said. 'People like that don't come for soup and invite the press if they're going to say no. They want to be re-elected.'
'Yes,' Eckhoff said with a sigh. 'They have to be re-elected.' He looked out of the window. 'Good-looking boy, Rikard, isn't he?'
'You're repeating yourself, Daddy.'
'He just needs a bit of guidance to be a really good man for us.'
Martine drove down to the garage under HQ, pressed the remote control and the steel doors jolted open. They rumbled in and the studded tyres crunched over the concrete floor of the empty car park.
Beneath one of the roof lights, beside the commander's blue Volvo, stood Rikard, wearing overalls and gloves. But it wasn't him she was looking at. It was the tall, blond man standing next to him, and she recognised him instantly.
She parked alongside the Volvo, but sat in the car searching for something in her bag while her father got out. He left the door open and she heard the policeman say:
'Eckhoff?' The sound echoed off the walls.
'That's right. Anything I can help you with, young man?'
The daughter recognised the voice her father had assumed. The friendly but authoritative commander's voice.
'My name is Inspector Harry Hole, Oslo district. It's about one of your employees. Robert . . .'
Martine could feel the policeman's eyes on her as she got out of the car.
'. . . Karlsen,' Hole went on, turning back to the commander.
'A brother,' David Eckhoff said.
'I beg your pardon?'
'We like to think of our colleagues as members of a family.'
'I see. In that case, I am afraid I have to announce a death in the family, herr Eckhoff.'
Martine felt her chest constrict. The policeman waited to let it sink in before continuing: 'Robert Karlsen was shot dead in Egertorget at seven o'clock this evening.'
'Good God,' her father exclaimed. 'How?'
'All we know is that an unidentified person in the crowd shot him and fled the scene.'
Her father shook his head in disbelief. 'But . . . but at seven o'clock, you say? Why . . . why haven't I been told until now?'
'Because there are routine procedures in cases like these and we inform relatives first. I regret to say we have not been able to get hold of them.'
Martine realised from the detective's factual, patient response that he was accustomed to people reacting to news of bereavement with that kind of irrelevant question.
'I understand,' Eckhoff said, blowing out his cheeks and then releasing the air through his mouth. 'Robert's parents don't live in Norway any more, but you must have contacted his brother, Jon, haven't you?'
'He's not at home, and he isn't answering his mobile phone. I was told he might be here at HQ, working late. However, the only person I've met is this young man.' He nodded towards Rikard, who was standing there with glazed eyes like a dejected gorilla, arms limp, hanging down by his sides and capped off with enormous specialist gloves, sweat gleaming from his blue-black top lip.
'Any idea where I can find the brother?' the policeman asked.
Martine and her father looked at each other and shook their heads.
'Any idea who would want to take Robert Karlsen's life?'
Again, they shook their heads.
'Well, now you know. I need to get going, but we would like to come back to you with more questions tomorrow.'