The Redeemer(39)

'What I said applied to both job and private life.'

The policeman waited.

'Robert was kind,' Jon said and heard his voice starting to disintegrate. 'Loyal. Everyone liked Robert. He . . .' His voice thickened and stopped.

The policeman looked around the room. He didn't seem comfortable with the situation, but he waited. And waited.

Jon kept swallowing. 'He could be a little wild now and again. A bit . . . impulsive. Some may have considered him a bit cynical. But that was the way he was. Deep down, Robert was a harmless boy.'

The policeman turned to Thea and looked down at his notes. 'You're Thea Nilsen, sister of Rikard Nilsen, I gather. Does this tally with your impression of Robert Karlsen?'

Thea shrugged. 'I didn't know Robert so well. He . . .' She had crossed her arms and avoided Jon's gaze. 'He never hurt anyone as far as I am aware.'

'Did Robert ever say anything that might suggest he was in conflict with anyone?'

Jon shook his head hard, as though there were something inside he was trying to get rid of. Robert was dead. Dead.

'Did Robert owe any money?'

'No. Yes. Me. A little.'

'Sure he didn't owe anyone else money?'

'What do you mean?'

'Did Robert take drugs?'

Jon stared at the policeman in horror, then replied: 'No, he did not.'

'How can you know for sure? It's not always—'

'We work with drug addicts. We know the symptoms. And Robert didn't take drugs. OK?'

The policeman nodded and took notes. 'Sorry, but we have to ask these things. Naturally, we cannot exclude the possibility that the man who fired the gun was insane and Robert was an arbitrary victim. Or – since the Salvation Army soldier standing by the Christmas pot is a symbol – that the killing was directed against your organisation. Are you aware of anything that would support the latter theory?'

As though synchronised, the two young people shook their heads.

'Thank you for your help.' The policeman stuffed the notepad in his coat pocket and stood up. 'We haven't been able to find a telephone number or address for your parents . . .'

'I'll take care of that,' Jon said, staring into empty space. 'Are you quite sure?'

'Sure about what?'

'That it is Robert?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'But that's all you're sure about,' Thea burst out. 'Otherwise you know nothing.'

The policeman paused in front of the door and considered her comment.

'I think that's a fairly accurate summary of the situation,' he said.


At two o'clock in the morning the snow stopped. The clouds that had been hanging over the town like a heavy, black stage curtain were drawn to one side and a large, yellow moon made its appearance. The temperature beneath the naked sky began to fall again, making house walls creak and groan.





10

Wednesday, 17 December. The Doubter.



THE SEVENTH DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE BROKE WITH such freezing temperatures that people on the streets of Oslo felt they were being squeezed by a steel glove as they hurried in silence, focused on one thing: to arrive and escape its icy grip.

Harry was sitting in the meeting room in the red zone at Police HQ listening to Beate Lønn's demoralising report while trying to ignore the newspapers in front of him on the table. They all had the murder on the front page; they all had a grainy photo of a winter-dark Egertorget, with references to two or three pages of articles inside the paper. Verdens Gang and Dagbladet had managed to cobble something together which, with a little goodwill, might be termed portraits of Robert Karlsen, based on random, hasty conversations with friends and acquaintances. 'A nice guy.' 'Always willing to lend a hand.' 'Tragic.' Harry had read through them with a fine-tooth comb without being able to find anything of value. No one had contacted the parents and Aftenposten was the only newspaper to run a quotation from Jon: 'Incomprehensible' was the brief caption under a picture of a man with a bewildered expression and tousled hair in front of the Army flats in Gøteborggata. The article was written by an old friend, Roger Gjendem.

Harry scratched his thigh through a tear in his jeans thinking he ought to have put on some long johns. On arriving for work at half past seven he had gone to Hagen to ask him who was leading the investigation. Hagen had looked at him and replied that he, together with the Chief Superintendent, had decided that Harry would lead it. Until further notice. Harry had not asked for an elaboration of what 'until further notice' meant; he nodded and left.

From ten o'clock onwards twelve detectives from Crime Squad plus Beate Lønn and Gunnar Hagen, who had wanted to 'come for the ride', had sat in discussion.

And Thea Nilsen's summary from the previous evening was as accurate as before.

First of all, they had no witnesses. None of those who had been in Egertorget had seen anything of value. The CCTV footage was still being checked, but so far nothing had been found. None of the employees they had spoken to in the shops and restaurants in Karl Johans gate had noticed anything unusual, and no other witnesses had come forward. Beate, who had been sent pictures of the spectators by Dagbladet the night before, had reported back that they were either close-ups of smiling girls or panning shots which were too indistinct to get a decent look at facial characteristics. She had magnified sections of the latter, highlighting the audience in front of Robert Karlsen, but she hadn't spotted a weapon or anything else that would identify the person they were searching for.