The Redeemer(43)

Hans Wedlog, from Dagbladet, was one of those who swore by singlelens reflex cameras and rolls of film. Hence, as far as the timing of individual photos was concerned, he had to disappoint the inspector.

'OK,' Hole said. 'Did you cover the concert last night?'

'Yes, Rødberg and I do all the street-music stuff.'

'If you use rolls of film, you must have crowd shots lying around somewhere, haven't you?'

'Yes, I have. And I wouldn't have if I used a digital camera. They would have been deleted already.'

'That's what I was wondering. I was also wondering whether you would do me a favour.'

'Uh-huh?'

'Could you check your film from the day before yesterday to see if you can find a guy with a woollen hat and a black raincoat? And a neckerchief. We're poring over one of your photos right now. Halvorsen can scan it in and send it to you if you're near a computer.'

Harry could hear Wedlog had reservations. 'I can send you the photos, no problem, but checking them sounds like police work, and as a press guy I don't want to get any lines crossed here.'

'We're a bit short on time, I'm afraid. Would you like a photo of the police suspect or not?'

'Does that mean you would let us print it?'

'Yep.'

Wedlog's voice warmed up. 'I'm in the lab now, so I can check right away. I took loads of pictures of the crowd, so there's hope. Five minutes.'

Halvorsen scanned the photo in and sent it, and Harry sat drumming his fingers while they waited.

'What makes you so sure he was there the evening before?' Halvorsen asked.

'I'm not sure of anything,' Harry said. 'But if Beate is right and he is a pro, he would have done a recce, and preferably at a time when conditions were as similar to those of the planned hit as possible. And there was a street concert the day before.'

The five minutes came and went. Eleven minutes later the phone rang.

'Wedlog here. Sorry, no woolly hats and no black raincoats. And no neckerchief.'

'Fuck,' Harry said, loud and clear.

'Apologies. Shall I send them over so that you can check them for yourself? I had the lights focused on the audience that night. You'll have a better view of the faces.'

Harry hesitated. It was important to prioritise how time was allocated, especially in these critical first twenty-four hours.

'Send them and we'll look at them later,' Harry said, on the point of giving Wedlog his email address. 'By the way, better if you send them to Lønn at Krimteknisk. She's got a thing about faces. Perhaps she can see something.' He gave Wedlog the address. 'And I don't want my name mentioned in the byline, OK?'

'Course not. It'll be an "anonymous source in the police force". Nice to do business with you.'

Harry put down the receiver and nodded to a wide-eyed Halvorsen. 'OK, Junior, let's head for the Salvation Army HQ.'


Halvorsen glanced over at Harry. The inspector was unable to conceal his impatience as he scanned the noticeboard and the announcements about visiting preachers, music rehearsals and duty rosters. At length the uniformed, grey-haired reception lady was finished with incoming phone calls and turned to them with a smile.

Harry told her the purpose of their visit in swift, concise terms. She nodded as though she had been expecting them and gave them directions.

They didn't speak as they waited for the lift, but Halvorsen could see the beads of sweat on the inspector's brow. He knew Harry didn't like lifts. They got out on the fourth floor and Halvorsen followed Harry at a canter through the yellow corridors culminating in an open office door. Harry came to such an abrupt halt that Halvorsen almost crashed into him.

'Hello there,' Harry said.

'Hi,' said a woman's voice. 'Is it you again?'

Harry's sizeable figure filled the doorway and prevented Halvorsen from seeing who was speaking, but he noted the change in Harry's voice. 'Indeed it is. The commander?'

'He's waiting for you. Just go in.'

Halvorsen followed Harry through the small anteroom, with a quick nod to a small girl-woman behind a desk. The walls of the commander's office were decorated with wooden shields, masks and spears. On the well-stacked bookshelves were carved African figures and pictures of what Halvorsen supposed were the commander's family.

'Thank you for seeing us at such short notice, herr Eckhoff,' Harry said. 'This is Police Officer Halvorsen.'

'Tragic business,' said Eckhoff, who had got up from behind his desk and indicated two chairs with his hand. 'The press have been on our backs all day. Let me hear what you have so far.'

Harry and Halvorsen exchanged glances.

'We don't wish to go public with it yet, herr Eckhoff.'

The commander's eyebrows sank menacingly close to his eyes. Halvorsen released a silent sigh and prepared himself for yet another of Harry's cockfights. But then the commander's eyebrows shot back up.

'Forgive me, Inspector Hole. Professional deformation. As the commanding officer here, I sometimes forget that not everyone reports to me. How can I help?'