foundations of your existence are still in place?’
‘They aren’t,’ Harry mumbled.
‘Why not?’
Harry took a deep breath.
‘Because I practically forced her to dig them up. Something I was working on for a long time fell apart and I couldn’t come to terms with it. I went on a bender and festered in my own shit for three days without answering the phone. On the fourth day she came round and rang the bell. At first she was furious. She said that I couldn’t just run away, that Møller had been asking after me, and then she stroked my face. She asked me if I needed help.’
‘And knowing you as I do, you showed her the door or something like that, right.’
‘I said I was fine. Then she went all miserable.’
‘Obviously. The girl’s fond of you.’
‘That’s what she said, but she also said that she couldn’t go through it again.’
‘Go through what again?’
‘Oleg’s father’s an alkie. It was destroying all three of them.’
‘And you answered?’
‘I said she was right, and that she should keep away from people like me. She pulled a face. Then she left.’
‘And now you have nightmares?’
‘Yes.’
Øystein breathed a heartfelt sigh.
‘Do you know what, Harry? There’s nothing that can help you through this. Well, there is one thing.’
‘I know,’ Harry said. ‘A bullet.’
‘You yourself, is what I was going to say.’
‘I know that, too. Forget I rang, Øystein.’
‘Already forgotten.’
Harry went to get the bottle of low-alcohol beer. He sat down in the armchair and glared at the label. The cap came off with a gasp of relief. He put the chisel down on the coffee table. The wooden handle was green and the blade was covered with a fine layer of yellow builder’s plaster.
At 6 a.m. on Friday the sun was already shining down on Ekeberg Ridge, making the Police HQ sparkle like a crystal. The security guard in reception yawned aloud and raised his eyes from Aftenposten as the first early riser slid his ID card through the security machine.
‘Says it’s going to get even hotter,’ announced the guard, who was glad he finally had someone he could exchange a few words with.
The tall, fair-haired man with bloodshot eyes glanced at him, but he didn’t answer.
The guard noticed that he took the stairs even though neither of the two lifts on the ground floor was being used.
Then he went back to concentrating on the Aftenposten article about the woman who had disappeared one bright, sunny morning before the weekend and still had not turned up. The journalist, Roger Gjendem, quoted Chief Inspector Bjarne Møller who had confirmed that the police had discovered one of the woman’s shoes under a car directly outside where she lived and that this strengthened suspicions that a crime had taken place. However, as yet they had nothing concrete to this effect.
Harry flicked through the paper on the way to his pigeonhole where he picked up the reports on the last two days’ search for Lisbeth Barli. There were five messages on his answerphone, all except one from Wilhelm Barli. Harry ran through the messages, which were almost identical: that they had to deploy more men, that he knew of a clairvoyant and that he wanted to go to the press and offer a reward to anyone who could help the police find Lisbeth.
The last message was someone breathing. That was all.
Harry rewound the tape and played it again.
And then again.
It was impossible to be sure whether it was a man or a woman. Even more impossible to hear if it was Rakel. The display showed that they had received the call at 11.10 p.m. from an ‘unknown number’, just as when Rakel called from her phone in Holmenkollveien. If it was her, why didn’t she try his home number or his mobile?
Harry went through the reports. Nothing. He read them one more time. Still nothing. He cleared his brain and started from the beginning again.
When he was finished he looked at his watch and went out to the pigeonholes to see if
‘They aren’t,’ Harry mumbled.
‘Why not?’
Harry took a deep breath.
‘Because I practically forced her to dig them up. Something I was working on for a long time fell apart and I couldn’t come to terms with it. I went on a bender and festered in my own shit for three days without answering the phone. On the fourth day she came round and rang the bell. At first she was furious. She said that I couldn’t just run away, that Møller had been asking after me, and then she stroked my face. She asked me if I needed help.’
‘And knowing you as I do, you showed her the door or something like that, right.’
‘I said I was fine. Then she went all miserable.’
‘Obviously. The girl’s fond of you.’
‘That’s what she said, but she also said that she couldn’t go through it again.’
‘Go through what again?’
‘Oleg’s father’s an alkie. It was destroying all three of them.’
‘And you answered?’
‘I said she was right, and that she should keep away from people like me. She pulled a face. Then she left.’
‘And now you have nightmares?’
‘Yes.’
Øystein breathed a heartfelt sigh.
‘Do you know what, Harry? There’s nothing that can help you through this. Well, there is one thing.’
‘I know,’ Harry said. ‘A bullet.’
‘You yourself, is what I was going to say.’
‘I know that, too. Forget I rang, Øystein.’
‘Already forgotten.’
Harry went to get the bottle of low-alcohol beer. He sat down in the armchair and glared at the label. The cap came off with a gasp of relief. He put the chisel down on the coffee table. The wooden handle was green and the blade was covered with a fine layer of yellow builder’s plaster.
At 6 a.m. on Friday the sun was already shining down on Ekeberg Ridge, making the Police HQ sparkle like a crystal. The security guard in reception yawned aloud and raised his eyes from Aftenposten as the first early riser slid his ID card through the security machine.
‘Says it’s going to get even hotter,’ announced the guard, who was glad he finally had someone he could exchange a few words with.
The tall, fair-haired man with bloodshot eyes glanced at him, but he didn’t answer.
The guard noticed that he took the stairs even though neither of the two lifts on the ground floor was being used.
Then he went back to concentrating on the Aftenposten article about the woman who had disappeared one bright, sunny morning before the weekend and still had not turned up. The journalist, Roger Gjendem, quoted Chief Inspector Bjarne Møller who had confirmed that the police had discovered one of the woman’s shoes under a car directly outside where she lived and that this strengthened suspicions that a crime had taken place. However, as yet they had nothing concrete to this effect.
Harry flicked through the paper on the way to his pigeonhole where he picked up the reports on the last two days’ search for Lisbeth Barli. There were five messages on his answerphone, all except one from Wilhelm Barli. Harry ran through the messages, which were almost identical: that they had to deploy more men, that he knew of a clairvoyant and that he wanted to go to the press and offer a reward to anyone who could help the police find Lisbeth.
The last message was someone breathing. That was all.
Harry rewound the tape and played it again.
And then again.
It was impossible to be sure whether it was a man or a woman. Even more impossible to hear if it was Rakel. The display showed that they had received the call at 11.10 p.m. from an ‘unknown number’, just as when Rakel called from her phone in Holmenkollveien. If it was her, why didn’t she try his home number or his mobile?
Harry went through the reports. Nothing. He read them one more time. Still nothing. He cleared his brain and started from the beginning again.
When he was finished he looked at his watch and went out to the pigeonholes to see if
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