The Devil's Star by Jo Nesbø Page A

anything else had arrived. He took a detective’s report with him, put an envelope addressed to Bjarne Møller in the correct pigeonhole and went back into his office.
    The detective’s report was concise and to the point: nothing.
    Harry rewound the answerphone tape, pressed play and turned up the volume. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He tried to remember her breathing. Feel her breath.
    ‘Irritating when they don’t say who they are, isn’t it.’
    It wasn’t the words but the voice that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He turned round slowly in his chair, which screamed in anguish.
    Tom Waaler was standing leaning against the doorframe with a smile on his face. He was eating an apple and proffered the bag.
    ‘Dunno what they are. Australian? Taste wonderful.’
    Harry shook his head without taking his eyes off him.
    ‘May I come in?’ Waaler asked.
    When Harry didn’t answer, he stepped in and closed the door behind him. He walked round the desk and sat himself down in the other office chair. He leaned backwards and chomped noisily away at the inviting red apple.
    ‘Have you noticed that you and I are almost always the first two to arrive at work, Harry? Strange, isn’t it? Since we’re also the last two to go home.’
    ‘You’re sitting in Ellen’s chair,’ Harry said.
    Waaler patted the arm of the chair.
    ‘It’s about time you and I had a chat, Harry.’
    ‘Chat away,’ Harry said.
    Waaler held the apple up to the light in the ceiling and screwed up one eye. ‘Isn’t it depressing not having a window in your office?’
    Harry didn’t answer.
    ‘There is a rumour going round that you’re leaving,’ Waaler said.
    ‘Rumour?’
    ‘Well, rumour is perhaps an exaggeration. I have my sources, let’s put it that way. You’ve probably been looking around for other work – security companies, insurance companies, debt collection maybe? Must be lots of places where they need an investigator with a bit of a background in law.’
    Strong, white teeth sank into the flesh of the apple.
    ‘Perhaps not so many places where they require a work record with notes on drunkenness, unauthorised absences, abuse of authority, insubordination to superiors and disloyalty to the force.’
    His jaw muscles were grinding and chewing.
    ‘But – but,’ Waaler said. ‘Perhaps it’s not such a bad thing if they don’t employ you. None of them offers particularly interesting challenges, so to speak. Not for someone who, despite everything, has been an inspector and was reckoned to be one of the very best in his field. And they don’t pay particularly well, either. And that’s what it’s about in the final analysis, isn’t it? Being paid for your services. Getting enough money to pay for food and rent. Enough for a beer and a bottle of cognac. Or is it whisky?’
    Harry noticed that he was clenching his teeth so hard that his fillings were beginning to ache.
    ‘The best thing,’ Waaler continued, ‘would undoubtedly be to treat yourself to a few extras over and above purely basic needs, providing you had earned sufficient money, that is. Such as the occasional holiday trip with your family to Normandy, for example.’
    Harry felt his head fizzing, as if a fuse had blown.
    ‘You and I are different in many ways, Harry, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t respect you as a professional. You are goal-orientated, smart, creative and your integrity is unimpeachable. That’s what I’ve always thought. Above all else, though, you are mentally tough. In a society where competition gets harder and harder there is a need for this quality. Unfortunately, the competition doesn’t always use the means that we might desire, but if you want to be a winner you have to be willing to employ the same means as your competitors. There is one more thing . . .’
    Waaler lowered his voice.
    ‘You have to play in the right team, the team you can win something with.’
    ‘What are you after,