The Redeemer

Part Three
CRUCIFIXION
20

Thursday, 18 December. The Citadel.

The neon sign outside Vika Atrium showed minus eighteen and the clock inside 9 p. m. as Harry and Halvorsen stood in the glass lift watching the tropical plants becoming smaller and smaller beneath them.

Halvorsen pursed his lips, then changed his mind. Pursed them again.

'Glass lifts are fine,' Harry interrupted. 'No problem with heights.'

'Uh-huh.'

'I want you to do the introductions and ask the questions. I'll join in after a while. OK?'

Halvorsen nodded.

They had just sat down in the car after the visit to Tore Bjorgen when Gunnar Hagen had called and asked them to go down to Vika Atrium where Albert and Mads Gilstrup, father and son, were waiting for them in order to make a statement. Harry had pointed out that it was not normal practice to ring the police to make a statement and he had asked that Skarre deal with the matter.

'Albert is an old acquaintance of the Chief 's,' Hagen had explained. 'He phoned to say they had decided they didn't want to make a statement to anyone except the officer leading the inquiry. On the positive side, there won't be a solicitor present.'

'Well-'

'Great. I appreciate that.'

So, no command this time.

A little man in a blue blazer was waiting for them outside the lift.

'Albert Gilstrup,' he said with minimal movement from a lipless mouth as he proffered a fleeting but firm handshake. Gilstrup had white hair and a furrowed, weather-beaten face but young, alert eyes, which studied Harry as he led him towards a door with a sign declaring that this was where Gilstrup Invest was housed.

'I would like you to be aware that my son has been hit hard by this,' Albert Gilstrup said. 'The body was in a terrible state, and I am afraid to say Mads has a somewhat sensitive nature.'

Harry concluded from the way Albert Gilstrup expressed himself that he was either a practical man who knew there was little to be done for the dead, or that his daughter-in-law had not occupied a special place in his heart.

In the small but exclusively furnished reception area hung wellknown Norwegian pictures with national-romantic motifs that Harry had seen countless times before. A man with a cat in the farmyard. Soria Maria Palace. The difference was that this time Harry was not so sure he was looking at reproductions.

Mads Gilstrup was sitting and staring through the glass wall facing the atrium as they came into the meeting room. The father coughed and the son slowly turned as if he had been disturbed in the middle of a dream he didn't want to relinquish. The first thing that struck Harry was that the son did not look like his father. His face was narrow, but the round, gentle features and the curly hair made Mads Gilstrup look younger than the thirty-something years Harry assumed he must have been. Or perhaps it was his expression, the childlike helplessness in those brown eyes that finally focused on them when he stood up.

'I'm grateful that you were able to come,' Mads Gilstrup whispered in a thick voice, squeezing Harry's hand with an intensity that made Harry wonder whether the son might have thought the priest had arrived and not the police.

'Not at all,' Harry said. 'We had wanted to talk to you anyway.'

Albert Gilstrup coughed and his mouth barely opened, like a crack in a wooden face. 'Mads means that he is grateful for your coming here at our request. We thought you might prefer the police station.'

'And I thought you might have preferred to meet us at home as it's so late,' Harry said, addressing the son.

Mads looked at his father, irresolute, and on receiving a faint nod, answered: 'I can't bear to be there now. It's so… empty. I'll sleep at home tonight.'

'With us,' the father added by way of explanation and sent him a look that Harry thought should have been sympathy. But it resembled contempt.

They sat down and father and son pushed their business cards across the table to Harry and Halvorsen. Halvorsen responded with two of his own. Gilstrup senior looked at Harry in anticipation.

'Mine haven't been printed yet,' Harry said. Which was true, as far as it went, and always had been. 'But Halvorsen and I work as a team, so all you have to do is ring him.'

Halvorsen cleared his throat. 'We have a few questions.'

Halvorsen's questions sought to establish Ragnhild's movements earlier that day, what she was doing in Jon Karlsen's flat and possible enemies. Each one was met with a shake of the head.

Harry searched for milk for his coffee. He had started taking it. Probably a sign that he was getting old. Some weeks ago he had put on the Beatles' indisputable masterpiece Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band and was disappointed. It had got old, too.

Halvorsen was reading questions from his notepad and jotting down notes without making eye contact. He asked Mads Gilstrup to account for where he had been between nine and ten o'clock this morning, which was the doctor's estimate of the time of death.

'He was here,' Albert Gilstrup said. 'We've been working here all day, both of us. We're trying to turn around the firm.' He addressed Harry. 'We expected you to ask that question. I've read that the husband is always the first person the police suspect in murder inquiries.'

'With good reason,' Harry said. 'From a statistical point of view.'

'Fine,' Albert Gilstrup nodded. 'But this isn't statistics, my dear man. This is reality.'

Harry met Albert Gilstrup's flashing blue eyes. Halvorsen glanced across at Harry as though in dread of something.

'So let's stick to reality,' Harry said. 'And shake our heads less and say more. Mads?'

Mads Gilstrup's head shot up as if he had dozed off. Harry waited until they had eye contact. 'What did you know about Jon Karlsen and your wife?'

'Stop!' Albert's wooden-doll mouth snapped. 'That kind of impudence may be acceptable with the clientele that you deal with on a day-to-day basis, but not here.'

Harry sighed. 'If it is your wish, your father may stay here, Mads. However, if I have to, I will throw him out.'

Albert Gilstrup laughed. It was the seasoned victor's laugh from someone who has at last found a worthy opponent. 'Tell me, Inspector, am I going to be obliged to ring my friend the Chief Superintendent and tell him how his men treat someone who has just lost his wife?'

Harry was about to answer, but was interrupted by Mads who raised his hand in a slow, strangely graceful movement. 'We have to find him, Father. We have to help each other.'

They waited, but Mads's gaze had returned to the glass wall and said nothing further.

'All right,' Albert said in English with pukka pronunciation. 'We'll talk on one condition: that we do this face to face, Hole. Your assistant can wait outside.'

'We don't work like that,' Harry said.

'We're trying to cooperate here, Hole, but this demand is not up for discussion. The alternative is to talk to us through our solicitor. Have you understood?'

Harry waited for the anger to rise. And when it still didn't come, he was no longer in any doubt: he was indeed getting old. He nodded to Halvorsen, who looked surprised but got to his feet. Albert Gilstrup waited until the officer had closed the door behind him.

'Yes, we have met Jon Karlsen. Mads, Ragnhild and I met him in his role as financial adviser for the Salvation Army. We made him an offer that would have been very advantageous and he rejected it. A person of high morals and integrity without any doubt. But, of course, he might have been courting Ragnhild anyway; he wouldn't have been the first. I am aware extramarital affairs are not front-page news any more. What makes your intimations impossible, however, is Ragnhild herself. Believe me, I have known the woman for a long time. She is not only a much-loved member of the family; she is also a person with character.'

'And if I tell you she had keys to Jon Karlsen's flat?'

'I don't want to hear any more about the case!' Albert snapped.

Harry glanced at the glass wall and caught the reflection of Mads Gilstrup's face as his father continued.

'Let me get to the point of why we want a face-to-face meeting with you, Hole. You're leading the investigation, and we thought of offering a prize if you catch the person guilty of the murder of Ragnhild. To be precise, two hundred thousand kroner. Absolute discretion.'

'I beg your pardon?' Harry said.

'All right,' Gilstrup said. 'The sum can be discussed. The vital thing for us is that this case is given top priority by the police.'

'Tell me, are you trying to bribe me?'

Albert Gilstrup put on an acid smile. 'That was very dramatic, Hole. Allow it to sink in. We won't quibble if you give the money to the fund for police widows.'

Harry didn't answer. Albert Gilstrup smacked his hand down on the table.

'I think the meeting is over. Let's keep channels open, Inspector.'

Halvorsen yawned as the glass lift fell to the ground, gentle, soundless, the way he imagined angels in Christmas carols descended to earth.

'Why didn't you throw out the father straight away?' he asked.

'Because he's interesting,' Harry said.

'What did he say while I was outside?'

'That Ragnhild was a lovely person who could not have had a relationship with Jon Karlsen.'

'Do they believe that themselves?'

Harry shrugged.

'Anything else they talked about?'

Harry hesitated. 'No,' he said, peering down at the green oasis with the fountain in the marble desert.

'What are you thinking about?' Halvorsen asked.

'I'm not sure. I saw Mads Gilstrup smile.'

'Eh?'

'I saw his reflection in the glass. Did you notice that Albert Gilstrup looks like a wooden doll? The sort ventriloquists use.'

Halvorsen shook his head.

They walked down Munkedamsveien towards Oslo Concert Hall where fully laden Christmas shoppers were hurrying along the pavements.

'Fresh,' said Harry, shivering. 'Shame the cold makes exhaust fumes hug the ground. The whole town suffocates.'

'Better that than the foul stench of aftershave in the meeting room, though,' Halvorsen said.

At the staff entrance to the concert hall hung a poster for the Salvation Army's Christmas concert. On the pavement beneath it sat a boy with an outstretched hand and an empty paper cup.

'You lied to Bjorgen,' Halvorsen said.

'Oh?'

'A two-year custodial sentence for one Stesolid? And for all you know Stankic may have nine vindictive brothers.'

Harry shrugged and consulted his watch. He was too late for the AA meeting. He decided it was time he listened to God's words.

'But when Jesus comes back to Earth who will be able to recognise him?' David Eckhoff shouted, and the flame in front of him flickered. 'Maybe the Redeemer is among us now, in this town?'

A mumble passed through the crowd in the large, white, simply furnished auditorium. The Citadel had neither an altarpiece nor a communion rail but an 'anxious bench' between the gathering and the podium where you could kneel and confess your sins.

The commander looked down on those assembled and paused for effect before continuing. 'For even though Matthew writes that the Redeemer shall come in all his glory, with all the angels, it is also written, "I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me."'

David Eckhoff breathed in, turned the page and raised his eyes to the congregation. And continued without looking down at the scriptures.

'"Then they will answer: Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you? But he will reply: I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the humblest, you did not do for me. And they will be given eternal punishment, but the righteous will be given eternal life."' The commander pounded the lectern. 'What Matthew is saying here is a call to war, a declaration of war against selfishness and inhumanity!' he cried. 'And we Salvationists believe there will be a universal judgement on the Last Day, that the righteous will receive eternal life and that the ungodly will receive eternal punishment.'

When the commander's sermon was over, the floor was open for personal testimonies. An elderly man talked about the battle of Oslo Cathedral square, which they had won with God's words spoken through Jesus and with open-hearted sincerity. Then a younger man stepped forward saying they should bring the evening to a close by playing hymn no. 617 in the book. He stood in front of the uniformed band of eight wind musicians and Rikard Nilsen on the big bass drum and started counting. They played the introduction, then the conductor turned to the audience and they joined in. The hymn sounded powerful in the room. 'Let the flag of redemption wave, onwards now to holy war!'

When the hymn was finished David Eckhoff approached the lectern again. 'Dear friends, let me conclude this evening's meeting by informing you that the Prime Minister's Office has today confirmed that the Prime Minister will be attending the annual Christmas concert in Oslo Concert Hall.'

The news was met with spontaneous applause. The congregation stood up and made its unhurried way to the exit as the room buzzed with lively conversation. Only Martine Eckhoff seemed to be in a hurry. Harry was sitting on the furthest bench to the back watching her come down the central aisle. She was wearing a woollen skirt, black stockings, Doc Martens like himself and a white knitted cap. She looked straight at him without any sign of recognition. Then her face lit up. Harry got to his feet.

'Hi,' she said, tilting her head and smiling. 'Work or spiritual thirst?'

'Well, your father is quite a speaker.'

'He would have been an international star of Pentecostalism.'

Harry thought he caught a glimpse of Rikard in the crowd behind her. 'Listen, I have a couple of questions. If you feel like walking in the cold I can accompany you home.'

Martine looked doubtful.

'If that's where you want to go,' Harry hastened to add.

Martine looked around before answering. 'I can walk you home. Your place is on the way.'

The air outside was raw, thick, and smelt of fat and salty car exhaust. 'I'll get straight to the point,' Harry said. 'You know both Robert and Jon. Is it possible that Robert might have wanted to kill his brother?'

'What did you say?'

'Think a little before you answer.'

They took tiny steps on the thick ice, past the revue theatre Edderkoppen, through the deserted streets. The Christmas dinner season was coming to an end, but taxis were still shuttling passengers with festive clothes and aquavit eyes up and down Pilestredet.

'Robert was a bit wild,' Martine said. 'But kill?' She shook her head with vigour.

'He may have got someone else to do it?'

Martine shrugged. 'I didn't have much to do with Jon and Robert.'

'Why not? You grew up together, so to speak.'

'Yes, but I didn't have much to do with anyone really. I liked my own company best. As you do.'

'Me?' came the surprised response from Harry.

'One lone wolf recognises another, you know.'

Harry glanced to his side and met teasing eyes.

'You must have been the type of boy who went his own way. Exciting and unapproachable.'

Harry smiled and shook his head. They passed the oil drums in front of the derelict though colourful facade of Blitz. He pointed.

'Do you remember when they occupied the property here in 1982 and there were punk gigs with Kjott, The Aller V?rste and all the other bands?'

Martine laughed. 'No. I had just started school then. And Blitz wasn't exactly the sort of place we in the Salvation Army would frequent.'

Harry grinned. 'No, well, I went there from time to time. At the beginning, at least, when I thought it might be somewhere for people like me, outsiders. But I didn't fit in there, either. Because when it came down to it Blitz was about uniformity and thinking alike. The demagogues had a field day there, like…'

Harry paused, but Martine completed the sentence for him. 'Like my father in the Citadel this evening?'

Harry thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. 'My point is that you soon become lonely if you want to use your own brain to find answers.'

'And what answer has your lonely brain come up with so far then?' Martine put her hand under his arm.

'It seems to me that both Jon and Robert have a number of amours behind them. What's so special about Thea since they both have their eyes on her?'

'Was Robert interested in Thea? That wasn't my impression.'

'Jon says so.'

'Well, as I said, I haven't had a lot to do with them. But I remember that Thea was popular with the boys during the summers we spent at Ostgard. Competition starts early, you know.'

'Competition?'

'Yes, boys who want to become officers have to find themselves a girl within the Army.'

'Do they?' asked Harry in surprise.

'Didn't you know that? If you marry outside you lose your job in the Army straight away. The whole command chain is based on married officers living and working together. They have a joint calling.'

'Sounds strict.'

'We're a military organisation.' Martine said this without a hint of irony.

'And the boys knew that Thea wanted to be an officer? Even though she's a girl.'

Martine smiled and shook her head. 'I can see you don't know much about the Salvation Army. Two-thirds of the officers are women.'

'But the commander is a man? And the chief administrator?'

Martine nodded. 'Our founder William Booth said his best men were women. Nevertheless, we are like the rest of society. Stupid, self-assured men ruling over smart women with a fear of heights.'

'So the boys fought every summer to be the one who ruled over Thea?'

'For a while. But Thea stopped going to Ostgard all of a sudden, so the problem was solved.'

'Why did she stop?'

Martine shrugged. 'Perhaps she didn't want to go. Or her parents didn't want her to go. So many boys around day and night at that age. .. you know.'

Harry nodded. But he didn't know. He had never even been to a confirmation camp. They walked up Stensberggata.

'I was born here,' Martine said, pointing to the wall that used to run around Rikshospitalet before it was pulled down. Before long the new residential project Pilestredet Park would be there.

'They've kept the building with the maternity ward and converted it into flats,' Harry said.

'Do people really live there? Think of all the things that have happened there. Abortions and…'

Harry nodded. 'Sometimes when you walk around here at midnight you can still hear the screams of children coming from there.'

Martine ogled Harry. 'You're joking! Are there ghosts?'

'Well,' Harry said, turning into Sofies gate, 'it might be because families with children have moved in.'

Martine slapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. 'No jokes about ghosts. I believe in them.'

'Me too,' said Harry. 'Me too.'

Martine stopped laughing.

'I live here,' Harry said, pointing to a light blue front door.

'Didn't you have any more questions?'

'Yes, but they can wait until the morning.'

She cocked her head to the side. 'I'm not tired. Have you got any tea?'

A car crawled forward on creaking snow, but pulled into the pavement fifty metres lower down and blinded them with bluish-white light. Harry gave her a thoughtful look as he groped for his keys. 'Just Nescafe. Listen, I'll ring-'

'Nescafe's fine,' Martine said. Harry went to put the key in the lock but Martine was a step ahead. She pushed open the light blue front door. Harry watched it spring back and close against the frame, but it didn't snap shut.

'It's the cold,' he mumbled. 'The building's shrinking.'

Harry slammed the door after them, then they went up the stairs.

'Tidy here,' Martine said, taking off her boots in the hall.

'I don't have a lot of things,' Harry said from the kitchen.

'What do you like best?'

Harry gave that some thought. 'Records.'

'Not the photo album?'

'I don't believe in photo albums,' Harry said.

Martine went into the kitchen and slunk onto one of the chairs. From the corner of his eye Harry watched her tuck her legs under her with the agility of a cat.

'You don't believe?' she asked. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'They destroy the ability to forget. Milk?'

She shook her head. 'But you believe in records?'

'Yes. They lie in a more truthful way.'

'But don't they destroy the ability to forget?'

Harry paused mid-pour. Martine was chuckling. 'I don't believe in this surly, disillusioned inspector. I think you're a romantic, Hole.'

'Let's go into the sitting room,' Harry said. 'I've just bought a great new record. For the moment it comes without any memories attached.'

Martine slipped onto the sofa while Harry put on Jim Stark's debut record. Then he sat in the green wing chair and caressed the coarse woollen material to the accompaniment of the first guitar notes. He remembered the chair had been bought from Elevator, the Salvation Army's second-hand shop. He cleared his throat. 'Robert may have been having a relationship with a girl who was much younger than him. What do you think about that?'

'What do I think about relationships between younger women and older men?' She chuckled but flushed deep red in the silence that followed. 'Or whether I think Robert liked underage girls?'

'I didn't say that, but a teenager maybe. Croatian.'

'Izgubila sam se.'

'Pardon?'

'That's Croat. Or Serbo-Croat. We used to spend the summer in Dalmatia when I was small, before the Salvation Army bought Ostgard. When Daddy was eighteen he went to Yugoslavia to help with recon-struction after the Second World War. He got to know the families of a lot of the builders. That was why he committed us to taking refugees from Vukovar.'

'With regard to Ostgard, do you remember a Mads Gilstrup, the grandson of the people you bought it off?'

'Oh, yes. He was there for some days the summer we took it over. I didn't speak to him. No one spoke to him, I remember. He seemed so angry and introverted. But I think he liked Thea, too.'

'What makes you think that? If he didn't speak to anyone, I mean.'

'I saw him watching her. And when we were with Thea all of a sudden there he was. But he didn't say a word. He seemed weird, I thought. Almost a bit scary.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. He slept at the neighbours' house on the days he was there, but one night I woke up in the room where a few of the girls slept. And I saw a face pressed against the window. Then it went. I'm almost positive it was him. When I told the other girls they said I was seeing things. They were convinced there had to be something wrong with my eyesight.'

'Why's that?'

'Haven't you noticed?'

'What?'

'Come and sit here, and I'll show you,' Martine said, patting the sofa beside her. 'Can you see my pupils?'

Harry leaned forward and felt her breath on his face. And then he saw it. The pupils inside the brown irises looked as though they had spilt into the iris, forming a keyhole shape.

'It's congenital,' she said. 'It's called iris coloboma. But you can still have normal eyesight.'

'Interesting.' Their faces were so close he could smell her skin and her hair. He breathed in and had the tremulous sensation of slipping into a hot bath. A short, firm buzz sounded.

It took Harry a moment to realise it came from the door. Not the intercom. Someone was standing outside his door on the landing.

'Must be Ali,' Harry said, getting up from the sofa. 'The neighbour.'

In the six seconds it took Harry to get off the sofa, go into the hall and open the door, it went through his mind that it was too late to be Ali. And he usually knocked, anyway. And if anyone had come in to the block or gone out after Martine and him the main door was bound to have been left open.

It wasn't until the seventh second that he realised he shouldn't have opened up. He looked at the person standing there and had an intimation of what was in the offing.

'Now you're happy, I suppose,' Astrid said with a slight slur.

Harry didn't answer.

'I've just come from a Christmas dinner. Are you going to invite me in, Harry boy?' Her red lips tautened against her teeth as she smiled and her stiletto heels clattered on the floor as she stepped sideways to regain balance.

'It's not convenient,' Harry said.

She scrunched up her eyes and studied his face. Then she peered over his shoulder. 'Got a lady there, have you? Is that why you skipped the meeting today?'

'We can talk another time, Astrid. You're drunk.'

'We discussed Step Three at the meeting today. We took the decision to put our lives in God's care. But I can't see any God, I can't, Harry.' She took a half-hearted swipe at him with her bag.

'There is no third step, Astrid. Everyone has to look after themselves.'

She stiffened and looked at him as the tears welled in her eyes. 'Let me in, Harry,' she whispered.

'It won't help, Astrid.' He put a hand on her shoulder. 'I'll ring for a taxi to take you home.'

His hand was knocked away with surprising force. 'Home?' she screeched. 'I'm not fucking going home, you bloody impotent lecher.'

She swivelled round and started to stagger down the stairs.

'Astrid…'

'Get out of my sight! Screw your other tart.'

Harry watched her until she was gone, heard her fighting with the door, her curses, the creaking door hinges and then the silence.

When he turned Martine was right behind him in the hall slowly doing up her coat.

'I…' he began.

'It's late.' She flashed a fleeting smile. 'I was a bit tired anyway.'

It was three o'clock in the morning and Harry was still sitting in the wing chair. Tom Waits was singing in a low voice about Alice as the brushes swished on the snare drum.

'It's dreamy weather we're on. You wave your crooked wand along an icy pond.'

His mind ran unchecked. All the bars were closed now. He hadn't refilled his hip flask after emptying it down the dog's gullet in the container terminal. But he could phone Oystein. He drove a taxi almost every night and always kept a bottle of gin under the seat.

'It won't help.'

Unless you believed in ghosts, of course. Believed in those encircling his chair and staring down at him with dark, hollow eye sockets. In Birgitta who had come up from the sea with the anchor still around her neck; in Ellen who was laughing with the baseball bat protruding from her head; in William who hung like a galleon figurehead from the rotary dryer and Tom who had come to get his watch back waving a bloody stump of an arm.

The booze couldn't free him; it could only give temporary relief. And right now he was willing to pay a lot for that.

He lifted the telephone and tapped in a number. It was answered on the second ring.

'How is it, Halvorsen?'

'Cold. Jon and Thea are asleep. I'm sitting in the room with a view of the road. I'll have to have a nap tomorrow.'

'Mm.'

'We have to drive back to Thea's flat tomorrow to get more insulin. She's a diabetic.'

'OK, but take Jon with you. I don't want him left on his own.'

'I could get someone to come here.'

'No!' Harry said sharply. 'I don't want anyone else involved for the time being.'

'Right.'

Harry sighed. 'Listen, I know babysitting isn't in the job description. You'll have to say if there's anything I can do in return.'

'Well…'

'Come on.'

'I promised to take Beate out one evening before Christmas to let her try lutefisk. She's never tasted it before, poor thing.'

'That's a promise.'

'Thanks.'

'And, Halvorsen?'

'Yes?'

'You're…' Harry took a deep breath. '… OK.'

'Thanks, boss.'

Harry rang off. Waits was singing that the skates on the icy pond spelt Alice.