The Thirst

EPILOGUE

HARRY POURED JIM beam into the glass. Put the bottle back on the shelf. Picked up the glass. And put it down next to the glass of white wine on the counter in front of Anders Wyller. The customers behind him were jostling to be served.

‘You’re looking much better now,’ Anders said, and looked down at the glass of whiskey without touching it.

‘Your father patched me up,’ Harry said. He glanced at Øystein, who nodded to indicate that he would try to hold the fort alone for a while. ‘How’s it going in the unit?’

‘Good,’ Anders said. ‘But you know, the calm after the storm.’

‘You know it’s called—’

‘Yes. Gunnar Hagen asked me today if I wanted to take over as temporary assistant lead detective while Katrine’s on leave.’

‘Congratulations. But aren’t you a bit young for that?’

‘He told me it was your idea.’

‘My idea? Must have been when I still had concussion.’ Harry turned the volume up on the amplifier and the Jayhawks sang ‘Tampa to Tulsa’ a bit louder.

Anders smiled. ‘Yes, my father said you took quite a beating. By the way, when did you figure out he was my dad?’

‘There was nothing to figure out, the evidence told me. When I sent his hair for DNA analysis, Forensics found a match with one of the DNA profiles from the crime scene. Not from one of the suspects, but the profile of one of the detectives, which obviously we always need when they’ve been at a crime scene. Yours, Anders. But it was only a partial match. A family connection. A father–son match. You received the result first, but didn’t pass it on to me, or anyone else in the unit. Then, when I belatedly found out about the match, it didn’t take much to discover that the maiden name of Dr Steffens’s deceased wife was Wyller. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Anders shrugged. ‘I couldn’t see that the match had any relevance for the case.’

‘And you didn’t want to be linked to him? That’s why you use your mother’s maiden name?’

Anders nodded. ‘It’s a long story, but it’s getting better now. We’re talking. He’s a bit more humble, he’s realised he’s not mister perfect. And I’m … well, a bit older, a bit wiser, maybe. So – how did you figure out that Mona was in my flat?’

‘Deduction.’

‘Of course. Such as?’

‘The smell in your hall. Old Spice. Aftershave. But you hadn’t shaved. And Oleg had mentioned the rumour that Mona Daa uses Old Spice as perfume. And then there was the cat cage. People don’t have cat cages. Not unless they’re going to have repeated visits from a woman who’s allergic to cats.’

‘You certainly come up with the goods, Harry.’

‘So do you, Anders. But I still think you’re too young and inexperienced for that job.’

‘So why did you suggest me, then? I’m not even an inspector yet.’

‘So that you’d have to think it through, realise what areas you need to improve in, and then turn it down.’

Anders shook his head and laughed. ‘OK. That was exactly what I did.’

‘Good. Aren’t you going to have your Jim Beam?’

Anders Wyller looked down into the glass. Took a deep breath. Shook his head. ‘I don’t really like whiskey. To be honest, I probably only order it to copy you.’

‘And?’

‘And it’s time I found a drink of my own. Get rid of it, please.’

Harry emptied the glass in the sink behind him. Wondered if he ought to suggest a drink from the bottle that Ståle Aune had brought as a belated housewarming gift to the bar, a type of orange bitters called Stumbras 999 Raudonos Devynerios. He explained that it was because they’d had a bottle of it in the student bar, and that was where the bar manager had taken the number for the code on the safe, which in turn had lured Hallstein Smith into the monkey trap. Harry turned to tell Anders this when he caught sight of someone who had just come into the Jealousy Bar. Their eyes met.

‘Excuse me,’ Harry said. ‘We’re having a state visit.’

He watched her as she made her way through the crowded room, but she may as well have been the only person in it. She was walking exactly the same way as the first time he ever saw her walking towards him across a driveway. Like a ballerina.

Rakel reached the bar and smiled at him.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘You have my agreement, I’ll do it.’

Harry smiled broadly and put his hand on top of hers on the counter. ‘I love you, woman.’

‘Good to know. Because we’re setting up a limited company where I’m chair of the board, get thirty per cent of the shares, a twenty-five per cent job and we play at least one PJ Harvey track every evening.’

‘Agreed. Hear that, Øystein?’

‘If she works here, get her behind this bar now!’ Øystein snapped.

Rakel went over to Øystein, and Anders walked out of the door.

Harry picked up his phone and made a call.

‘Hagen,’ a voice said.

‘Hello, boss, it’s Harry.’

‘I see. So I’m boss again now?’

‘Offer Wyller that job again. Insist that he takes it.’

‘Why?’

‘I was wrong, he’s ready.’

‘But—’

‘As assistant lead detective, there’s a limit to how much he can fuck things up, and he’ll learn a hell of a lot.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And now’s the perfect time, the calm after the storm.’

‘You know it’s called—’

‘Yes.’

Harry hung up. Tried to push the thought away. What Smith had said in the car about what was to come. He had mentioned it to Katrine, and they had checked Smith’s correspondence but hadn’t found anything to indicate that any new vampirists had been recruited. So there wasn’t much they could do, and it had probably only been the wishful thinking of a madman. Harry turned the Jayhawks up another two notches. Yes, that was better.

Svein Finne, ‘the Fiancé’, stepped out of the shower and stood naked in front of the mirror in the empty changing room at Gain Gym. He liked the place, liked the view of the park, the feeling of space and freedom. No, it didn’t scare him the way he had been warned that it would. He let the water run off him, let his skin evaporate the moisture. It had been a long session. He had grown accustomed to that in prison, hour after hour of breathing, sweating, giving all he had. His body could handle it. Had to handle it, he had a long job ahead of him. He didn’t know who the person who had contacted him was, and he hadn’t heard from him in a while. But the offer had been impossible to turn down. A flat. A new identity. And women.

He stroked the tattoo on his chest.

Then he turned and went over to the locker with a padlock with a splash of pink paint on it. He turned it until it read 0999, the number he had been sent. God knows if the number meant anything, but it opened the lock. There was a padded envelope inside. He opened it and turned it upside down. A white plastic key fell into his hand. He pulled out a sheet of paper. There was an address on it. In Holmenkollen.

And there was something else in the envelope, something that was stuck.

He ripped the envelope apart. Looked at the object. Black. And beautiful in its brutal simplicity. He put it in his mouth, clenched his jaws. Felt the taste of salt and bitter iron. Felt the fire. Felt the thirst.