The Redbreast

43

Focus Gym. 3 March 2000.

'Ellen here.'

'Hi, it's me.'

'Who?'

'Harry. And don't pretend there are other men who ring you and say "it's me".'

'You sod. Where are you? What's that dreadful music?'

'I'm at Focus.'

'What?'

'I'm cycling. Soon have done eight kilometres.'

'Let me just get this absolutely straight, Harry: you're sitting on a bike at Focus at the same time as talking on your mobile?' She stressed the words 'Focus' and 'mobile'.

'Is there anything wrong with that?'

'Honestly, Harry'

'I've been trying to get hold of you all evening. Do you remember that murder case you and Tom Waaler had in November, name of Hallgrim Dale?'

'Naturally. Kripos took over almost immediately. Why's that?'

'Not sure yet. It may have something to do with this ex-front man I'm after. What can you tell me?'

'This is work, Harry. Ring me at the office on Monday.’

‘Just a little, Ellen. Come on.'

'One of the cooks in Herbert's Pizza found Dale in the back alley. He was lying between the large rubbish bins with his throat cut. The crime scene people found nada. The doctor who did the autopsy, by the way, thought that the cut around the throat was just fantastic. Surgical precision, he said.'

'Who do you think did it?'

'No idea. Might have been one of the neo-Nazis of course, but I don't think so.’

‘Why not?'

'If you kill someone right on your doorstep, you're either foolhardy or just plain foolish. But everything about this murder seems so tidy, so thought through. There were no signs of a struggle, no clues, no witnesses. Everything suggests that the murderer knew exactly what he was doing.'

'Motive?'

'Hard to say. Dale certainly had debts, but hardly amounts worth squeezing out of him. As far as we know, he didn't do drugs. We searched his flat-nothing there, apart from empty bottles. We talked to some of his drinking pals. For some reason or other he had taken up with these drinking ladies.'

'Drinking ladies?'

'Yes, the ones who stick to the soaks. You've seen them, you know what I mean.'

'Yes indeed, but… drinking ladies!

'You always get hung up on the craziest things, Harry, and it can be very irritating. Do you know that? Perhaps you should -'

'Sorry, Ellen. You're forever right and I'll do my best to improve. You were saying?'

'There's a lot of partner-swapping in alkie circles, so we can't rule out a jealousy killing. Incidentally, do you know who we had in for questioning? Your old friend Sverre Olsen. The cook had seen him at Herbert's Pizza around the time of the murder.'

'And?'

Alibi. He'd been sitting there all day, had only been out for ten minutes to buy something. The shop assistant confirmed.’

‘He could have -'

'Yes, you would have liked it to be him, but Harry…’

‘Dale might have had something other than money’

‘Harry…'

'He might have had information. About someone.’

‘You like conspiracy theories up there on the sixth floor, don't you? But can't we deal with this on Monday, Harry?'

'Since when have you been so particular about working hours?'

'I'm in bed.'

At half past ten?'

'I'm not on my own.'

Harry stopped pedalling. It hadn't occurred to him until now that people around him might be listening to the conversation. He swivelled round. Luckily there were only a handful of people training at this late hour.

'Is that the artist guy from Torst?' he whispered. 'Mm.'

And how long have you two been bed pals?' A while.'

"Why didn't you tell me?'

'You didn't ask.'

'Is he lying next to you now?'

'Mm.'

'Is he good?’

‘Mm.'

'Has he told you he loves you yet?'

'Mm.'

Pause.

'Do you think about Freddie Mercury when you-'

'Goodnight, Harry.'