The Redbreast

91

Irisveien, Oslo. 16 May 2000.

The first summer's day of the year had begun to cool as the police car rolled into the quiet residential area of detached houses. Harry was ill at ease. Not only because he was sweating under the bulletproof vest, but because it was too quiet. He stared at the curtains behind the meticulously trimmed hedges, but nothing stirred. It felt like a Western and he was riding into an ambush.

At first, Harry had refused to put on a bulletproof vest, but Tom Waaler, who was in charge of the operation, had given him a simple ultimatum: either put on the vest or stay at home. The argument that a bullet from a Marklin rifle would cut through the vest like the proverbial knife through butter had occasioned only a bored shrug with Waaler.

They went in two police cars. The second, in which Waaler sat, had gone up Sognsveien, into Ulleval Hageby, to enter Irisveien from the opposite direction, from the west. He could hear Waaler's voice crackle over the walkie-talkie. Calm and confident. Asked for position, went through the procedure again and the emergency procedure, asked every single officer to repeat their assignment.

'If he's a pro, he might have connected an alarm to the gate, so we'll go over not through!

He was efficient, even Harry had to concede that, and it was clear that the others in the car respected Waaler. Harry pointed to the red timber house. 'There it is.'

'Alpha,' the policewoman in the front seat said into the walkie-talkie. 'We can't see you.'

Waaler: 'We're right round the corner. Keep out of sight from the house until you can see us. Over.'

'Too late. We're there now. Over.'

'OK, but stay in the car until we come to you. Over and out.'

The next moment they saw the nose of the second police car coming round the bend. They drove the last fifty metres to the house and parked the car to block the exit from the garage. The second car stopped in front of the garden gate.

As they got out of the cars, Harry heard the dull echo of a tennis ball being struck by a not too tautly strung tennis racquet. The sun was moving towards Ullernasen and he caught the smell of frying pork chops coming from one window.

Then the show was on. Two police officers jumped over the fence with MP-5 machine guns at the ready and sprinted round the outside of the house, one to the right and one to the left.

The policewoman in Harry's car stayed where she was; her job was to maintain radio contact with the central switchboard and to keep potential spectators away. Waaler and the last officer waited until the other two were in position, secured their walkie-talkies in their breast pockets and jumped over the gate with service pistols raised. Harry and Halvorsen stood behind the police car, watching the whole show.

'Cigarette?' Harry asked the policewoman.

'No thanks,' she smiled.

'I was wondering if you had any.'

She stopped smiling. Typical non-smoker, Harry thought.

Waaler and the officer were standing on the step, having taken up positions on either side of the door, when Harry's mobile phone rang.

Harry saw the police officer's eyes roll. Typical amateur, she was probably thinking.

Harry was about to switch off his mobile-he just checked it wasn't Rakel's number on the display first. The number was familiar, but it wasn't Rakel's. Waaler had already raised his hand to give the signal when Harry realised who was ringing. He took the walkie-talkie from the open-mouthed police officer.

'Alpha! Stop. The suspect is ringing me right now. Can you hear me?'

Harry looked over to the step where Waaler was nodding his head. Harry pressed the button on his mobile and pressed it to his ear.

'Hole speaking.'

'Hello.' To Harry's surprise, it wasn't Even Juul. 'This is Sindre Fauke. My apologies for disturbing you, but I am standing in Even Juul's house and I think you should come here.'

'Why? And what are you doing there?'

'I think I might have done something stupid. He rang me an hour ago and told me to come over immediately, his life was in danger. I drove up and found the door open, but no Even. And now I'm afraid he's locked himself in his bedroom.'

'Why do you think that?'

'The bedroom door is locked and when I tried to peep through the keyhole, the key was on the inside.'

'OK,' Harry said, walking round the car and through the gate. 'Listen carefully. Stay exactly where you are. If you are holding anything in your hands put it down and keep your hands where we can see them. We'll be there in two seconds.'

Harry walked towards the doorstep, with Waaler and the other policeman following his movements with amazement. He pressed down the door handle and went in.

Fauke was standing in the hall with the telephone receiver in his hand, gaping at them in amazement.

'My God,' was all he could say when he spotted Waaler with the revolver in his hand. 'That was quick…’

‘Where's the bedroom?' Harry asked. Fauke pointed mutely towards the stairs. 'Show us,' Harry said. Fauke led the way for the three officers. 'Here.'

Harry felt the door; quite right, it was locked. There was a key in the lock which he tried to turn, but it wouldn't move.

'I didn't manage to tell you. I was trying to open the door with one of the keys from the other bedroom,' Fauke said. 'Sometimes they fit.'

Harry took out the key and put his eye to the keyhole. Inside he could see a bed and a bedside table. There was what seemed to be a lightshade lying on the bed. Waaler was talking in a low voice on the walkie-talkie. Harry could feel the sweat beginning to filter down the inside of his vest again. He didn't like the look of the lightshade.

'I thought you said there was a key on the inside too?'

'There was,' Fauke said. 'Until I knocked it out trying to get the other key in.'

'So how will we get in?' Harry asked.

'It's on the way,' Waaler said, and at that moment they heard heavy boots running up the stairs. It was one of the officers who had taken up a position behind the house and he was carrying a red crowbar.

'This way,' Waaler said, pointing.

Splinters flew. The door sprang open.

Harry strode in and heard Waaler telling Fauke to wait outside.

The first thing Harry noticed was the dog lead. Even Juul had hung himself with it. He had died wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, black trousers and checked socks. A toppled chair lay behind him in front of the wardrobe. His shoes were neatly placed under the chair. Harry looked up at the ceiling. The lead had been tied to a ceiling hook. Harry tried to refrain, but couldn't stop himself from examining Even Juul's face. One eye stared out into the room while the other was fixed on Harry. Independently. Like a two-headed troll with an eye in each head, Harry thought. He walked over to the window facing east and watched the children cycling along Irisveien, drawn by the rumours of police cars which always spread with inexplicable speed in areas like this.

Harry closed his eyes and reflected. The first impression is important. The first thought that came into your mind at the scene is often the most accurate. Ellen had taught him that. His own trainee had taught him to concentrate on the first thing he felt when he came to the scene of the crime. That was why Harry didn't need to turn to know that the key was on the floor behind him. He knew they wouldn't find any fingerprints in the room and that no one had broken into the house. Quite simply because both the murderer and the victim were hanging from the ceiling. The two-headed troll had split.

'Call Weber,' Harry said to Halvorsen, who had joined them and was standing in the doorway, staring at the hanging body.

'He may have planned a different start to tomorrow's festivities, but console him with the fact that this one is cut and dried. Even Juul discovered the murderer and had to pay for it with his life.'

'And who is it?' Waaler asked.

'Was. He's dead too. He called himself Daniel Gudeson and lived in Juul's head.'

On the way out, Harry told Halvorsen Weber should call him if he found the Marklin.

Harry stood on the doorstep outside and surveyed the area. It was striking how many neighbours suddenly had jobs to do in their gardens and were standing on the tips of their toes to see over the hedges. Waaler came out too and stood beside Harry.

'I didn't quite understand what you said in there,' Waaler said. 'Do you mean the guy committed suicide out of guilt?'

Harry shook his head.

'No, I meant what I said. They killed each other. Even killed Daniel to stop him. And Daniel killed Even so that he wouldn't be unmasked. For once their interests coincided.'

Waaler nodded, but didn't seem to be any the wiser.

'There's something familiar about the old guy,' he said. 'The living one, I mean.'

'Right. It's Rakel Fauke's father, if you -'

'Of course, the totty up at POT. That's the one.'

'Have you got a smoke?' Harry asked.

'No can do,' Waaler said. 'The rest of what happens here is your responsibility, Hole. I'm thinking of leaving, so if you need any help, tell me now.'

Harry shook his head, and Waaler walked towards the gate. 'Oh, by the way,' Harry said. 'If you're not doing anything special tomorrow, I need an experienced officer to take my shift.' Waaler laughed and kept walking.

'You just have to organise surveillance during the service at the mosque in Gronland,' Harry shouted. 'I can see you're pretty good at that sort of thing. We just have to make sure the skinheads don't beat up the Muslims for celebrating Eid.'

Waaler had reached the gate and suddenly stopped.

'And you're in charge of that?' he asked over his shoulder.

'It's no big deal,' Harry said. 'Two cars, four men.'

'How long?'

'Eight till three.'

Waaler turned round with a broad smile.

'Do you know what?' he said. 'Now that I think about it, I owe you a favour. That's great. I'll do your shift.'

Waaler saluted, got into the car, started it up and was off.

Owes me a favour for what? Harry mused, and listened to the lazy thwacks of the ball coming from the tennis court. But the next moment he had forgotten because his mobile rang again, and this time the number on the display was Rakel's.