hadn’t answered, nor formed the grin that yearned to surface. For there they were sitting out there now, ready to make their reports. And soon Gert Rafto would be king of Bergen Police HQ again.
He turned down the radio from which Whitney Houston had insisted all autumn that she would always love you, but before he could lift the telephone, it rang.
‘Rafto,’ he said with irritation, impatient to get going.
‘It’s me you’re looking for.’
The voice was what immediately told the discredited detective that this was not just a hoax or a crank. It was cool and controlled with clear, businesslike diction, which excluded the usual nutters and drunks. But there was something else about the voice, too, which he couldn’t quite place.
Rafto coughed aloud, twice. Took his time, as if to show that he had not been taken aback. ‘Who am I talking to?’
‘You know.’
Rafto closed his eyes and cursed silently and roundly. Damn, damn, damn, the killer was going to give himself in. And that would not have anywhere near the same impact as if he, Rafto, arrested the perpetrator.
‘What makes you think I’m looking for you?’ the policeman asked between clenched teeth.
‘I just know,’ said the voice. ‘And if we can do this my way, you’ll get what you want.’
‘And what do I want?’
‘You want to arrest me. And you’ll be able to. Alone. Are you listening now, Rafto?’
The officer nodded before he could gather himself to say yes.
‘Meet me by the totem pole in Nordnes Park,’ the voice said. ‘In exactly ten minutes.’
Rafto tried to think. Nordnes Park was by the Aquarium; he could get there in under ten minutes. But why meet there of all places, in a park at the end of a headland?
‘So that I can see if you come alone,’ the voice said, as if in answer to his thoughts. ‘If I see any other police or you’re late, I’ll be gone. For ever.’
Rafto’s brain processed, calculated and drew a conclusion. He would not be able to organise an arrest team in time. He would have to explain in his written report why he had been forced to undertake the arrest on his own. It was perfect.
‘OK,’ said Rafto. ‘What happens now?’
‘I’ll tell you everything and give you the conditions for my surrender.’
‘What sort of conditions?’
‘I don’t want to wear handcuffs at the trial. The press will not be allowed in. And I serve my time somewhere where I don’t have to mix with other prisoners.’
Rafto almost choked. ‘OK,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘Wait, there are more conditions. TV in my room, all the books I might wish for.’
‘We’ll arrange that,’ Rafto said.
‘When you’ve signed the deal with my conditions, I’ll go with you.’
‘What about—?’ Rafto began, but an accelerated beep beep beep told him that the other person had rung off.
Rafto parked his car by Bergen shipyard. It wasn’t the shortest route, but it meant he would have a better view of Nordnes when he went in. The big park was on undulating terrain with well-trodden paths and hillocks of yellow, withered grass. The trees pointed with black gnarled fingers to heavy clouds sweeping in from the sea behind the island of Askøy. A man hurried away behind a nervy Rottweiler on a taut lead. Rafto felt the Smith&Wesson revolver in his coat pocket as he strode past Nordnes seawater pool: the empty white basin looked like an oversized bath by the water’s edge.
Beyond the bend he could make out the ten-metre-high totem pole, a two-ton gift from Seattle on the occasion of Bergen’s nine hundredth anniversary. He could hear his own breathing and the squelch of wet leaves beneath his shoes. It started to rain. Small, pin-like droplets drove into his face.
A solitary figure stood by the totem pole facing Rafto as if the person had known that Rafto would come from that direction and not the other end.
Rafto squeezed the revolver as he walked the last few steps. Two metres away, he stopped. Pinched
He turned down the radio from which Whitney Houston had insisted all autumn that she would always love you, but before he could lift the telephone, it rang.
‘Rafto,’ he said with irritation, impatient to get going.
‘It’s me you’re looking for.’
The voice was what immediately told the discredited detective that this was not just a hoax or a crank. It was cool and controlled with clear, businesslike diction, which excluded the usual nutters and drunks. But there was something else about the voice, too, which he couldn’t quite place.
Rafto coughed aloud, twice. Took his time, as if to show that he had not been taken aback. ‘Who am I talking to?’
‘You know.’
Rafto closed his eyes and cursed silently and roundly. Damn, damn, damn, the killer was going to give himself in. And that would not have anywhere near the same impact as if he, Rafto, arrested the perpetrator.
‘What makes you think I’m looking for you?’ the policeman asked between clenched teeth.
‘I just know,’ said the voice. ‘And if we can do this my way, you’ll get what you want.’
‘And what do I want?’
‘You want to arrest me. And you’ll be able to. Alone. Are you listening now, Rafto?’
The officer nodded before he could gather himself to say yes.
‘Meet me by the totem pole in Nordnes Park,’ the voice said. ‘In exactly ten minutes.’
Rafto tried to think. Nordnes Park was by the Aquarium; he could get there in under ten minutes. But why meet there of all places, in a park at the end of a headland?
‘So that I can see if you come alone,’ the voice said, as if in answer to his thoughts. ‘If I see any other police or you’re late, I’ll be gone. For ever.’
Rafto’s brain processed, calculated and drew a conclusion. He would not be able to organise an arrest team in time. He would have to explain in his written report why he had been forced to undertake the arrest on his own. It was perfect.
‘OK,’ said Rafto. ‘What happens now?’
‘I’ll tell you everything and give you the conditions for my surrender.’
‘What sort of conditions?’
‘I don’t want to wear handcuffs at the trial. The press will not be allowed in. And I serve my time somewhere where I don’t have to mix with other prisoners.’
Rafto almost choked. ‘OK,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘Wait, there are more conditions. TV in my room, all the books I might wish for.’
‘We’ll arrange that,’ Rafto said.
‘When you’ve signed the deal with my conditions, I’ll go with you.’
‘What about—?’ Rafto began, but an accelerated beep beep beep told him that the other person had rung off.
Rafto parked his car by Bergen shipyard. It wasn’t the shortest route, but it meant he would have a better view of Nordnes when he went in. The big park was on undulating terrain with well-trodden paths and hillocks of yellow, withered grass. The trees pointed with black gnarled fingers to heavy clouds sweeping in from the sea behind the island of Askøy. A man hurried away behind a nervy Rottweiler on a taut lead. Rafto felt the Smith&Wesson revolver in his coat pocket as he strode past Nordnes seawater pool: the empty white basin looked like an oversized bath by the water’s edge.
Beyond the bend he could make out the ten-metre-high totem pole, a two-ton gift from Seattle on the occasion of Bergen’s nine hundredth anniversary. He could hear his own breathing and the squelch of wet leaves beneath his shoes. It started to rain. Small, pin-like droplets drove into his face.
A solitary figure stood by the totem pole facing Rafto as if the person had known that Rafto would come from that direction and not the other end.
Rafto squeezed the revolver as he walked the last few steps. Two metres away, he stopped. Pinched
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