his eyes against the rain. It could not be true.
‘Surprised?’ said the voice he could place only now.
Rafto didn’t answer. His brain had started processing again.
‘You thought you knew me,’ the voice said. ‘But it was just me who knew you. That was how I guessed you would try to do this alone.’
Rafto stared.
‘It’s a game,’ the voice said.
Rafto cleared his throat. ‘A game?’
‘Yes. You like playing games.’
Rafto closed his hand around the stock of the revolver, held it in such a way he could be sure it would not snag on his pocket if he had to draw quickly.
‘Why me particularly?’ he asked.
‘Because you were the best. I only play against the best.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Rafto whispered, regretting it immediately.
‘Of that,’ the other said with a tiny smile, ‘there is little doubt. But you’re also crazy, my man. We’re all crazy. We’re restless spirits that cannot find their way home. It’s always been like that. Do you know why the Indians made these?’
The person in front of Rafto banged the knuckle of a begloved index finger against the tree; the carved figures perched on top of each other stared across the fjord with large, blind, black eyes.
‘To watch over the souls,’ the person continued. ‘So that they don’t get lost. But a totem pole rots. And it should rot, that’s part of the point. And when it’s gone, the soul has to find a new home. Perhaps in a mask. Perhaps in a mirror. Or perhaps in a newborn child.’
The sound of hoarse cries came from the penguin run at the Aquarium.
‘Will you tell me why you killed her?’ Rafto said and noticed that he too had gone hoarse.
‘Shame the game’s over, Rafto. It’s been fun.’
‘And how did you find out that I was on your trail?’
The other person raised a hand, and Rafto automatically stepped back a pace. There was something hanging from it. A necklace. At the end there was a green, tear-shaped stone with a black crack. Rafto felt his heart pounding.
‘In fact, Onny Hetland wouldn’t say anything at first. But she allowed herself … what shall we say? … to be persuaded.’
‘You’re lying.’ Rafto said it without breathing and without conviction.
‘She said you instructed her not to tell your colleagues. That was when I knew you would accept my offer and come here alone. Because you thought this would be the new home for your soul, your resurrection. Didn’t you.’
The cold, thin rain lay like sweat on Rafto’s face. He had placed his finger on the trigger of his revolver and concentrated on speaking slowly and with restraint.
‘You chose the wrong place. You’re standing with your back to the sea and there are police cars on all the roads out of here. No one can escape.’
The person facing him sniffed the air. ‘Can you smell it, Gert?’
‘What?’
‘Fear. Adrenalin has quite a distinctive smell. But you know all about that. I’m sure you smelt it on the prisoners you beat up. Laila smelt like that, too. Especially when she saw the tools I would use. And Onny even more. Probably because you told her about Laila, so she knew what would happen to her. It’s quite a stimulating smell, don’t you think? I’ve read that it’s the smell some carnivores use to find their prey. Imagine the trembling victim trying to hide, but knowing that the smell of its own fear will kill it.’
Rafto saw the other’s begloved hands hanging down, empty. It was broad daylight, close to the centre of Norway’s second-largest city. Despite his age, after the last years without alcohol he was in good physical shape. His reflexes were fast, and his combat techniques were more or less intact. Drawing the revolver would take a fraction of a second. So why was he so frightened that his teeth were chattering in his mouth?
6
DAY 2 .
Cellular Phone.
P OLICE O FFICER M AGNUS S KARRE LEANED BACK IN HIS swivel chair and closed his eyes. And the image that immediately appeared to him wore a suit
‘Surprised?’ said the voice he could place only now.
Rafto didn’t answer. His brain had started processing again.
‘You thought you knew me,’ the voice said. ‘But it was just me who knew you. That was how I guessed you would try to do this alone.’
Rafto stared.
‘It’s a game,’ the voice said.
Rafto cleared his throat. ‘A game?’
‘Yes. You like playing games.’
Rafto closed his hand around the stock of the revolver, held it in such a way he could be sure it would not snag on his pocket if he had to draw quickly.
‘Why me particularly?’ he asked.
‘Because you were the best. I only play against the best.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Rafto whispered, regretting it immediately.
‘Of that,’ the other said with a tiny smile, ‘there is little doubt. But you’re also crazy, my man. We’re all crazy. We’re restless spirits that cannot find their way home. It’s always been like that. Do you know why the Indians made these?’
The person in front of Rafto banged the knuckle of a begloved index finger against the tree; the carved figures perched on top of each other stared across the fjord with large, blind, black eyes.
‘To watch over the souls,’ the person continued. ‘So that they don’t get lost. But a totem pole rots. And it should rot, that’s part of the point. And when it’s gone, the soul has to find a new home. Perhaps in a mask. Perhaps in a mirror. Or perhaps in a newborn child.’
The sound of hoarse cries came from the penguin run at the Aquarium.
‘Will you tell me why you killed her?’ Rafto said and noticed that he too had gone hoarse.
‘Shame the game’s over, Rafto. It’s been fun.’
‘And how did you find out that I was on your trail?’
The other person raised a hand, and Rafto automatically stepped back a pace. There was something hanging from it. A necklace. At the end there was a green, tear-shaped stone with a black crack. Rafto felt his heart pounding.
‘In fact, Onny Hetland wouldn’t say anything at first. But she allowed herself … what shall we say? … to be persuaded.’
‘You’re lying.’ Rafto said it without breathing and without conviction.
‘She said you instructed her not to tell your colleagues. That was when I knew you would accept my offer and come here alone. Because you thought this would be the new home for your soul, your resurrection. Didn’t you.’
The cold, thin rain lay like sweat on Rafto’s face. He had placed his finger on the trigger of his revolver and concentrated on speaking slowly and with restraint.
‘You chose the wrong place. You’re standing with your back to the sea and there are police cars on all the roads out of here. No one can escape.’
The person facing him sniffed the air. ‘Can you smell it, Gert?’
‘What?’
‘Fear. Adrenalin has quite a distinctive smell. But you know all about that. I’m sure you smelt it on the prisoners you beat up. Laila smelt like that, too. Especially when she saw the tools I would use. And Onny even more. Probably because you told her about Laila, so she knew what would happen to her. It’s quite a stimulating smell, don’t you think? I’ve read that it’s the smell some carnivores use to find their prey. Imagine the trembling victim trying to hide, but knowing that the smell of its own fear will kill it.’
Rafto saw the other’s begloved hands hanging down, empty. It was broad daylight, close to the centre of Norway’s second-largest city. Despite his age, after the last years without alcohol he was in good physical shape. His reflexes were fast, and his combat techniques were more or less intact. Drawing the revolver would take a fraction of a second. So why was he so frightened that his teeth were chattering in his mouth?
6
DAY 2 .
Cellular Phone.
P OLICE O FFICER M AGNUS S KARRE LEANED BACK IN HIS swivel chair and closed his eyes. And the image that immediately appeared to him wore a suit
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