Nemesis

'And what is the going rate for kamikaze pilots nowadays?' the kiosk owner asked, handing over Harry's change.

'If he survives, he's allowed to take on the jobs he wants afterwards,' Harry said. 'That's the only condition he makes. And the only one he insists on.'

'Sounds reasonable,' Elmer says. 'Have a good day, gentlemen.'

On the way back Mшller said he would talk to the Chief Superintendent about the possibility of Harry working on the Ellen Gjelten case for three months. Provided the Expeditor was caught, that was. Harry agreed. Mшller hesitated in front of the DON'T WALK ON THE GRASS sign.

'It's the shortest route, boss.'

'Yes,' Mшller said. 'But my shoes will get dirty.'

'As you wish,' Harry said, walking up the track. 'Mine are filthy already.'

***

The traffic eased after the turn-off to Ulvшya. It had stopped raining and the Ljan road was already dry. Soon it widened into four carriageways and it was like a starting grid for cars to accelerate and race off. Harry looked over at Halvorsen and wondered when he, too, would hear the heart-stopping screams. But Halvorsen didn't hear anything as he had taken Travis's exhortation-they were on the radio-literally:

'Sing, sing, siiing!'

'Halvorsen…'

'For the love you bring…'

Harry turned down the radio and Halvorsen gave him an uncomprehending look.

'Windscreen wipers,' Harry said. 'You can switch them off now.'

'Oh, yes, sorry.'

They drove on in silence. Passed the exit for Drшbak.

'What did you say to the grocer guy?' Harry asked.

'You won't want to know.'

'But he had delivered food to Albu's chalet one Thursday five weeks ago?'

'That was what he said, yes.'

'Before Albu arrived?'

'He only said he used to let himself in.'

'So he has a key?'

'Harry, there were limits to what I could ask for with my paper-thin pretext.'

'What pretext did you give?'

Halvorsen sighed. 'County council surveyor.'

'County council sur-?'

'-veyor.'

'What's that?'

'Don't know.'

Larkollen was just off the motorway, thirteen slow kilometres and fourteen tight bends away.

'To the right by the red house after the petrol station,' Halvorsen recited from memory and turned up into a gravel driveway.

'A lot of shower mats,' Harry mumbled five minutes later when Halvorsen had pulled up and pointed to the enormous log construction between the trees. It looked like an overgrown mountain chalet which following a minor misunderstanding had ended up by the sea.

'Bit deserted here, isn't it,' Halvorsen said, looking at the neighbouring chalets. 'Just seagulls. Loads of seagulls. Perhaps there's a rubbish dump nearby.'

'Mm.' Harry checked his watch. 'Let's just park a little further up the road anyway.'

The road ended in a turning area. Halvorsen switched off the ignition and Harry opened the car door and got out. Stretched his back and listened to the screams of the gulls and the distant roar of waves beating against the rocks by the beach.

'Ah,' Halvorsen said, filling his lungs. 'This is a bit different from Oslo air, eh?'

'No doubt about that,' Harry said, searching for his packet of cigarettes. 'Will you take the metal case?'

On the path up to the chalet Harry noticed a large yellow-and-white gull on a fencepost. The head turned slowly round on its body as they passed. Harry felt he could sense the shiny bird's eyes on his back the whole way up.

'This won't be easy,' Halvorsen declared once they had taken a closer look at the solid lock on the outside door. He had hung his cap on a wrought-iron light above the heavy oak door.

'Mm. You'll just have to get stuck in.' Harry lit a cigarette. 'I'll go and have a quick recce in the meantime.'

'Why is it you're suddenly smoking so much more than before?' Halvorsen asked, opening the case.

Harry stood still for a moment and let his eyes drift towards the forest. 'To give you a chance to beat me at cycling one day.'

***

Pitch-black logs, solid windows. Everything about the chalet seemed sturdy and impenetrable. Harry wondered if it would be possible to get in through the impressive stone chimney, but rejected the idea. He walked down the path. The rain of recent days had churned it up, but he could easily imagine the small feet and bare legs of children running down a sun-baked path in the summer, on their way to the beach behind the sea-smoothed rocks. He stopped and closed his eyes. Until the sounds came. The buzz of insects, the swish of the tall grass rippling in the breeze, a distant radio and a song floating to and fro on the wind and children's gleeful shouts from the beach. He had been ten years old and gingerly making his way to the shop to buy milk and bread. The small stones had buried themselves in the soles of his feet, but he had clenched his teeth because he had made up his mind to harden his feet that summer so as to run barefoot with Шystein when he returned home. As he walked back, the heavy shopping bag had seemed to press him deeper into the gravel path; it felt as if he had been walking on glowing coals. He had focused his attention on something a little way ahead-a large stone or a leaf-and told himself he only had to get there, it wasn't that far. When he finally did arrive home, one and a half hours later, the milk was off and his mother angry. Harry opened his eyes. Grey clouds were scurrying across the sky.

He found car tracks in the brown grass beside the path. The deep, rough prints suggested it had been a heavy vehicle with off-road tyres, a Land Rover or something similar. With all the rain that had fallen in recent weeks, the tracks couldn't have been that old. A couple of days at most.

He scouted around, thinking there was nothing quite as desolate as summer resorts in autumn. On his way up to the chalet again, Harry nodded to the gull.

Halvorsen was bent over the front door with an electric picklock, groaning.

'How's it going?'

'Badly.' Halvorsen straightened up and wiped away his sweat. 'This is no amateur lock. It's the crowbar or give up.'

'No crowbar.' Harry scratched his chin. 'Have you checked under the doormat?'

Halvorsen sighed. 'No, and I'm not going to, either.'

'Why's that?'

'Because this is a new millennium and you don't put chalet keys under the doormat any longer. Especially not if it's a luxury chalet. So, unless you're willing to bet a hundred, I simply can't be bothered. Alright?'

Harry nodded.

'Fine,' Halvorsen said, crouching down to pack the case.

'I meant, you're on,' Harry said.

Halvorsen looked up. 'You're kidding?'

Harry shook his head.

Halvorsen grabbed the edge of the synthetic fibre mat.

'Come seven,' he mumbled and whipped the mat away. Three ants, two woodlice and an earwig came to life and wandered around the grey concrete. But no key.

'Now and then you're incredibly naive, Harry,' Halvorsen said, holding out his palm. 'Why would he leave a key?'

'Because,' said Harry, whose attention had been caught by the wrought-iron lamp beside the door and hadn't seen the extended hand. 'Milk goes off if it's left in the sun.' He went over to the lamp and unscrewed the top.

'What do you mean?'

'The groceries were delivered the day before Albu arrived, weren't they. They obviously had to be put in the house.'

'So? Perhaps the grocery man has a spare key?'

'I don't think so. I think Albu wanted to be absolutely sure no one came bursting in while he and Anna were here.' He whipped off the top and scoured the glass interior. 'And now I know so.'

Halvorsen withdrew his hand, muttering.