Harry stretched his stiff neck from side to side. ‘Listen,’ he said, attempting to focus on Sven Sivertsen, who was lying on a mattress on the floor. ‘The person I just talked to on the phone has set some machinery in motion for your and my sake that could lead to her not only losing her job, but also being imprisoned for acting as an accomplice. I need something that can give her peace of mind.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I want her to see a copy of one of the pictures you have of you and Waaler in Prague.’

Sivertsen laughed.

‘Are you hard of hearing, Harry? This is the only card I have to bargain with, I’m telling you. If I play it now, you can just cancel Operation Save Sivertsen.’

‘We may do that sooner than you imagine. They’ve found a picture which proves you were in Frogner Park on Saturday. But nothing for the day Barbara Svendsen was killed. Rather odd considering that the Japanese have had the Fountain under flash attack all summer, don’t you think? It’s bad news for your story anyway. That’s why I want you to ring your girl and get her to mail or fax the picture to Beate Lonn in Forensics. She can censor Waaler’s face if you think you have to keep what you claim is your trump card, but I want to see a picture of you and someone else in that square, someone who could be Tom Waaler.’

‘Vaclav Square.’

‘Whatever. She’s got an hour to do it, starting now. If not, our agreement is history. Understand?’

Sivertsen fixed Harry with a long stare before he answered.

‘I don’t know if she’ll be at home.’

‘She doesn’t work,’ Harry said. ‘Worried, pregnant girlfriend. How is she not going to be at home waiting for a telephone call from you? Let’s hope so anyway, for your sake. Fifty-nine minutes left.’

Sivertsen’s gaze took in a whistle-stop tour of the room, but rested on Harry again in the end. He shook his head.

‘I can’t, Hole. I can’t drag her into this. She’s innocent. For the moment, Waaler knows nothing about her or where we live, but if this fails I know he’ll find out. And then he’ll go after her as well.’

‘And what will she think about being left alone to bring up a child while the father’s serving a life sentence for four murders? You’re caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, Sivertsen. Fifty-eight.’

Sivertsen put his face in his hands.

‘Fuck…’

When he looked up again Harry was holding out the mobile phone.

He bit his bottom lip. Then he took the phone, punched in the number and pressed the red phone against his ear. Harry checked his watch. The second hand was stuttering its way round. Sivertsen shifted with unease. Harry counted 20 seconds.

‘Well?’

‘She may have gone to her mother’s in Brno,’ Sivertsen said.

‘Pity. For you,’ Harry said with his eyes still on his watch. ‘Fifty-seven.’

He heard the phone fall to the floor. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of Sivertsen’s contorted face before feeling a hand close around his neck. Harry brought both arms up quickly. He hit Sivertsen’s wrists and Sivertsen lost his grip. Then Harry lunged at the face ahead of him and hit something; he felt it give way. He struck again and felt warm sticky blood running between his fingers and made a bizarre association: that the blood was like freshly stirred strawberry jam off slices of bread at his grandmother’s house. He raised his hand to strike again. He saw the handcuffed, defenceless man try to cover his body, but it only made him even more furious. Tired, frightened and furious.

‘ Wer ist da? ’

Harry froze. He and Sivertsen stared at each other. Neither of them said anything. The nasal sound came from the mobile phone on the floor.

‘ Sven? Bist du es, Sven? ’

Harry grabbed the phone and held it to his ear.

‘Sven is here,’ he said slowly. ‘Who are you?’

‘ Eva,’ said the indignant woman’s voice. ‘ Bitte, was ist passiert? ’

‘Beate Lonn.’

‘Harry. I -’

‘Hang up and call my mobile.’ She rang off.

Ten seconds later he had her on what he would insist on calling ‘the line’.

‘What’s up?’

‘We’re being monitored.’

‘How?’

‘We’ve got an anti-hacking software package and it shows that all our phone calls and e-mails are being monitored by a third party. It’s meant to protect us against criminals, but Bjorn says it looks like the ISP is doing it.’

‘Listening in?’

‘Hardly. But all our conversations and e-mails are being recorded.’

‘That’s Waaler and his boys.’

‘I know. So now they know that you’re ringing me, which in turn means that I cannot help you any more, Harry.’

‘Sivertsen’s girl is sending you a picture of a meeting Sivertsen and Waaler had in Prague. The picture shows Waaler from the back and can’t be used as evidence of any kind, but I want you to look at it and tell me if it seems genuine. She has the photo on her computer, so she can mail it to you. What’s the e-mail address?’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said, Harry? They check all incoming e-mails and calls. What do you think will happen if we get an e-mail or a fax from Prague right now? I can’t do it, Harry. And I’ll have to find a plausible explanation for why you phoned me and I’m not as quick-thinking as you. My God, what will I say to them?’

‘Relax, Beate. You don’t need to say anything. I haven’t rung you.’

‘What are you saying? You’ve rung me three times in all.’

‘Yes, but they don’t know that. I’m using a mobile I exchanged with a pal.’

‘So, you anticipated all this?’

‘No, not this. I did it because mobile phones send signals to phone masts that pinpoint which part of the town the phone is in. If Waaler has got people working on the mobile phone network trying to trace me with the help of my mobile they’ll have something to sharpen their wits on because it is more or less in constant motion all over Oslo.’

‘I want to know as little about this as possible, Harry. But don’t send me anything here. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘I’m sorry, Harry.’

‘You’ve given me your right arm, Beate. You don’t need to apologise for holding on to your left.’

He knocked at the door. Five short knocks at room number 303. He hoped it was loud enough to be heard over the music. He waited. He was going to knock once more when he heard the music being turned down and the padding of bare feet on the floor. The door opened. She looked as if she had been asleep.

‘Yes?’

He flashed his ID card which, strictly speaking, was false since he was no longer a police officer.

‘Apologies again for what happened on Saturday,’ Harry said. ‘Hope you weren’t too frightened when they burst in.’

‘That’s OK,’ she said with a grimace. ‘I suppose you were only doing your job.’

‘Yes.’ Harry rocked on his heels while casting quick glances up and down the corridor. ‘A colleague from Forensics and I are checking Marius Veland’s room for clues. We have to send off a document right this minute but my laptop has gone on strike. It’s pretty important. I remembered that you were surfing the Net on Saturday and so I wondered…’

She gestured that any further explanation was superfluous and switched on the computer.

‘The computer’s on. I suppose I ought to apologise for the mess or something like that. Hope you don’t mind if I don’t give a damn.’

He sat down in front of the screen, got the e-mail program up, pulled out a slip of paper and banged Eva Marvanova’s address in with the greasy keys. The message was brief. Ready. This address. Send.

He swung round on the chair and watched the girl, who was sitting on the sofa, pulling on a tight pair of jeans. He hadn’t even noticed that she was only wearing a pair of knickers, presumably because of the baggy T-shirt with a picture of a hemp leaf on.

‘On your own today?’ he asked, mostly to say something while waiting for Eva. He could tell by the expression on her face that it was not a particularly successful attempt at conversation.