Beate pressed a button on the rather antiquated box in front of her.

‘You’ll have to ask whoever it is to wait a moment. I’m busy.’

‘Yes, but he -’

Beate switched off the intercom.

‘Just hassle,’ she said.

Beyond the crackle of Harry’s breathing on the phone Beate could hear a car stopping and the engine being switched off. At that moment she noticed a change in the way the light fell in her room.

‘I’ll have to be off,’ he said. ‘Time’s getting short. I may ring you afterwards. If it went as I hoped. OK? Beate?’

Beate put down the phone. Her eyes went to the doorway.

‘Well?’ Tom Waaler said. ‘Don’t you say goodbye to good friends?’

‘Didn’t the receptionist say that you were to wait?’

‘Yes, she did.’

Tom Waaler closed the door and pulled the cord so the white blinds slid down in front of the window looking out onto the open-plan office. Then he walked round her desk, stood beside her chair and looked at the desk.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the two glass specimen slides stuck together.

Beate began to hyperventilate.

‘According to the laboratory it’s a seed.’

He placed a hand lightly on her neck. She tensed up.

‘Was that Harry you were talking to?’

He stroked her skin with his finger.

‘Stop that,’ she said with fiercely contained restraint. ‘Take your hand away.’

‘Dearie me. Did I do something wrong?’ Waaler smiled and raised both hands in surrender. ‘You used to like that, Lonn.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To give you a chance. I think I owe you that.’

‘Do you? What for?’

She tilted her head to the side and stared at him. He moistened his lips and leaned down towards her.

‘For your services. And your submission. And a cold, tight cunt.’

She struck out, but he caught her wrist in the air and twisted her arm behind her back and forced it upwards in one movement. She gasped, fell forwards off her chair and hit her forehead on the table. His voice wheezed in her ear:

‘I’ll give you a chance to keep your job, Lonn. We know Harry’s been ringing from his taxi driver friend’s phone. Where is he?’

She groaned. Waaler pushed her arm up higher.

‘I know it hurts,’ he said. ‘And I know that you’ll tell me sweet FA however much I hurt you. So this is for my own personal pleasure. And yours.’

He pushed his groin into her ribs. The blood was rushing in her ears. Beate aimed and lunged forwards. Her head hit the plastic intercom box with a crack.

‘Yes?’ said a nasal voice.

‘Send Holm in immediately,’ Beate groaned with her cheek against the blotting pad.

‘Right.’

Waaler hesitated, then let go of her arm. Beate straightened up.

‘You bastard,’ she said. ‘I don’t know where he is. He would never even have dreamed of putting me in such an impossible situation.’

Tom Waaler stared at her. Observed her. While he was doing this, Beate discovered something strange. She was not frightened of him any more. Her reason told her that he was more dangerous than ever, but there was something in his eyes, an anxiety she had never seen before. And he had just lost control. Only for a few seconds, but it was the first time she had seen him lose his grip.

‘I’ll be back for you,’ he whispered. ‘That’s a promise. And you know I keep promises.’

‘What’s this…?’ Bjorn Holm began, stepping quickly to the side as Tom Waaler shot past him through the door.

40

Monday. Rain.

It was 7.30. The sun was moving towards Ullern Ridge and from her veranda in Thomas Heftyes gate, widowed fru Danielsen saw that several white clouds had floated in over Oslo fjord. Beneath her, in the street, Andre Clausen and Truls passed by. She didn’t know either the man or his golden retriever by name, but she had often seen them coming down Gimle terrasse. They stopped at the lights by the crossroads near the taxi rank in Bygdoy alle. Fru Danielsen assumed that they were intending to go up to Frogner Park.

They both looked a bit the worse for wear, she thought. What’s more, the dog was in need of a good wash.

She wrinkled her nose when she saw the dog, half a step behind its owner, raise its backside and do its business on the pavement. And when the owner made no attempt to pick up the dog dirt – in fact, he just dragged the dog over the crossing as soon as the lights went green – Fru Danielsen became indignant and a little elated at the same time. She was indignant because she had always been concerned for the good of the town – well, at least for the good of this part of the town – and she was elated because now she had some material for another reader’s letter in Aftenposten, and she had not had a letter accepted of late.

She stood glaring at the scene of the crime while dog and dog owner, clearly guilt-ridden, scurried up Frognerveien. And so she became an unwilling witness to a woman rushing from the opposite direction to cross the lights before they turned red and falling victim to another person’s total disregard of their civic responsibilities. The woman was obviously trying to hail a taxi and was not looking where she was treading.

Fru Danielsen emitted a loud sniff, cast a final glance at the armada of clouds and went in to begin her reader’s letter.

A train passed like a long, gentle breath of air. Olaug opened her eyes and discovered that she was standing in the garden.

Odd. She couldn’t remember leaving the house. But there she was, standing between the railway lines with the smell of roses and lilacs in her nostrils. The pressure on her temples had not eased, quite the contrary. She looked up. It had clouded over – that was why it was so dark. Olaug looked down at her bare feet. White skin, blue veins, the feet of an old lady. She knew why she was standing on this exact spot. They had stood here. Ernst and Randi. She had been standing by the window in the maid’s room, watching them in the twilight by the rhododendron bushes, which were no longer there. The sun had been going down and he had been murmuring something in German and had plucked a rose which he put behind his wife’s ear. She had laughed and nuzzled his neck. Then they turned to face west, they put their arms round each other and stood still. She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder while they watched the sun setting, all three of them. Olaug did not know what they were thinking, but for her part she had been thinking that the sun would be up again another day. So young.

Olaug instinctively peered up at the window of the maid’s room. No Ina, no young Olaug, merely a black surface reflecting the popcorn-shaped clouds.

She would weep until the summer was over. Perhaps a little longer. And then the rest of life would begin again as it always did. It was a plan. You needed a plan.

There was a movement behind her. Olaug turned round cautiously. She could feel the cool grass being torn away as she twisted round on the balls of her feet. Then – in the middle of the movement – she froze.

It was a dog.

It gazed up at her with eyes that seemed to be begging forgiveness for something that as yet had not happened. At that moment something slid soundlessly from out under the fruit trees and towards the side of the dog. It was a man. His eyes were large and black, just like the dog’s. She felt as if someone had thrust a little animal down her throat and she couldn’t breathe.

‘We were inside, but you weren’t there,’ the man said, tilting his head and looking at her the way you would study an interesting insect.

‘You don’t know who I am, fru Sivertsen, but I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’

Olaug opened her mouth and then closed it again. The man came closer. Olaug was looking over his shoulder, beyond him.

‘My God,’ she whispered, stretching out her arms.