Harry waited until his pulse had calmed down a little. Then he stood up and continued the tightrope walk. The weathervane received a kiss.

Barli’s terrace was inset in the roof, so he could easily swing his legs down onto the red terracotta tiles. His feet made a splash as he landed, but the sound was drowned out by the roaring and gurgling of the flooded roof gutters.

The chairs had been taken in, the barbecue lay black and dead in a corner, but the terrace door was ajar.

At first, all he could hear was the drumming of the rain on the tiles, but as he cautiously crossed the threshold and entered the room he could discern another sound, also made by water. It came from the bathroom downstairs. The shower. Finally a bit of luck. Harry patted the pockets of his drenched jacket to find his chisel. An undressed and unarmed Barli was the best he could hope for, especially if Wilhelm still had the gun that Sven handed over in Frogner Park on Saturday.

Harry saw that the bedroom door was open. There was a Sami knife in the toolbox beside the bed. He tiptoed over to the door and crept into the bedroom.

The room was dark, barely lit by the reading lamp on the bedside table. Harry stood at the foot of the bed; his gaze fell on the wall and the picture of Lisbeth and Wilhelm on their honeymoon in front of an old majestic building and the statue of a horse and rider. Harry knew now that this picture had not been taken in France. In Sven’s opinion, any half-educated person should be able to recognise this statue of the Czech national hero, Vaclav, in front of the National Museum in Vaclav Square in Prague.

Harry’s eyes were used to the dark now. He shifted his attention to the double bed and froze: he held his breath and stood as rigid as a snowman. The duvet had been thrown to the floor and the sheet had been half removed so that blue rubber was revealed. On top, a naked person was lying stomach down, the upper body supported by its elbows. The eyes were directed towards the area where the cone of light from the reading lamp met the blue mattress.

The rain on the roof played its last drum roll before it abruptly stopped. The person had clearly not heard Harry coming into the room, but Harry had the same problem as most snowmen in July. Water was running off him. Water was dripping from his jacket and onto the parquet floor with what, to Harry’s ears, sounded like a thundering roar.

The body on the bed tensed up. And turned over. First of all his head. Then his entire, naked body.

What Harry first noticed was the erect penis oscillating to and fro like a metronome.

‘My God! Harry?’

Wilhelm Barli’s voice sounded at once frightened and relieved.

41

Monday. Happy Ending.

‘Goodnight.’

Rakel kissed Oleg on the forehead and tucked him in around his body. Then she went downstairs and sat in the kitchen watching the rain falling.

She liked rain. It cleaned the air and washed away the past. A new start. That was what was needed. A new start.

She walked over to the front door and felt to see if it was locked. It was the third time she had done so this evening. What was she really so frightened about?

Then she switched on the TV.

There was a kind of music programme. Three people sitting on the same piano stool. They were smiling at each other. Like a little family, Rakel thought.

She jumped as a clap of thunder rent the air.

‘You have no idea what a fright you gave me just now.’

Wilhelm Barli shook his head and his detumescent penis shook with it.

‘I can probably more or less imagine,’ Harry said. ‘Since I came in through the terrace door, I mean.’

‘No, Harry, you really can’t.’

Wilhelm stretched down over the edge of the bed to pick up the duvet off the floor and put it round him.

‘Sounds like you’re having a shower,’ Harry said.

Wilhelm shook his head and pulled a face.

‘Not me,’ he said.

‘Who then?’

‘I’ve got a visitor. A… woman.’

He smirked and pointed to a chair, which had a suede skirt, a black bra and one single black stocking with an elasticated top thrown over it.

‘Loneliness makes us men weak. Doesn’t it, Harry? We look for solace where we can find it. Some do it with a bottle. Others…’

Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders.

‘We willingly accept that we can make mistakes, don’t we, Harry? And, yes, I do have a guilty conscience.’

Harry’s eyes had focused and he could see them now, the trail of tears on Wilhelm’s cheeks.

‘Will you promise not to tell anyone, Harry? It was a lapse.’

Harry went over to the chair, hung the solitary stocking over the back of the chair and sat down.

‘Who should I tell, Wilhelm? Your wife?’

The room was suddenly lit up by a flash followed by the crack of thunder.

‘It’ll be right over us soon,’ Wilhelm said.

‘Yes.’ Harry ran his hand across his wet forehead.

‘So what do you want?’

‘I think you know that, Wilhelm.’

‘Say it anyway.’

‘We’ve come to take you away.’

‘Not we. You’re on your own, aren’t you. Completely on your own.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Your eyes. Body language. I can read people, Harry. You sneak in here and you’re dependent on the element of surprise. That’s not how you attack when you hunt in herds, Harry. Why are you on your own? Where are the others? Does anyone know you’re here?’

‘That’s not important. Let’s say I am on my own. You still have to answer for the murder of four people.’

Wilhelm placed a finger to his lips and seemed to be reflecting as Harry rolled off the names:

‘Marius Veland. Camilla Loen. Lisbeth Barli. Barbara Svendsen.’

Wilhelm stared vacantly in the air for a while. Then he slowly nodded and took his finger away from his mouth.

‘How did you find out, Harry?’

‘When I knew why. Jealousy. You wanted to take your revenge on them both, didn’t you. When you found out that Lisbeth had met Sven Sivertsen and they had been together during your honeymoon in Prague.’

Wilhelm closed his eyes and laid back his head. The waterbed gurgled.

‘I didn’t know that photograph of you and Lisbeth was taken in Prague until I saw the same statue in a photo I was e-mailed from Prague earlier today.’

‘And then you knew everything?’

‘Well, when the thought first occurred to me I rejected it as an absurd idea, but then gradually it seemed to make sense. As much sense as insanity can. It made sense that the Courier Killer was not a sexually fixated serial killer, but someone who stage-managed the murders to make them appear to be sexual crimes. To make the whole thing look as if Sven Sivertsen was the killer. The only one person who could stage-manage something like that was a professional, someone whose job and whose passion it was.’

Wilhelm opened one eye.

‘If I understand you correctly, you’re saying that this person planned to kill four people to take revenge on only one person?’

‘Of the five appointed victims only three were randomly chosen. You made the crime scenes look as if they had been determined by a randomly placed devil’s star, but in reality you designed the star from two of the points: your own address and the house belonging to Sven Sivertsen’s mother. Cunning, but simple geometry.’

‘Do you really believe this theory of yours, Harry?’

‘Sven Sivertsen had never heard of any Lisbeth Barli. But do you know what, Wilhelm? He remembered her well enough when I told him what her maiden name was: Lisbeth Harang.’

Wilhelm didn’t answer.

‘The only thing I don’t understand,’ Harry said, ‘is why you waited so many years to take your revenge.’

Wilhelm wriggled up the bed.

‘Let’s assume that I don’t understand what you’re trying to insinuate, Harry. I’m reluctant to make a confession and put both of us in a difficult spot. However, since I’m in the fortunate position of knowing that you cannot prove a thing, I don’t mind chatting for a bit. You know that I approve of people who can listen.’