‘I can tell you’re in debt,’ a voice whispered right behind him. ‘Yes, you owe me a life.’
He looked up at the mirror. In the cone of light coming from above he saw his own head, the barrel of a pistol and a hand holding a finger on the trigger. The face of the man holding the gun lay in darkness, but he could see something white shimmer. Was he naked? No, it was a white collar.
‘Wait!’ Harry said and turned round. It wasn’t the man in the lift. Or the man behind the tinted glass of the Camaro. It was Bjørn Holm. His red-haired colleague pressed the pistol to his own temple and pulled the trigger.
‘No!’
Harry discovered he was sitting up in bed.
‘Jesus!’ a voice mumbled, and he saw black hair against the white pillow beside him. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ Harry said hoarsely. ‘I was just dreaming. I’m going to go now.’
‘Why?’
‘I have reports to read. And I promised to go for a walk in the park with Gert early in the morning.’ He pushed himself out of bed, found his shirt on a chair, put it on and began to button it. Felt the nausea rising.
‘Are you excited about seeing him?’
‘I just want to be there on time.’ He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Sleep tight and thanks for a lovely evening. I’ll let myself out.’
When Harry made it down to the inner courtyard he had to throw up. He managed to push his way between two green wheelie bins by a wall before his stomach knotted itself and the contents slapped on the dirty cobblestones. As he stood collecting himself, he saw something glowing red in the darkness at the wall on the other side of the yard. It was a cat’s eyes.
The morning sun had yet to dry the rain-drenched streets when Thanh arrived at Mons.
She didn’t have the keys to the pet shop with her. It was Sunday, and this was just the meeting point for the handover of dogs she walked. The client was new; he had rung the day before. It was unusual for people to avail themselves of her dog-minding service on the weekends, generally that was when they had time to look after their pets themselves. Thanh was looking forward to taking a walk and had worn training gear in case the dog wanted to run a little. She and her mother had spent yesterday making food. Her father had come home from the hospital, and although the doctor had given him strict instructions not to eat too much and steer clear of spicy food, he had — to the delight of her mother — dug enthusiastically into all the dishes she served up.
Thanh saw a man with a dog approaching across the gravel-covered park of Vestkanttorget. The dog was a Labrador, and judging by its gait, suffered from hip dysplasia. As they drew closer, she saw it was the policeman who had been in the shop two days previously. Her first thought — perhaps because he was dressed in a suit — was that he was going to a Sunday service or a confirmation, and that was why he needed a dog minder. But he had also been wearing a suit the first time she met him; maybe it was his work outfit. In which case, she was glad she hadn’t brought the keys, in the event his plan had been to convince her to let him in.
‘Hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘My name is Sung-min.’
‘Thanh,’ she said, and patted the dog, which was wagging its tail.
‘Thanh. And his name is Kasparov. How do I pay?’
‘Vipps. If you have the app. I can get a receipt if you want.’
‘You mean you won’t work off the books for a policeman?’ He laughed. ‘Sorry, bad joke,’ he said, when she didn’t laugh along. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you some of the way?’
‘By all means,’ she said, and took the lead, noting that Kasparov’s collar was a William Walker. It was an expensive brand, but soft and gentle on a dog’s neck. She wanted to stock them in the shop, but Jonathan had refused.
‘I usually walk in Frogner Park,’ she said.
‘Fine.’
They walked south and turned into Fuglehauggata in the direction of the park.
