thinks it’s a worthwhile job.’
‘Worthwhile? Have you any idea what they pay—’
‘Worth doing. Police work doesn’t pay very well, either.’
‘True.’
‘But it’s a good place to start your career if you combine it with a law degree,’ Simon said. ‘When will you finish the second level?’
Again he detected a hint of reddening on Kari’s neck and knew he had touched a nerve.
‘Right,’ Simon said. ‘Nice to have the use of your services. I expect you’ll be my boss soon. Or you’ll get a job in the private sector where salaries are on average one and a half times more for people with skills like ours.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kari said. ‘But I don’t think I’ll ever be your boss. You’re due to retire next March.’
Simon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He turned left at Grønlandsleiret, towards Police HQ.
‘One and a half times your salary would come in very handy if you’re doing up a property. Flat or house?’
‘House,’ Kari said. ‘We plan on having two children and we need more room. Given the cost per square metre in central Oslo, you have to buy a place that needs doing up unless you inherit money. Both mine and Sam’s parents are alive and well; and besides, Sam and I agree that subsidy corrupts.’
‘Corrupts? Really?’
‘Yes.’
Simon looked at the Pakistani shop owners who had left their overheated shops and come out into the street where they chatted, smoked cigarettes and watched the traffic.
‘Aren’t you curious how I knew that you’re house-hunting?’
‘The marble,’ Kari said. ‘Adults with no children only have one of those in their pocket if they’re viewing old houses or flats and want to check if the floors are sloping due to subsidence so badly they’ll have to be taken up.’
She really was clever.
‘Just bear this in mind,’ Simon said. ‘If a house has been standing for 120 years, the floors should be a little crooked.’
‘Perhaps so,’ Kari said, leaning forward to look at the spire of Grønland Church. ‘But I like it when the floors are level.’
Simon started to laugh. He might grow to like this girl. He liked the floors level, too.
7
‘ I KNEW YOUR father,’ Johannes Halden said.
It was raining outside. It had been a warm, sunny day; the clouds had built up on the horizon and the light summer drizzle fell across the city. Johannes remembered what it felt like before he was banged up. How the little drops of rain warmed up the moment they hit your sun-kissed skin. How it made the smell of dust rise from the tarmac. The scent of flowers, grass and leaves would make him wild, dizzy and frisky. Ah, to be young again.
‘I was his confidential informant,’ Johannes said.
Sonny sat in darkness close to the wall and it was impossible to see his face. Johannes didn’t have very much time; the cells would soon be locked up for the night. He took a deep breath. Here it came. The sentence he needed to say, but dreaded the consequences. Uttering the words that had sat in his chest for so long he was afraid that they had taken root.
‘It’s not true that he shot himself, Sonny.’
There. He had finally told him.
Silence.
‘You’re not asleep, are you, Sonny?’
Johannes could see the body shift in the shadow.
‘I know what it must have been like for you and your mother. Finding your father dead. Reading the note where he claimed he was the mole in the police who had helped drug dealers and traffickers. That he had told them about raids, evidence, suspects . . .’
He saw the white in a pair of blinking eyes.
‘But it was the other way round, Sonny. Your father suspected who the mole was. I overheard Nestor talk on the phone to his boss about how they had to get rid of a policeman called Lofthus before he ruined everything for them. I told your father about that conversation, that he was in danger, that the police had to move quickly. But your father said that he couldn’t involve other people, that he had to
‘Worthwhile? Have you any idea what they pay—’
‘Worth doing. Police work doesn’t pay very well, either.’
‘True.’
‘But it’s a good place to start your career if you combine it with a law degree,’ Simon said. ‘When will you finish the second level?’
Again he detected a hint of reddening on Kari’s neck and knew he had touched a nerve.
‘Right,’ Simon said. ‘Nice to have the use of your services. I expect you’ll be my boss soon. Or you’ll get a job in the private sector where salaries are on average one and a half times more for people with skills like ours.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kari said. ‘But I don’t think I’ll ever be your boss. You’re due to retire next March.’
Simon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He turned left at Grønlandsleiret, towards Police HQ.
‘One and a half times your salary would come in very handy if you’re doing up a property. Flat or house?’
‘House,’ Kari said. ‘We plan on having two children and we need more room. Given the cost per square metre in central Oslo, you have to buy a place that needs doing up unless you inherit money. Both mine and Sam’s parents are alive and well; and besides, Sam and I agree that subsidy corrupts.’
‘Corrupts? Really?’
‘Yes.’
Simon looked at the Pakistani shop owners who had left their overheated shops and come out into the street where they chatted, smoked cigarettes and watched the traffic.
‘Aren’t you curious how I knew that you’re house-hunting?’
‘The marble,’ Kari said. ‘Adults with no children only have one of those in their pocket if they’re viewing old houses or flats and want to check if the floors are sloping due to subsidence so badly they’ll have to be taken up.’
She really was clever.
‘Just bear this in mind,’ Simon said. ‘If a house has been standing for 120 years, the floors should be a little crooked.’
‘Perhaps so,’ Kari said, leaning forward to look at the spire of Grønland Church. ‘But I like it when the floors are level.’
Simon started to laugh. He might grow to like this girl. He liked the floors level, too.
7
‘ I KNEW YOUR father,’ Johannes Halden said.
It was raining outside. It had been a warm, sunny day; the clouds had built up on the horizon and the light summer drizzle fell across the city. Johannes remembered what it felt like before he was banged up. How the little drops of rain warmed up the moment they hit your sun-kissed skin. How it made the smell of dust rise from the tarmac. The scent of flowers, grass and leaves would make him wild, dizzy and frisky. Ah, to be young again.
‘I was his confidential informant,’ Johannes said.
Sonny sat in darkness close to the wall and it was impossible to see his face. Johannes didn’t have very much time; the cells would soon be locked up for the night. He took a deep breath. Here it came. The sentence he needed to say, but dreaded the consequences. Uttering the words that had sat in his chest for so long he was afraid that they had taken root.
‘It’s not true that he shot himself, Sonny.’
There. He had finally told him.
Silence.
‘You’re not asleep, are you, Sonny?’
Johannes could see the body shift in the shadow.
‘I know what it must have been like for you and your mother. Finding your father dead. Reading the note where he claimed he was the mole in the police who had helped drug dealers and traffickers. That he had told them about raids, evidence, suspects . . .’
He saw the white in a pair of blinking eyes.
‘But it was the other way round, Sonny. Your father suspected who the mole was. I overheard Nestor talk on the phone to his boss about how they had to get rid of a policeman called Lofthus before he ruined everything for them. I told your father about that conversation, that he was in danger, that the police had to move quickly. But your father said that he couldn’t involve other people, that he had to
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