The Redeemer by Jo Nesbø Read Free Book Online Page B

ninety-two centimetres of sullen alcoholic, and the fact that he was a brilliant detective mildly mitigated in his favour, but no more than that. Everyone knew that had it not been for Bjarne Møller's protective wing, Harry would have been off the force years ago. And now that Møller was going, everyone also knew that top brass were just waiting for him to step out of line. Paradoxically, what was protecting him now was the same thing that stamped him as an eternal outsider: the fact that he had brought down one of their own. The Prince. Tom Waaler, an inspector in Crime Squad, one of the men behind the extensive gun-running operation in Oslo for the last eight years. Tom Waaler had ended his days in a pool of blood in the basement of a residential tower block in Kampen. In a brief ceremony in the canteen three weeks later the Chief Superintendent had, through clenched teeth, acknowledged Harry's contribution to cleaning up their own ranks. And Harry had thanked him.
    'Thank you,' he had said, running his eyes across the assembled officers to check if anyone's met his. In fact, he had meant to restrict his speech to these two words, but the sight of averted faces and sardonic smiles had whipped up a sudden fury in him, and he had added: 'I suppose this will make it a bit more difficult for someone to give me the boot now. The press might believe that the person in question is doing it out of fear that I will be after him as well.'
    And then they had looked at him. In disbelief. He had continued nevertheless.
    'No reason to gawp, guys. Tom Waaler was an inspector with us in Crime Squad and dependent on his position to do what he was doing. He called himself the Prince and, as you know, . . .' Here Harry had paused while his gaze moved from face to face, stopping at the Chief Superintendent's. 'Where there's a prince, there's usually a king.'
    'Hello, old boy. Lost in thought?'
    Harry looked up. It was Halvorsen.
    'Thinking about kings,' Harry mumbled, taking the cup of coffee that the young detective passed him.
    'Well, there's the new guy,' Halvorsen said, pointing.
    By the table of presents there was a man in a blue suit talking to the Chief Superintendent and Bjarne Møller.
    'Is that Gunnar Hagen?' Harry said with coffee in his mouth. 'The new PAS?'
    'They're not a Politiavdelingssjef any more, Harry.'
    'No?'
    'POB. Politioverbetjent . They changed the names of the ranks more than four months ago.'
    'Is that so? I must have been sick that day. Are you still a police officer?'
    Halvorsen smiled.
    The new POB seemed agile, and younger than the fifty-three years it said he was in the memo. More medium-tall than tall, Harry noticed. And lean. The network of defined muscles in his face, around the jaw and down his neck suggested an ascetic lifestyle. His mouth was straight and firm and his chin stuck out in a way you could either designate determined or protruding. The little hair Hagen had was black and formed half a wreath around his pate; however, it was so thick and compact you might be forgiven for thinking the new POB had a rather eccentric choice of hairstyle. At any rate the enormous, demonic eyebrows boded well for the growing conditions of his body hair.
    'Straight from the military,' Harry said. 'Perhaps he'll introduce reveille.'
    'He was supposed to have been a good copper before switching pastures.'
    'Judging from what he wrote about himself in the memo, you mean?'
    'Nice to hear you being so positive, Harry.'
    'Me? I'm always keen to give new people a fair chance.'
    ' A being the operative word,' Beate said, joining them. She flicked her short blonde hair to the side. 'I thought I saw you limping as you came in, Harry?'
    'Met an overexcited guard dog down at the container terminal last night.'
    'What were you doing there?'
    Harry studied Beate before answering. The job of head in Brynsalléen had been good for her. And it had been good for Krimteknisk, too. Beate had always been a competent professional, but