Free Headhunters by Jo Nesbø Page A

smile . ‘I’ll try to ring you tonight, because you’re busy tomorrow, aren’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    I don’t know why I didn’t stop there. The rhythm of the conversation, the sense that an exchange was over told me that it was here I should say the closing ‘Goodbye’. Perhaps it was a gut feeling, a premonition; perhaps a terror that had already implanted itself in me, which made me extra careful.
    ‘Yeah, decoration is a pretty all-engrossing activity,’ I said.
    ‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I’m catching the early-morning plane to Rotterdam tomorrow. To get the dog. He’s been stuck in quarantine. I won’t be back until late evening.’
    ‘Oh yes,’ I said, releasing his hand so that he wouldn’t notice how I had stiffened. ‘What breed of dog is it?’
    ‘Niether terrier. Tracker dog. But as aggressive as a fighting dog. Good to have in the house when you have pictures like this up on the walls, don’t you think?’
    ‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Indeed it is.’
    A dog. I hated dogs.
    ‘I see,’ I heard Ove Kjikerud say at the other end of the line. ‘Clas Greve, Oscars gate 25. I’ve got the key here. Handover at Sushi&Coffee in an hour. The alarm is deactivated at seventeen hundred hours tomorrow. I’ll have to find a pretext for working in the afternoon. Why such short notice by the way?’
    ‘Because after tomorrow there’ll be a dog in the flat.’
    ‘OK. But why not during working hours, as usual?’
    The young man in the Corneliani suit and geek-chic glasses came along the pavement towards the public telephone box. I turned my back on him to avoid a greeting and pressed my mouth closer to the receiver.
    ‘I want to be one hundred per cent sure that there are no builders there. So you ring Gothenburg this minute and ask them to get hold of a decent Rubens Reproduction. There are lots, but say that we must have a good one. And they must have it ready for you when you come with the Munch print tonight. It’s short notice, but it’s important that I have it for tomorrow, do you understand?’
    ‘OK, OK.’
    ‘And then you tell Gothenburg that you’ll be back with the original tomorrow night. Do you remember the name of the picture?’
    ‘Yes, The Catalonian Boar Hunt . Rubens.’
    ‘Close enough. You’re absolutely sure we can rely on this fence?’
    ‘Jesus, Roger. For the hundredth time, yes!’
    ‘I’m just asking!’
    ‘Listen to me now. The guy knows that if he pulls a fast one at any time, he’ll be out of the game for life. No one punishes thieving harder than thieves.’
    ‘Great.’
    ‘Just one thing: I’ll have to put off the second Gothenburg trip by a day.’
    That was no problem, we had done it before; the Rubens would be safe inside the ceiling, but I could feel the hairs on my neck rising anyway.
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘I’ve got a visitor tomorrow evening. A dame.’
    ‘You’ll have to postpone it.’
    ‘Sorry, can’t.’
    ‘Can’t?’
    ‘It’s Natasha.’
    I could hardly believe my ears. ‘The Russian harlot?’
    ‘Don’t call her that.’
    ‘Isn’t that what she is?’
    ‘I don’t call your wife a Barbie doll, do I?’
    ‘Are you comparing my wife with a tart?’
    ‘I said I didn’t call your wife a Barbie doll.’
    ‘All the better for you. Diana is a hundred per cent natural.’
    ‘You’re lying.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘OK, I’m impressed. But I won’t be going tomorrow night all the same. I’ve been on Natasha’s waiting list for three weeks, and I want to film the session. Get it on tape.’
    ‘Film it? You’re taking the piss.’
    ‘I have to have something to look at before the next time. God knows when that’ll be.’
    I laughed out loud. ‘You’re crazy.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘You’re in love with a whore, Ove! No real man can love a whore.’
    ‘What do you know about that?’
    I groaned. ‘And what are you going to say to your beloved when you pull out a bloody camera?’
    ‘She’ll know