Free The Redeemer by Jo Nesbø

Before very long she would move to somewhere better. Or – if that was not possible – trim her approach.
    He cleared his throat and asked where the nearest telephone booth was.
    She explained that he could ring from his room, but he shook his head.
    She had to think. The mobile phone had in practice meant that most phone boxes in Oslo had been removed, but she thought there was still one close by, in Jernbanetorget, the square outside the station. Although it was only a hundred metres away, she took out a little map, marked it and gave him directions. As they did in the Radisson and Choice hotels. Peering up to see whether he had understood, she was confused for a moment, without quite knowing why.
    'It's us against the rest of the world, Halvorsen!'
    Harry shouted his regular morning greeting as he burst into their shared office.
    'Two messages,' Halvorsen said. 'You've got to report to the new POB's office. And a woman rang asking for you. Stunning voice.'
    'Oh?' Harry slung his coat in the direction of the hatstand. It landed on the floor.
    'Wow,' Halvorsen exclaimed without thinking. 'At last you've got over it, haven't you?'
    'I beg your pardon?'
    'You're chucking clothes at the hatstand again. And saying, "It's us against the rest of the world!" You haven't done either since Rakel dumped—'
    Halvorsen shut up as he saw his colleague's warning expression.
    'What did the lady want?'
    'To pass on a message. Her name is . . .' Halvorsen searched through the yellow Post-its in front of him. '. . . Martine Eckhoff.'
    'Don't know her.'
    'Works at the Lighthouse.'
    'Aha!'
    'She said she'd been making enquiries. And that no one had heard anything about Per Holmen having any debts.'
    'Did she now? Mm. Perhaps I ought to ring and check if there was anything else.'
    'Oh? OK. Fine.'
    'Alright? Why are you looking so cheated?' Harry bent down for his coat, but instead of hanging it up, he put it on. 'Do you know what, Junior? I have to go out again.'
    'But the POB—'
    '—will have to wait.'
    The gate to the container terminal was open, but there was a sign on the fence prohibiting access and directing vehicles to the car park outside. Harry scratched his bad leg, glanced at the long, open expanse between the containers and drove in. The watchman's office was a low building much like a Moelven workman's shed that had been extended at regular intervals over the last thirty years. Which was not that far from the truth. Harry parked in front of the entrance and covered the remaining metres at a quick walk.
    The watchman leaned back in his chair, silent, his hands behind his head, chewing on a matchstick, while Harry explained why he was there. And what had happened the night before.
    The matchstick was the only thing moving in the watchman's face, but Harry thought he detected the hint of a grin as he told him about the altercation with the dog.
    'Black Metzner,' the watchman said. 'The cousin of the Rhodesian ridgeback. Lucky to get it imported. Great guard dog. And quiet, too.'
    'I noticed.'
    The matchstick jumped in amusement. 'The Metzner is a hunter, so it sneaks up. Doesn't want to frighten the prey.'
    'Are you saying the animal intended to . . . er, eat me?'
    'Depends what you mean by eat.'
    The watchman did not go into any details, just stared at Harry with a blank expression. The interwoven hands framed the whole of his head, and Harry was thinking that either he had unusually big hands or an unusually small head.
    'So you didn't see or hear anyone at the time we are assuming Per Holmen was shot?'
    'Was shot?'
    'Shot himself. Anything?'
    'Guard stays indoors in the winter. And the Metzner is quiet, as I said.'
    'Isn't that impractical? That it doesn't raise an alarm, I mean?'
    The watchman shrugged. 'It gets the job done. And we don't have to go out.'
    'It didn't catch Per Holmen when he slipped in.'
    'It's a big area.'
    'But later?'
    'The body, you mean? Bah. That was frozen, wasn't it? And the Metzner's not so keen on