The Redbreast

＂An elegant and complex thriller. . . . Harrowingly beautiful.＂ --New York Times Book Review

＂Hugely impressive--ambitious in scope, and skilled in execution.＂ --Los Angeles Times

＂Ranks with the best of current American crime fiction.＂--Washington Post

Jo Nesb , the New York Times bestselling author of The Snowman, has solidified his spot as one of the most exciting Scandinavian thriller writers in the crime fiction business. The Redbreast is the third installment in Nesb ’s tough-as-nails series featuring Oslo police detective Harry Hole.

Detective Harry Hole embarrassed the force, and for his sins he’s been reassigned to mundane surveillance tasks. But while monitoring neo-Nazi activities in Oslo, Hole is inadvertently drawn into a mystery with deep roots in Norway’s dark past--when members of the nation’s government willingly collaborated with Nazi Germany.

More than sixty years later, this black mark won’t wash away, and disgraced old soldiers who once survived a brutal Russian winter are being murdered, one by one. Now, with only a stained and guilty conscience to guide him, an angry, alcoholic, error-prone policeman must make his way safely past the traps and mirrors of a twisted criminal mind. For a hideous conspiracy is rapidly taking shape around Hole--and Norway’s darkest hour may still be to come.

1

Toll Barrier at Alnabru.
1 November 1999.

A grey bird glided in and out of Harry’s field of vision. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Slow time. Somebody had been talking about ‘slow time’ on TV yesterday. This was slow time. Like on Christmas Eve before Father Christmas came. Or sitting in the electric chair before the current was turned on.

He drummed harder.

They were parked in the open area behind the ticket booths at the toll gate. Ellen turned up the radio a notch. The commentator spoke with reverence and solemnity.

‘The plane landed fifty minutes ago, and at exactly 6.38 a.m. the President set foot on Norwegian soil. He was welcomed by the Mayor of Ullensaker. It is a wonderful autumn day here in Oslo: a splendid Norwegian backdrop to this summit meeting. Let us hear again what the President said at the press conference half an hour ago.’

It was the third time. Again Harry saw the screaming press corps thronging against the barrier. The men in grey suits on the other side, who made only a halfhearted attempt not to look like Secret Service agents, hunched their shoulders and then relaxed them as they scanned the crowd, checked for the twelfth time that their earpieces were correctly positioned, scanned the crowd, dwelled for a few seconds on a photographer whose telephoto lens was a little too long, continued scanning, checked for the thirteenth time that their earpieces were in position. Someone welcomed the President in English, everything went quiet. Then a scratching noise in a microphone.

‘First, let me say I’m delighted to be here . . .’ the President said for the fourth time in husky, broad American-English.

‘I read that a well-known American psychologist thinks the President has an MPD,’ Ellen said.

‘MPD?’

‘Multiple Personality Disorder. Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The psychologist thought his normal personality was not aware that the other one, the sex beast, was having relations with all these women. And that was why a Court of Impeachment couldn’t accuse him of having lied under oath about it.’

‘Jesus,’ Harry said, looking up at the helicopter hovering high above them.

On the radio, someone speaking with a Norwegian accent asked, ‘Mr President, this is the fourth visit to Norway by a sitting US President. How does it feel?’

Pause.

‘It’s really nice to be back here. And I see it as even more important that the leaders of the state of Israel and of the Palestinian people can meet here. The key to —’

‘Can you remember anything from your previous visit to Norway, Mr President?’

‘Yes, of course. In today’s talks I hope that we can —’

‘What significance have Oslo and Norway had for world peace, Mr President?’

‘Norway has played an important role.’

A voice without a Norwegian accent: ‘What concrete results does the President consider to be realistic?’

The recording was cut and someone from the studio took over.