“Thanks,” Harry said. “Do you remember that last evening I was at yours?”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “Or no.”
“We were lying on your bed. You asked me to use a condom because you were sure I didn’t want another kid. There was a woman who rang.”
“Oh yes. Kaja. Nasty name.”
“Right,” Harry said. “Now I need to ask you something I’m sure you don’t want to answer.”
“OK?”
Harry asked a yes/no question. He heard Alexandra pause. That was almost enough of an answer. Then she said yes. He had what he needed.
“Thanks. One more thing. Those trousers with blood on them. Can you run an analysis of it?”
“Rakel’s blood?”
“No. I was bleeding from my knuckles, so there’s my blood on the trousers as well, if you remember.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want you to analyse my blood.”
“Yours? What for?”
Harry explained what he was after.
“That’s going to take a bit of time,” Alexandra said. “Let’s say an hour. Can I call you somewhere?”
Harry thought for a moment. “Send the results by text to Bjørn Holm.”
He gave her Bjørn’s number, then hung up.
Harry fed more money into the phone, noting that the coins were going faster than his words. He needed to be more efficient.
He knew Oleg’s number.
“Yes?” His voice sounded distant. Either because he was a long way away, or because his thoughts were. Possibly both.
“Oleg, it’s me.”
“Dad?”
Harry had to swallow.
“Yes,” Harry said.
“I’m dreaming,” Oleg said. It didn’t sound like a protest, just a sober statement of fact.
“You’re not,” Harry said. “Unless I’m dreaming too.”
“Katrine Bratt said you’d driven into a river.”
“I survived.”
“You tried to kill yourself.”
Harry could hear his stepson’s astonishment start to give way to rising anger.
