“See you on Monday, same time?” Madsen asked.
Yes, he was definitely going to get hold of a couch. Maybe even a confessional.
—
“I hope you like your coffee strong,” Harry called towards the living room as he poured water from the kettle into their cups.
“How many records have you actually got?” Kaja called back.
“About fifteen hundred.” The heat scorched Harry’s knuckles as he stuck his fingers through the handles of the cups. With three quick, long strides he was in the living room. Kaja was kneeling on the sofa looking through the records. “About?”
Harry pulled one corner of his mouth up into a sort of smile. “One thousand, five hundred and thirty-six.”
“And like most neurotic guys, obviously you’ve got them arranged alphabetically by artist, but I see that at least you haven’t got each artists’ albums arranged by release date.”
“No,” Harry said, putting the cups down beside the computer on the table and blowing on his fingers. “Just in order of when I bought them. The most recent acquisition by that artist on the far left.”
Kaja laughed. “You’re all mad.”
“Probably. Bjørn says I’m the only mad one, becauseeveryoneelse arranges theirs by release date.” He sat down on the sofa and she slid down beside him and took a sip of the coffee.
“Mmm.”
“Freeze-dried coffee from a freshly opened jar,” Harry said.
“I’d forgotten how good it is.” She laughed.
“What? Hasn’t anyone else served you coffee like this since I last did?”
“Clearly you’re the only one who knows how to treat a woman, Harry.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Harry said, then pointed at the screen. “Here’s the picture of the shoeprint in the snow outside Rakel’s house. Do you see it’s the same?”
“Yes,” Kaja said, holding up her own boot. “But the print in the picture is from a bigger size, isn’t it?”
“Probably size 43 or 44,” Harry said.
“Mine are 38. I bought them in a second-hand market in Kabul. They were the smallest they had.”
“And they’re Soviet military boots from the occupation?”
“Yes.”
“That must mean they’re over thirty years old.”
“Impressive, isn’t it? We had one Norwegian lieutenant colonel in Kabul who used to say that if these bootmakers had been in charge of the Soviet Union, it would never have collapsed.”
“Do you mean Lieutenant Colonel Bohr?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean he had a pair of these boots as well?”
“I don’t remember, but they were popular. And cheap. Why do you ask?”
“Roar Bohr’s number appeared so frequently in Rakel’s phone log that they checked his alibi for the night of the murder.”
“And?”
