From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

‘So, in a nutshell, a man walked into a crowded bank in broad daylight, took two million kroner, murdered a woman, strolled out, up a relatively unpopulated but heavily trafficked street in the centre of the capital of Norway, a few hundred metres from a police station and we, the salaried police professionals, do not have a thing to go on?’ Harry nodded slowly. ‘Almost nothing. We have the video.’

‘So, in a nutshell, a man walked into a crowded bank in broad daylight, took two million kroner, murdered a woman, strolled out, up a relatively unpopulated but heavily trafficked street in the centre of the capital of Norway, a few hundred metres from a police station and we, the salaried police professionals, do not have a thing to go on?’ Harry nodded slowly. ‘Almost nothing. We have the video.’

I’M WATCHING THE FIRST VIDEO. WHEN I TAKE IT FRAME BY frame I can see the spurt of flame. Particles of powder which as yet have not been converted into pure energy, like a glowing swarm of asteroids following the large comet into the atmosphere to burn up while the comet continues serenely on its course. And there is nothing anyone can do because this is the course that was predestined millions of years ago, before mankind, before emotions, before hatred and mercy were born. The bullet enters the head, truncates mental activity and revokes dreams. In the core of the cranium the last thought, a neural impulse from the pain centre, is shattered. It is a last contradictory SOS to itself before everything is silenced. I click onto the second video title. I stare out of the window while the computer grinds away scouring the Internet night. There are stars in the sky and I think that each of them is proof of the ineluctability of fate. They make no sense; they are elevated above the human need for logic and context. And that is why, I think, they are so beautiful.

‘Fuck!’ Harry kicked the table in front of the mirror. The telephone slid off the table and the receiver was tugged out of his hand. ‘Hello? Are you there, Harry?’ the phone on the floor crackled. Harry felt like leaving it where it was. Going away. Or putting on a Metallica record at full blast. One of the old ones.

Harry shrugged. ‘Look around you. Humanity can’t survive without it. Revenge and retribution. That’s the driving force for the midget who was bullied at school and later became a multi-millionaire, and the bank robber who thinks he has been short-changed by society. And look at us. Society’s burning revenge disguised as cold, rational retribution–that’s our profession, isn’t it.’

‘That’s the way it has to be,’ she said, avoiding his gaze. ‘Society wouldn’t work without punishment.’

‘Yes, of course, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there. Catharsis. Revenge cleanses. Aristotle wrote that the human soul is purged by the fear and compassion that tragedy evokes. It’s a frightening thought that we fulfil the soul’s innermost desire through the tragedy of revenge, isn’t it.’

‘I haven’t read a lot of philosophy.’ She raised her glass and took a long swig.

Harry bent his head. ‘I haven’t, either. I’m just trying to impress you. Down to brass tacks?’

Harry studied the table and she shot a quick glance at him. He wasn’t good-looking, but he had something going for him.

It was twelve o’clock and the Police HQ canteen was packed. Harry clenched his teeth and went in. He didn’t dislike his colleagues on principle; he disliked them by instinct. And, as the years went by, it was getting worse.