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Jo Nesbo Pentagram Pdf

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Jo Nesbo - [Harry Hole 05] - The Devils Star (epub) The Pentagram. ALSO BY JO NESBO The Redbreast THE DEVIL'S STAR Translated from the .. pdf. The Snowman_ A Harry Hole Novel - Jo Nesbo 82 wyświetleń, stron. Download Jo Nesbø The Devil's Star pdf (real) secreted a tiny red diamond in the shape of a five-pointed star - a pentagram, the devil's star. The Harry Hole series by Jo Nesbø. The Bat [ in Norway, pentagram - a five-pointed star - is found under her eyelid. Detective Harry Hole is assigned the .

Hole, investigating the murder scene, discovers a small, red, five-pointed diamond under the eyelid of the victim and that a finger is missing from her left hand. Another murder is presumed when the director of a musical , My Fair Lady , reports that his wife has gone missing.

Her finger is later sent to the National Criminal Investigation Service ; it has a ring on it with a small, red five-pointed diamond. The director, Wilhelm Barli, is most upset, especially since his wife, Lisbeth, was due to take the lead in My Fair Lady, a role he later gives to his wife's sister. A few days later a third victim is found, this time in the female toilets at a local law firm.

She is found on her hands and knees, with her head also on the floor and a five-pointed red diamond on the body. Yet again a finger has been removed. Meanwhile, Waaler — who has heard about Hole's investigation of him — has offered Hole a position in his illegal dealings, due to Hole's obvious intelligence and his career in the police seemingly being over.

He informs Hole that, should he wish to join, he will be given a specific task to prove his loyalty. Waaler dangles the large financial benefits of his criminal activities as an inducement.

Hole is initially confused as to why Waaler is effectively admitting his guilt, but is reminded that, as an alcoholic , Hole's evidence would not be sufficient to convict him if he went to his superiors. Hole agrees to think about the offer. A chance sighting of a pentagram brings Harry a flash of inspiration. The five-pointed diamonds found on the victims are in a similar shape — known as a Devil's Star — and Hole remembers having seen the same symbol at the murder scenes.

The further significance of the pentagram soon becomes apparent to Hole, and provides a major clue as to the next possible murder locations, which are kept under surveillance : One is in a student residence hall and the other is a house on the outskirts of the city, owned by Olaug Sivertsen.

She informs Hole by phone as he and Tom Waaler are checking out the other prospective crime scene, the student residence. Hole, using recently installed CCTV cameras, notices another pentagram on a student's door. Eventually, the body of the victim at the student residence hall is found, and is determined to actually be the first victim of the serial killer, killed five days before the first discovered victim was murdered. Now Hole is given his initiation task by Tom Waaler: to kill Sven Sivertson in custody using a poison capsule, as Waaler's influence is such that he can guarantee that Hole will get away with the murder.

Waaler's argument for Sivertson's murder is that he would get a lenient punishment from the Norwegian judicial system, and that death would be a worthy sentence for his crimes. Hole realizes however that Waaler's desire to kill Sivertson is born out of a desire to eliminate a potentially dangerous witness to his role in the arms smuggling ring, and to this end he convinces Sivertson that he should trust him and not Waaler.

Monday Night. The Mumbling. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law.

Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Version 1. Printed with permission This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without The publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser First published with the title Marekors by H.

In addition to being Norway's most successful crime writer, he is also a musician, songwriter and economist. He lives in Oslo. The house was built in on a clay base that had since sunk a tiny bit on the west-facing side, causing water to cross the wooden threshold where the door was hung.

It ran across the bedroom floor and left a wet streak over the oak parquet, moving west.

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The flow rested for a second in a dip before more water nudged it from behind and it scurried like a nervous rat towards the skirting board. There the water went in both directions; it searched and somehow sneaked under the skirting until it found a gap between the end of the wooden flooring and the wall.

In the gap lay a fivekroner coin bearing a profile of King Olav's head and the date: , the year before it had fallen out of the carpenter's pocket. But these were the boom years; a great many attic flats had needed to be built at the drop of a hat and the carpenter had not bothered to look for it. It did not take the water much time to find a way through the floor under the parquet. Apart from when there was a leak in - the same year a new roof was built on the house - the wooden floorboards had lain there undisturbed, drying and contracting so that the crack between the two innermost pine floorboards was now almost half a centimetre.

The water dripped onto the beam beneath the crack and continued westwards and into the exterior wall. There it seeped into the plaster and the mortar that had been mixed one hundred years before, also in midsummer, by Jacob Andersen, a master bricklayer and father of five.

Andersen, like all bricklayers in Oslo at that time, mixed his own mortar and wall plaster.

The Devil's Star: A Novel (Harry Hole series Book 5) by Jo Nesbo, Don Bartlett

Not only did he have his own unique blend of lime, sand and water, he also had his own special ingredients: horsehair and pig's blood. Jacob Andersen was of the opinion that the hair and the blood held the plaster together and gave it extra strength. It was not his idea, he told his head-shaking colleagues at the time, his Scottish father and grandfather had used the same ingredients from sheep. Even though he had renounced his Scottish surname and taken on a trade name he saw no reason to turn his back on six hundred years of heritage.

Some of the bricklayers considered it immoral, some thought he was in league with the Devil, but most just laughed at him. Perhaps it was one of the latter who spread the story that was to take hold in the burgeoning town of Kristania.

A coachman from Grunerlokka had married his cousin from Varmland and together they moved into a one-room flat plus kitchen in one of the apartment blocks in Seilduksgata that Andersen had helped to build. The couple's first child was unlucky enough to be born with dark, curly hair and brown eyes, and since the couple were blond with blue eyes - and the man was jealous by nature as well - late one night he tied his wife's hands behind her, took her down to the cellar and bricked her in.

Her screams were effectively muffled by the thick walls where she stood bound and squeezed between the two brick surfaces. The husband had perhaps thought that she would suffocate from lack of oxygen, but bricklayers do allow for ventilation. In the end, the poor woman attacked the wall with her bare teeth. And that might well have worked because as the Scottish bricklayer used blood and hair, thinking that he could save on the expensive lime in the cement mix, the result was a porous wall that crumbled under the attack from strong Varmland teeth.

However, her hunger for life sadly led to her taking excessively large mouthfuls of mortar and brick. Ultimately she was unable to chew, swallow or spit and the sand, pebbles and chunks of clay blocked her windpipe.

Her face turned blue, her heartbeat slowed and then she stopped breathing. She was what most people would call dead. According to the myth, however, the taste of pig's blood had the effect of making the unfortunate woman believe she was still alive. And with that she immediately broke free of the ropes that bound her, passed through the wall and began to walk again.

A few old people from Grunerlokka still remember the story from their childhood, about the woman with the pig's head, walking around with a knife to cut off the heads of small children who were out late.

She had to have the taste of blood in her mouth so that she didn't vanish into thin air. At the time very few people knew the name of the bricklayer and Andersen worked tirelessly at making his special blend of mortar. Three years later, while working on the building where the water was now leaking he fell from the scaffolding - leaving only two hundred kroner and a guitar - and so it was to be another hundred years before bricklayers began to use artificial hair-like fibres in their cement mixes and before technicians at a laboratory in Milan discovered that the walls of Jericho had been strengthened with blood and camel hair.

Most of the water, however, did not run into the wall, but down it, because water, like cowardice and lust, always finds the lowest level. At first the water was absorbed by the lumpy, granular insulation between the joists, but more followed and soon the insulation was saturated. The water went right through it and soaked up a newspaper dated July 11, , in which it said the building industry's boom time had probably reached its peak and the unscrupulous property speculators were sure to have harder times ahead.

On page three it said that the police still had no leads regarding the murder of a young nurse who had been found dead from stab wounds in a bathroom the previous week.

In May, a girl mutilated and killed in a similar way was found near the River Akerselva, but the police would not say whether the two cases could be connected. The water ran off the newspaper, between the wooden boards underneath and along the inside of the painted ceiling fabric of the room below.

The good one. Then the black one. The pain.

His hand caressed her coat, searching for her nipple under the thick material. He was eternally fascinated by her nipples; he always returned to them. She nodded and felt the pain shoot into her head like a dart of pleasure. Her sex had already opened for him. At work, of course. Both because he had brought her husband into the conversation and it was difficult for her to say anything at all about him without getting irritated, and because her body needed him, quickly.

Sara Kvinesland opened his fly. She slapped him hard with her other hand. He looked at her in amazement as a red flush spread across his cheek. She smiled, grabbed his thick black hair and pulled his face down to hers. Is that understood? It was coming in hefty gasps now. Again she slapped him with her free hand, and his dick was growing in her other. She was numb, the magic was gone, the tension had dissolved and all that was left was despair. She was losing him.

Now, as she lay there, she had lost him. All the years she had yearned, all the tears she had cried, the desperate things he had made her do. Without giving anything back. Except for one thing. He was standing at the foot of the bed and taking her with closed eyes. Sara stared at his chest. At first she had thought it strange, but after a while she had begun to like the sight of unbroken white skin over his pectoral muscles.

It reminded her of old statues on which the nipples had been omitted out of consideration for public modesty. His groans were getting louder. She knew that soon he would let out a furious roar.

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She had loved that roar. The ever-surprised, ecstatic, almost pained expression as though the orgasm surpassed his wildest expectation each and every time. Now she was waiting for the final roar, a bellowing farewell to this freezing box of a bedroom, divested of pictures, curtains and carpets. But he could say no to this. And still he would roar with pleasure.

She closed her eyes. He had stopped. His features were distorted, all right. But not with pleasure. She flinched. She heaved herself around, felt him slip out, already limp. The window above her head was set too high in the wall for her to see out.

And too high for anyone standing outside to peer in.The Ultimatum. Vibeke rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Both because he had brought her husband into the conversation and it was difficult for her to say anything at all about him without getting irritated, and because her body needed him, quickly. But now everyone was on holiday and the town was almost deserted. He threw off the duvet and placed his feet on the floor.

Some of the bricklayers considered it immoral, some thought he was in league with the Devil, but most just laughed at him.

Vibeke, who was a little short-sighted, wouldn't have seen the drops if they had glistened. That's what I always thought.

SHAN from Lacey
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