Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

where she was willing to sacrifice a colleague in return for the arrest of Valentin. The one she had ratified with her incantation: one more time, you bastard. Strike one more time.
    Katrine sobbed aloud.
    The loud sob jolted Truls Berntsen upright. He had been falling asleep. The cheap suit was so damned slippery on the worn church pew there was a good chance he would slide right off.
    He fixed his eyes on the altarpiece. Jesus with rays of sun coming out of his head. A headlight. Forgiveness of sins. It was a stroke of genius what they had done. Religion hadn’t been selling so well; it was so hard to obey all the commandments once you had the money to succumb to more temptations. So they had come up with this idea that was good enough to believe. A sales idea that did as much for turnover as credit, it almost felt like redemption was free. But, just like with credit, things got out of control, people didn’t care, they sinned for their dear lives, because all you had to do was believe. So around the Middle Ages they had to tighten up, implement debt collection. So they thought up hell and the stuff about the soul burning. And hey presto – you frightened the punters back into the church and this time they settled their accounts. The church became very wealthy, and good for them, they had done such a fantastic job. That was Truls’s genuine opinion on the matter. Even though he believed he would die and that would be that, no forgiveness of sins, no hell. But if he was mistaken, he was in deep trouble, that much was obvious. There had to be limits to what you could forgive, and Jesus would hardly have the imagination to conjure up a couple of the things Truls had done.
    Harry was staring straight ahead. Was somewhere else. In the House of Pain with Beate pointing and explaining. He didn’t come to until he heard Rakel’s whisper.
    ‘You have to help Gunnar and the others, Harry.’
    He recoiled. Looked at her in surprise.
    She nodded to the altar where the others had already taken up positions by the coffin. Gunnar Hagen, Bjørn Holm, Katrine Bratt, Ståle Aune and Jack Halvorsen’s brother. Hagen had said Harry had to carry the coffin alongside the brother-in-law, who was the second tallest.
    Harry got up and walked quickly down the aisle.
    You have to help Gunnar and the others.
    It was like an echo of what she had said the night before.
    Harry exchanged imperceptible nods with the others. Took up the unoccupied position.
    ‘On the count of three,’ Hagen said softly.
    The organ tones intensified, swelled.
    Then they carried Beate Lønn outside into the light.
    Justisen was packed with people from the funeral.
    Over the loudspeakers blared a song Harry had heard there before. ‘I Fought the Law’ by the Bobby Fuller Four. With the optimistic continuation . . . ‘and the law won’.
    He had accompanied Rakel to the airport express, and in the meantime several of his former colleagues had managed to get very drunk. As a sober outsider Harry was able to observe the almost frantic drinking, as if they were sitting on a sinking ship. At many of the tables they were howling along with Bobby Fuller that the law won.
    Harry signalled to the table where Katrine Bratt and the other coffin-bearers sat that he would be back soon and went to the toilet. He had started peeing when a man appeared at his side. He heard him unzip.
    ‘This is a place for police officers,’ a voice snuffled. ‘So what the hell are you doing here?’
    ‘Pissing,’ Harry said, without looking up. ‘And you? Burning?’
    ‘Don’t you try it with me, Hole.’
    ‘If I did, you wouldn’t be walking around a free man, Berntsen.’
    ‘Mind your own business,’ groaned Truls Berntsen, leaning against the wall above the urinal with his unoccupied hand. ‘I can stick a murder on you, and you know it. The Russian in Come As You Are. Everyone in the police knows it was you, but I’m the only one who can prove it. And that’s why you don’t dare to mix with me.’
    ‘What I know, Berntsen, is that the Russian was a dope dealer who tried to dispatch me into the beyond. But if you think your chances are better than his, go ahead. You’ve beaten up policemen before.’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘You and Bellman. A gay officer, wasn’t it?’
    Harry could hear the head of steam Berntsen had worked up fizzle and fade.
    ‘Are you on the booze again, Hole?’
    ‘Mm,’ Harry said, buttoning up. ‘This must be the season for police haters.’ He