Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

pay the price.
    He closed his eyes and bent the crowbar back. Felt bits of plaster fall on his shoulders and forehead. And caught the stench. It was worse here. He smashed the crowbar in again, making the gap bigger. He hunted around for something he could put on the chair so that he could get his head through the opening.
    There it was again. A movement by the window. Harry jumped down and raced over to the window, shading his eyes to keep out the light and leaning against the glass. But all he could see out there in the darkness were the silhouettes of apple trees. Some of the branches were swaying. Had the wind picked up?
    Harry turned back into the room, found a large plastic IKEA box, which he put on the chair, and he was about to clamber up when he heard a sound from the hall. A click. He stood waiting, listening. But no further sounds reached him. Harry shrugged it off; it was just the creaking of an old wooden house when the wind starts blowing. He balanced on top of the plastic box, stretched up gingerly, put the palms of his hands against the ceiling and poked his head through the cavity in the plasterboard.
    The stench was so intense that his eyes instantly filled with water and he had to concentrate on holding his breath. The stench was familiar. Flesh in that phase of the decomposition process when inhaling the gas seems dangerous to your health. He had only smelt such an intense stench once before, when they’d found a body that had been wrapped in plastic for two years in a dark cellar and they’d poked holes in it. No, this was not a rodent, not even from the rodent family. It was dark inside, and his head was blocking all the light, but he could glimpse something lying right in front of him. He waited for his pupils to dilate slowly to make the most of the little light there was. And then he saw it. It was a drill. No, a jigsaw. But there was something else, further back, something he couldn’t quite see; he just felt a physical presence. Something . . . He felt his throat constrict. A sound. Of footsteps. Beneath him.
    He tried to retract his head, but it was as if the opening had become too narrow, as if it was growing smaller around his neck, closing with him inside the atmosphere of death. He felt the panic rise, he forced his fingers between his throat and the mangled ceiling and tore off chunks. And pulled his head out.
    The footsteps had stopped.
    Harry’s pulse was throbbing in his throat. He waited until he was perfectly calm. Took the lighter from his pocket, put his hand through the opening, the flame leapt up, and he was about to stick his head back in when he noticed something. The plastic curtain separating the two rooms. Something was outlined against it. A figure. Someone was watching him from behind the curtain.
    Harry coughed. ‘Katrine?’
    No answer.
    Harry’s eyes sought the crowbar he had left somewhere on the floor. Found it, stepped down as quietly as he could. Got one foot on the floor, heard the curtain being moved to the side and realised he wouldn’t have time to reach it. The voice sounded almost cheerful.
    ‘So we meet again.’
    He looked up. In the dim light it took him a few seconds to recognise the face. He cursed under his breath. His brain searched for conceivable scenarios for how the next few seconds would play out, tossing around the question: what the hell’s going to happen now? But found no answer.

29
    SHE HAD A bag over her shoulder, which she let slide down. It hit the floor with a surprisingly heavy thud.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ Harry asked gruffly, aware this was a repeat performance. The same as her answer.
    ‘I’ve been doing some training. Martial arts.’
    ‘That’s no answer, Silje.’
    ‘Yes, it is,’ Silje Gravseng said, thrusting one hip forward. She was wearing a thin tracksuit top, black leggings, trainers, a ponytail and a sly smile. ‘I’d finished my training and saw you leaving the college. I followed you.’
    ‘Why?’
    She shrugged. ‘To give you another chance perhaps.’
    ‘A chance to do what?’
    ‘To do what you want.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘I don’t think I need to spell it out, do I?’ She tilted her head. ‘I saw it on your face in Krohn’s office.You don’t exactly have a poker face, Harry. You want to shag me.’
    Harry nodded towards the bag. ‘Your training, is it the ninja stuff with a cane sword?’ His voice rasped from the dryness in his mouth.
    Silje Gravseng’s gaze took in the room.