Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

structive, Harry. You’re just scared. Scared it will hurt too much. You and her.’
    ‘I’m a coward. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?’
    Ståle eyed Harry, took a breath, as though on the point of correcting him, then seemed to change his mind.
    ‘Yes, you’re a coward. You’re a coward because I think you want this. You want Rakel, you want to be in the same boat, you want to tie her to the mast, to sail in this boat or go down in the process. That’s how it is with you, Harry, on those rare occasions when you make a promise. How does that song go again?’
    Harry mumbled something about not retreating or surrendering.
    ‘There you have it, that’s you.’
    ‘That’s me,’ Harry repeated softly.
    ‘Give it some thought. We can talk again after the meeting in the Boiler Room this afternoon.’
    Harry nodded and got up.
    In the corridor sat a man impatiently shuffling his feet and sweating in training gear. He looked at his watch and glared at Harry.
    Harry set off down Sporveisgata. He hadn’t slept all night, and he hadn’t had breakfast either. He needed something. He took stock. He needed a drink. He dismissed the thought and went into the cafe just before Bogstadveien. Asked for a triple espresso. Tossed it back at the counter and asked for another. Heard low laughter behind him, but didn’t turn. Drank number two slowly. Picked up the newspaper lying there. Saw the front-page teaser and leafed through.
    Roger Gjendem was speculating that the City Council, in light of the police murders, was going to have a reshuffle at Police HQ.
    After letting in Paul Stavnes, Ståle resumed his position behind the desk while Stavnes went into the corner to change into a dry T-shirt. Ståle took the opportunity to yawn without inhibition, pull out the top drawer and position his mobile so that he could see it easily. Then he looked up. Gazed at his patient’s naked back. After Stavnes had started cycling to the sessions it had become a fixed routine that he would change his T-shirt in the office. Always with his back turned. The only change was that the window where Harry had been smoking was still open. The light fell in such a way that Ståle Aune could see Paul Stavnes’s bare chest in the reflection.
    Stavnes quickly pulled down his T-shirt and turned.
    ‘Your timing needs—’
    ‘—tightening up,’ Ståle said. ‘I agree. It won’t happen again.’
    Stavnes looked up. ‘Is there something the matter?’
    ‘Not at all. Just got up a bit earlier than normal. Could you leave the window open so there’s a bit of air in here?’
    ‘There’s a lot of air in here.’
    ‘As you wish.’
    Stavnes was about to close the window. Then held back. Stood staring at it. Turned slowly towards Ståle. A little smile appeared on his face.
    ‘Finding it hard to breathe, Aune?’
    Ståle Aune was aware of pains in his chest and arms. All of which were familiar symptoms of a heart attack. Except that this wasn’t a heart attack. It was pure, unmitigated fear.
    Ståle Aune forced himself to speak calmly, in a low key.
    ‘Last time we talked again about you playing Dark Side of the Moon. Your father came into the room and switched off the amplifier and you watched the red light die as the girl you were thinking about also died.’
    ‘I said she went mute,’ Paul Stavnes said, annoyed. ‘I didn’t say she died. That’s different.’
    ‘Yes, it is,’ Ståle Aune said, reaching carefully for the phone in his drawer. ‘Did you wish she could speak?’
    ‘I don’t know. You’re sweating. Are you unwell, Doctor?’
    Again this jeering tone, this small, repugnant smile.
    ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
    Ståle’s fingers rested on the phone. He had to get the patient speaking so that he wouldn’t hear him texting.
    ‘We haven’t talked about your marriage. What can you say about your wife?’
    ‘Not much. Why do you want to talk about her?’
    ‘A close relative. You seem to dislike people who are close. Despise was the word you used.’
    ‘So you have been paying some attention after all?’ Brief, sullen laugh. ‘I despise people because most of them are weak, stupid and down on their luck.’ More laughter. ‘Zero out of three. Tell me, did you sort out X?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The policeman. The homo who tried to kiss another cop on the toilet. Did he recover?’
    ‘Not really.’ Ståle Aune pressed the keys, cursing his fat sausage-fingers, which felt as if they had swollen even more