Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

minute you saw my tattoo reflected in the window.’
    ‘And what should I know?’
    ‘That I’m Valentin Gjertsen. The one you’re all looking for.’
    ‘All? Looking?’
    ‘You forget I had to sit here listening to you talking to a cop about Valentin Gjertsen’s doodles on a tram window. I complained and got a session free, do you remember?’
    Ståle closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. Closed everything out. Told himself Harry would be there soon. He couldn’t have been that far away.
    ‘By the way, that’s why I started cycling instead of catching the tram to our sessions,’ Valentin Gjertsen said. ‘I thought the tram would be under surveillance.’
    ‘But you still came.’
    Valentin shrugged and put a hand in his rucksack. ‘It’s almost impossible to identify anyone when they’re in a helmet and goggles, isn’t it? And you didn’t suspect a thing. You’d decided I was Paul Stavnes, basta . And I needed these sessions, Aune. I’m really sorry they have to stop . . .’
    Aune stifled a gasp as he saw Valentin Gjertsen’s hand emerge from the rucksack. The light flashed on the steel.
    ‘Did you know this is called a survival knife?’ Valentin said. ‘Bit of a misnomer in your case. But it’s so versatile. This, for example . . .’ He ran a fingertip along the jagged blade. ‘. . . is what mystifies most people. They just think it looks creepy. And do you know what?’ Again he smiled the thin, ugly smile. ‘They’re right. When you slide the knife across a throat, like this . . . it hooks onto the skin and tears. Then the next grooves tear what is inside. The thin membrane around a blood vessel, for example. And if it’s a main artery under pressure . . . that’s quite a sight, I can tell you. But don’t be afraid. You won’t notice, I promise.’
    Ståle’s brain went into a whirl. He almost hoped it was a heart attack.
    ‘So there’s only one thing left, Ståle. Is it all right if I call you Ståle now the end is nigh? What’s the diagnosis?’
    ‘Dia . . . dia . . .’
    ‘Dia . . . gnosis. Greek for “through knowledge”, isn’t it? What’s wrong with me, Ståle?’
    ‘I . . . I don’t know. I—’
    The movement that followed was so swift Ståle Aune wouldn’t have been able to lift a finger even if he’d tried. Valentin had disappeared from view and when he heard his voice again, it was behind him, by his ear.
    ‘Of course you know, Ståle. You’ve dealt with people like me all your professional life. Not exactly like me, that goes without saying, but similar. Damaged goods.’
    Ståle could no longer see the knife. He felt it. Against his quivering double chin as he breathed hard through his nose. It seemed contrary to nature that any human being could move so fast. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. There was no space for any other thoughts.
    ‘There’s . . . there’s nothing wrong with you, Paul.’
    ‘Valentin. Show some respect. I’m standing here ready to drain you of blood while my dick is gorged with blood. And you suggest there’s nothing wrong with me?’ He laughed in Aune’s ear. ‘Come on. The diagnosis.’
    ‘Stark raving mad.’
    They both lifted their heads. Looked at the door, from where the voice had come.
    ‘Time’s up. Pay on your way out, Valentin.’
    The tall, broad-shouldered figure filling the doorway stepped inside. He was dragging something after him and it took Ståle a second to realise what it was. The barbell from above the sofa in the communal area.
    ‘Stay out of this, cop,’ Valentin hissed, and Ståle felt the knife pressing against his skin.
    ‘Patrol cars are on their way, Valentin. It’s all over. Let the doc go now.’
    Valentin nodded towards the open window overlooking the street. ‘Can’t hear any sirens. Go, or I’ll kill the doctor right here.’
    ‘Don’t think you will,’ Harry Hole said, lifting the bar. ‘Without him you’ve got no shield.’
    ‘In which case,’ Valentin said, and Ståle felt his arm being bent behind his back, forcing him to stand up, ‘I’ll let the doctor go. With me.’
    ‘Take me instead,’ Harry Hole said.
    ‘Why should I?’
    ‘I’m a better hostage. There’s a chance he’ll panic and faint. And you won’t need to worry about what tricks I might pull if you’re holding on to me.’
    Silence. From the window they could hear a faint sound. Perhaps a distant siren, perhaps not. The pressure from the blade slackened. Then – as Ståle was