Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

about to breathe again – he felt a pricking sensation and heard the snap of something being severed. It fell to the floor. The bow tie.
    ‘One move from you and . . .’ the voice hissed in his ear before turning to Harry. ‘As you wish, cop, but let go of the bar first. Then stand with your face to the wall, legs apart and—’
    ‘I know the drill,’ Harry said, letting go of the bar, turning, placing his palms high up the wall and spreading his legs.
    Ståle felt the grip on his arm loosen and the next moment he saw Valentin standing behind Harry, pushing his arm up his back and holding the knife against his throat.
    ‘Let’s go, handsome,’ Valentin said.
    Then they were out of the door.
    And Ståle could finally draw breath.
    From the window the sirens rose and fell with the wind.
    Harry saw the receptionist’s terrified expression as he and Valentin walked towards her like a two-headed troll and passed her without a word. On the stairway Harry tried to walk more slowly, but soon felt a stinging pain in his side.
    ‘This knife will go deeper into your kidney if you try anything.’
    Harry increased his speed. He couldn’t feel the blood yet as it was the same temperature as his skin, but he knew it was running down the inside of his shirt.
    Then they were on the ground floor, and Valentin kicked open the door and pushed Harry through, but the knife never lost contact with him.
    They stood in Sporveisgata. Harry heard the sirens. A man with sunglasses and a dog walked towards them. Passing by without so much as a glance, the white stick tapping on the pavement like a castanet.
    ‘Stand here,’ Valentin said, pointing to a No Parking sign with a mountain bike locked to the post.
    Harry stood by the post. His shirt had become sticky and the pain throbbed in his side with a pulse of its own. The knife pressed into his back. He heard keys and the rattle of a bike lock. The sirens were approaching. Then the knife was gone. But before Harry could react and jump away, his head was dragged backwards as something was clamped around his neck. Sparks appeared in his eyes as his head smacked against the post and he gasped for air. The keys rattled again. Then the pressure slackened and Harry instinctively raised his hand, inserted two fingers between his throat and whatever was holding him. Bloody hell.
    Valentin swung out in front of him on his bike. Put the goggles on, saluted him with two fingers to his helmet and pushed down on the pedals.
    Harry watched the black rucksack disappearing down the street. The sirens couldn’t be more than two blocks away. A cyclist passed by. Helmet, black rucksack. One more. No helmet, but a black rucksack. One more. Shit, shit, shit. The sirens sounded as if they were in his head. Harry closed his eyes and thought about the old Greek logic puzzle where something is approaching, a kilometre away, half a kilometre, a third of a kilometre, a quarter, a hundredth, and if it is true that a sequence of numbers is infinite, it will never arrive.

32
    ‘ SO YOU JUST stood there, fastened to a post with a bike lock around your neck?’ Bjørn Holm asked, in disbelief.
    ‘A sodding No Parking sign,’ Harry said, looking down at the empty coffee cup.
    ‘Ironic,’ Katrine said.
    ‘They had to send someone to get bolt cutters.’
    The Boiler Room door opened and Gunnar Hagen marched in. ‘I’ve just heard the news. What’s going on?’
    ‘Patrol cars are in the area looking for him,’ Katrine said. ‘Every single cyclist is being stopped and searched.’
    ‘Even though he must have got rid of his bike by now and is in a taxi or on public transport,’ Harry said. ‘Valentin is many things, but not stupid.’
    The Crime Squad boss threw himself onto a chair out of breath. ‘Did he leave any clues?’
    Silence.
    He looked in surprise at the wall of accusatory faces. ‘What’s up?’
    Harry coughed. ‘You’re sitting on Beate’s chair.’
    ‘Am I?’ Hagen jumped up.
    ‘He left his tracksuit top,’ Harry said. ‘Bjørn’s handed it to Krimteknisk.’
    ‘Sweat, hair, the whole salami,’ Bjørn said. ‘Reckon we’ll have it confirmed in a day or two that Paul Stavnes and Valentin Gjertsen are one and the same.’
    ‘Anything else in the top?’ Hagen asked.
    ‘No wallet, mobile, notebook or calendar showing plans for future murders,’ Harry said. ‘Just this.’
    Hagen automatically took it and looked at what Harry had passed him. An unopened little plastic