Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

bag containing three Q-tips.
    ‘What was he going to do with these?’
    ‘Kill someone?’ Harry suggested laconically.
    ‘They’re for cleaning your ears,’ Bjørn Holm said. ‘But actually they’re for scratching your ears, right? The skin gets irritated, we scratch even more, there’s more wax and all of a sudden we have to have more Q-tips. Heroin for the ears.’
    ‘Or for make-up,’ Harry said.
    ‘Oh?’ Hagen said, studying the bag. ‘By which you mean . . . he wears make-up?’
    ‘Well, it’s a mask. He’s already had plastic surgery. Ståle, you’ve seen him close up.’
    ‘I haven’t thought about it, but you may be right.’
    ‘You don’t need much mascara and eyeliner to achieve a difference,’ Katrine said.
    ‘Great,’ Hagen said. ‘Have we got anything on the name Paul Stavnes?’
    ‘Very little,’ Katrine said. ‘There’s no Paul Stavnes on the national register with the date of birth he gave Aune. The only two people with the same name have been eliminated by police outside Oslo. And the elderly couple who live at the address he gave have never heard of any Paul Stavnes or Valentin Gjertsen.’
    ‘We’re not in the habit of checking patients’ contact details,’ Aune said. ‘And he settled up after every session.’
    ‘Hotel,’ Harry said. ‘Boarding house, hospice. They’ve all got their guests registered on databases now.’
    ‘I’ll check.’ Katrine swivelled round on her chair and began to tap away on her keyboard.
    ‘Is that kind of thing on the Internet?’ Hagen asked in a sceptical tone.
    ‘No,’ Harry said. ‘But Katrine uses a couple of search engines you’ll wish didn’t exist.’
    ‘Oh, why’s that?’
    ‘Because they have access to a level of codes that mean the best firewalls in the world are completely useless,’ Bjørn Holm said, peering over Katrine’s shoulder, to a clicking landslide of keystrokes, like the feet of fleeing cockroaches on a glass table.
    ‘How’s that possible?’ Hagen asked.
    ‘Because they’re the same codes the firewalls use,’ Bjørn said. ‘The search engines are the wall.’
    ‘Not looking good,’ Katrine said. ‘No Paul Stavnes anywhere.’
    ‘But he must live somewhere,’ Hagen said. ‘Is he renting a flat under the name Paul Stavnes? Can you check that?’
    ‘Doubt he’s your run-of-the-mill tenant,’ Katrine said. ‘Most landlords vet their tenants these days. Google them, check the tax lists anyway. And Valentin knows they would be suspicious if they couldn’t find him anywhere.’
    ‘Hotel,’ said Harry, who had got up and was standing by the board where they had written what had seemed to Hagen at first sight like a chart of free associations with arrows and cues until he had recognised the names of the murder victims. One of them was referred to only as B.
    ‘You’ve already said hotel, my love,’ Katrine said.
    ‘Three Q-tips,’ Harry went on, leaning down to Hagen and retrieving the sealed plastic bag. ‘You can’t buy a packet like this in a shop. You find it in a hotel bathroom with miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Try again, Katrine. Judas Johansen this time.’
    The search was finished in less than fifteen seconds.
    ‘Negative,’ Katrine said.
    ‘Damn,’ Hagen said.
    ‘We’re not done yet,’ Harry said, studying the plastic bag. ‘There’s no manufacturer’s name on this, but usually Q-tips have a plastic stick and these are wooden. It should be possible to track down the suppliers and the Oslo hotels receiving the supplies.’
    ‘Hotel supplies,’ Katrine said, and the insect-like fingers were scam-pering again.
    ‘I have to be off,’ Ståle said, getting up.
    ‘I’ll see you out,’ Harry said.
    ‘You won’t find him,’ Ståle said, outside Police HQ, looking down over Bots Park, which lay bathed in cold, sharp spring light.
    ‘ We , don’t you mean?’
    ‘Maybe,’ Ståle sighed. ‘I don’t exactly feel I’m making much of a contribution.’
    ‘Contribution?’ Harry said. ‘You got us Valentin all on your own.’
    ‘He escaped.’
    ‘His alias is out in the open. We’re getting closer. Why don’t you think we’ll catch him?’
    ‘You saw him yourself. What do you think?’
    Harry nodded. ‘He said he went to you because you’d done a psychological assessment of him. At the time you concluded he was of sound mind in a legal sense, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yes, but, as you know, people with serious personality disorders can