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Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

Titel: Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Jo Nesbo
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the full confidence of his officers, he is an excellent motivator and he has organised his work in a manner which colleagues in other Scandinavian countries say is exemplary. I don’t know if Councillor Skøyen is aware, but Mikael Bellman has just been asked to give a lecture at the Interpol conference in Lyons about criminal investigation and management with reference to this particular case. Skøyen suggested that Bellman was not up to the job, and it does have to be said that he is young to be a Chief of Police. But he is not only a man for the future. He is a man for the present. He is, in sum, exactly the man you need in this situation, Mr Chairman. Which makes me surplus to requirements. This is my unequivocal conclusion.’
    The former Chief of Police straightened his back, shuffled the two sheets of notes he had been holding and did up the top button of his jacket, a carefully selected capacious tweed jacket favoured by pensioners. Pushed back his chair with a scrape, as though he needed space to be able to stand up. Saw that Skøyen’s jaw had reached the nadir of its descent and that she was staring at him in disbelief.
    He waited until he heard the chairman draw breath to say something so that he could proceed to the final act. The finale. The coup de grâce .
    ‘And if I may add, since this is also about the council’s competence and management of serious cases such as the police murders, Mr Chairman . . .’
    The chair’s bushy eyebrows, which usually arched high above smiling eyes, were now low and protruded like greyish-white awnings over an angry glare. The ex-Chief waited for the chairman to nod.
    ‘. . . I appreciate that on this matter the council has been subject to immense personal pressure – after all it is their area of responsibility, and the case has attracted huge media coverage. But when a city council cedes to pressure and acts in panic by attempting to cut off the head of its Chief of Police, the question is perhaps more: is the council up to its job? We, of course, understand that this may be an excessively demanding issue for a newly elected city council. It’s unfortunate that a situation requiring experience and routine procedure should come so early in the council’s period of office.’
    He saw the chairman recoil as he recognised the phrasing.
    ‘It would have been better if this had landed on the desk of the previous City Council, given its long years of experience and its many achievements.’
    He could see from Skøyen’s suddenly pale face that she too recognised her own words about Bellman at the previous meeting. And he had to confess that it was indeed a long time since he’d had such fun.
    ‘I’m sure,’ he concluded, ‘that is what everyone in this room would have wished for, including the current council.’
    ‘Thank you for being so clear and candid,’ the chairman said. ‘I assume this means you do not have any alternative plan of action.’
    The old man nodded. ‘I don’t. But there’s a man outside whom I have taken the liberty of summoning in my place. He’ll give you what you’ve asked for.’
    He stood up, gave a brief nod and walked towards the door. He thought he could feel Isabelle Skøyen’s glare burning holes in his tweed jacket somewhere between his shoulder blades. But it didn’t matter; he had no plans she could thwart. And he knew that tonight what he would revel in most, over a glass of wine, would be the two small words he had woven into the text. They contained all the subtext the council needed. One was ‘attempting’, as in ‘attempting to cut off the head of its Chief of Police’. The other was ‘current’, as in ‘the current council’.
    Mikael Bellman got up from his chair as the door opened.
    ‘Your turn,’ said the man in the tweed jacket, proceeding past him to the lift without gracing him with a glance.
    Bellman assumed he must have been mistaken when he thought he detected a tiny smile on the man’s lips.
    Then he swallowed, took a deep breath and entered the same room where not so long ago he had been butchered into little pieces.
    The long table was encircled by nine faces. Eight of them oddly expectant, a bit like an audience at the start of the second act after a successful first. One was oddly pale. So pale that for a moment he hardly recognised her. The butcher.
    Fourteen minutes later he had finished. He had presented the plan to them. Had explained that the police’s patience had paid dividends,

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