Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

Skøyen. It was no surprise that his wife came first, nor was it strange that the Councillor for Social Affairs, his superior, should come third.
    But she was taken aback by Truls Berntsen.
    For the simple reason that there was an internal note directed from Fraud Squad to the Police Chief, written right there in Police HQ. There was a cash sum that Truls Berntsen refused to account for, and they had asked for permission to start an investigation into possible corruption.
    She couldn’t find an answer, so she supposed that Bellman must have given a verbal response.
    What she found strange was that the Chief of Police and an apparently corrupt policeman had rung and exchanged texts so often, used credit cards at the same places and at the same times, travelled at the same time by plane and train, checked into the same hotel on the same date and had been in the same firing range. When Harry had told her to run a thorough check on Bellman, she discovered that Bellman had been watching gay porn online. Could Truls Berntsen be his lover?
    Katrine sat looking at the screen.
    So what? It didn’t have to mean anything.
    She knew Harry had met Bellman the previous night, in Valle Hovin. And confronted him with the discovery of his bullet. And before leaving Harry had mumbled something about a feeling he knew who had switched the bullet in the Evidence Room. To her enquiry, Harry had only answered ‘The Shadow’.
    Katrine widened her search to include more of the past.
    She read through the results.
    Bellman and Berntsen were inseparable throughout their careers. Which had clearly started at Stovner Police Station after they had left Police College.
    She got up a list of other employees during that period.
    Her eyes ran down the screen. Stopped at one name. Dialled a number starting with 55.
    ‘And high time too, frøken Bratt,’ the voice sang, and she felt so liberated to hear genuine Bergen dialect again. ‘You were supposed to have been here for a physical examination some time ago!’
    ‘Hans—’
    ‘Dr Hans, thank you very much. Please be so kind as to remove your top, Bratt.’
    ‘Pack it in,’ she warned him, with a smile on her lips.
    ‘May I ask you not to confuse medical expertise with unwanted sexual attentions in the workplace, Bratt?’
    ‘Someone told me you were back on the beat.’
    ‘Yep. And where are you at this minute?’
    ‘In Oslo. By the way, I can see from a list here that you worked at Stovner Police Station at the same time as Mikael Bellman and Truls Berntsen.’
    ‘That was straight after Police College, and only because of a woman, Bratt. The nightmare with the knockers – have I told you about her?’
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘But when it was all over with her, it was over with Oslo as well.’ He burst into song. ‘ Vestland, Vestland über alles —’
    ‘Hans! When you worked with—’
    ‘No one worked with those two boys, Katrine. You either worked for them or you worked against them.’
    ‘Truls Berntsen has been suspended.’
    ‘And high time too. He’s beaten someone up again, I assume?’
    ‘Beaten up? Did he beat up prisoners?’
    ‘Worse than that. He beat up police officers.’
    Katrine felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. ‘Oh? Who did he beat up?’
    ‘Everyone who tried it on with Bellman’s wife. Beavis Berntsen was head over heels in love with them both.’
    ‘What did he use?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘When he beat them up.’
    ‘How should I know? Something hard, I suppose. At least it looked like that when that young Nordlander was stupid enough to dance too close to fru Bellman at the Christmas dinner.’
    ‘Which Nordlander?’
    ‘His name was . . . let me see . . . something with R. Yes, Runar. It was Runar. Runar . . . let me see now . . . Runar . . .’
    Come on, Katrine thought, as her fingers automatically scampered across the keyboard.
    ‘Sorry, Katrine, it’s a long time ago. Perhaps if you take off your top?’
    ‘Tempting,’ Katrine said. ‘But I’ve found it without your help. There was only one Runar at Stovner at that time. Bye, Hans—’
    ‘Wait! A little mammogram doesn’t have to—’
    ‘Have to run, sicko.’
    She rang off. Pressed Enter. Let the search engine work while she stared at the surname. There was something familiar about it. Where had she heard it? She closed her eyes, mumbling the name to herself. It was so unusual it couldn’t be chance. She opened her eyes. The result was in. There was a lot.