Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

Enough. Medical records. Admission to hospital for drug addiction. The correspondence between the head of a detox clinic in Oslo and the Police Chief. Pure, innocent, blue eyes looking at her. She suddenly knew where she had seen them before.
    Harry let himself into the house, and strode over to the CD shelf without removing his shoes. Stuck his fingers between Waits’s Bad As Me and A Pagan Place which he had placed first in the line of the Waterboys CDs, though not without some agonising, as strictly speaking it was a remastered version from 2002. It was the safest place in the house. Neither Rakel nor Oleg had ever voluntarily selected a CD featuring Tom Waits or Mike Scott.
    He coaxed out the key. Brass, small and hollow, weighing almost nothing. And yet it felt so heavy that his hand seemed to be drawn towards the floor as he went over to the corner cupboard. He inserted it in the keyhole and turned. Waited. Knowing there was no way back after he had opened it. The promise would be broken.
    He had to use his strength to pull open the swollen cupboard door. He knew it was only old wood being released by the frame but it sounded as though a deep sigh came from inside the darkness. As though it realised it was free at last. Free to inflict hell on earth.
    It smelt of metal and oil.
    He inhaled. Felt as if he was sticking his hand into a den of snakes. His fingers groped before finding the cold, scaly skin of steel. He grabbed the reptile’s head and lifted it out.
    It was an ugly weapon. Fascinatingly ugly. Soviet Russian engineering at its most brutally effective, it could take as much of a beating as a Kalashnikov.
    Harry weighed the gun in his hand.
    He knew it was heavy, and yet it felt light. Light now that the decision had been taken. He breathed out. The demon was free.
    ‘Hi,’ Ståle said, closing the Boiler Room door behind him. ‘Are you alone?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Bjørn said from his chair, staring at the phone.
    Ståle sat down on a chair. ‘Where . . .?’
    ‘Harry had to sort something out. Katrine was gone when I arrived.’
    ‘You look as if you’ve had a tough day.’
    Bjørn smiled wanly. ‘You, too, Dr Aune.’
    Ståle ran a hand across his pate. ‘Well, I’ve just entered a classroom, embraced my daughter and sobbed with the whole class watching. Aurora claims it was an experience that will mark her for life. I tried to explain to her that fortunately most children are born with enough strength to bear the burden that is their parents’ love and that from a Darwinian point of view she should therefore be able to survive this as well. All because she had a sleepover with Emilie and there are two Emilies in the class. I rang the mother of the wrong Emilie.’
    ‘Did you get the message that we’ve postponed the meeting for today? A body has been found. Of a girl.’
    ‘Yes, I know. It was grim by all accounts.’
    Bjørn nodded slowly. Pointed to the phone. ‘I have to ring the father now.’
    ‘You’re dreading it of course.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘You’re wondering why the father has to be punished in this way? Why he has to lose her twice? Why once isn’t enough?’
    ‘That sort of thing.’
    ‘The answer is because the murderer sees himself as the divine avenger, Bjørn.’
    ‘Oh yeah?’ Bjørn said, sending the psychologist a vacant look.
    ‘Do you know your Bible? “God is jealous, and the Lord revengeth; the Lord revengeth, and is furious; the Lord will take vengeance on his adversaries, and he reserveth wrath for his enemies.” You get the gist anyway, don’t you?’
    ‘I’m a simple boy from Østre Toten who scraped through confirmation and—’
    ‘That’s why I’m here now.’ Ståle leaned forward in his chair. ‘The murderer is an avenger, and Harry’s right, he kills out of love, not out of hatred, profit or sadistic enjoyment. Someone has taken something from him that he loved, and now he’s taking from the victims what they loved most. It could be their lives. Or something they value more: their children.’
    Bjørn nodded. ‘Roar Midtstuen would have happily given his life to save his daughter.’
    ‘So what we have to look for is someone who’s lost something they loved. An avenger out of love. Because that . . .’ Ståle Aune clenched his right hand. ‘. . . because that’s the only motive that’s strong enough here, Bjørn. Do you understand?’
    Bjørn nodded. ‘I think so. But I reckon I’ll have to call Midtstuen now.’
    ‘I’ll