Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

leave you in peace then.’
    Bjørn waited until Ståle had gone, then he dialled the number he had been looking at for so long it felt as if it had been stamped on his retina. He took deep breaths as he counted the rings. Wondering how many times he should let it ring before putting the receiver down. Then all of a sudden he heard his colleague’s voice.
    ‘Bjørn, is that you?’
    ‘Yes. You’ve got my number saved then?’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    ‘I see. Right. I’m afraid there’s something I have to tell you.’
    Pause.
    Bjørn swallowed. ‘It’s about your daughter. She—’
    ‘Bjørn, before you go any further, I don’t know what this is about, but I can hear from your tone that it’s serious. And I can’t take any more phone calls about Fia. This is just like it was then. No one could look me in the eye. Everyone rang. Seemed to be easier. Please would you come here? Look me in the eye when you say whatever it is. Bjørn?’
    ‘Of course,’ Bjørn Holm said, taken aback. He had never heard Roar Midtstuen talk so openly and honestly about his frailty before. ‘Where are you?’
    ‘It’s exactly nine months today, so as it happens I’m on my way to the place where she was killed. To lay a few flowers, think—’
    ‘Just tell me exactly where it is and I’ll be there right away.’
    Katrine Bratt gave up looking for somewhere to park. It had been easier finding the telephone number and address online. But after ringing four times and getting neither an answer nor an answerphone, she had requisitioned a car and driven to Industrigata in Majorstuen, a one-way street with a greengrocer’s, a couple of galleries, at least one restaurant, a picture-framing workshop, but, well, no free parking spaces.
    Katrine made a decision, drove up onto the pavement, killed the engine, put a note on the windscreen saying she was a police officer, which she knew meant sod all to traffic wardens, who, according to Harry, were all that stood between civilisation and total chaos.
    She walked back the way she had come, towards Bogstadsveien’s stylish shopping hysteria. Stopped outside a block of flats in Josefines gate where once or twice during her studies at Police College she had ended up for a late-night coffee. So-called late-night coffee. Alleged late-night coffee. Not that she’d minded. Oslo Police District had owned the block and rented out rooms to students at the college. Katrine found the name she was searching for on the panel of doorbells, pressed and waited while contemplating the simple four-storey facade. Pressed again. Waited.
    ‘No one at home?’
    She turned. Automatic smile. Guessed the man was in his forties, perhaps a well-kept fifty-year-old. Tall, still with hair, flannel shirt, Levi’s 501s.
    ‘I’m the caretaker.’
    ‘And I’m Detective Katrine Bratt, Crime Squad. I’m looking for Silje Gravseng.’
    He studied the ID card she held out and shamelessly examined her from top to toe.
    ‘Silje Gravseng, yes,’ the caretaker said. ‘Apparently she’s left PHS, so she won’t be here for much longer.’
    ‘But she’s still here?’
    ‘Yes, she is. Room 412. Can I pass on a message?’
    ‘Please. Ask her to ring this number. I want to talk to her about Runar Gravseng, her brother.’
    ‘Has he done something wrong?’
    ‘Hardly. He’s sectioned and always sits in the middle of the room because he thinks the walls are people who want to beat him to death.’
    ‘Oh dear.’
    Katrine took out her notebook and wrote her name and number. ‘You can tell her it’s about the police murders.’
    ‘Yes, she seems to be obsessed by them.’
    Katrine stopped writing. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘She uses them like wallpaper. Newspaper cuttings about dead policemen, I mean. Not that it’s any of my business. Students can put up what they like, but that’s a bit . . . creepy, isn’t it?’
    Katrine looked at him. ‘What did you say your name was?’
    ‘Leif Rødbekk.’
    ‘Listen, Leif. Do you think I could have a peek at her room? I’d like to see the cuttings.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Can I?’
    ‘No problem. Just show me the search warrant.’
    ‘I’m afraid I don’t—’
    ‘I was kidding,’ he grinned. ‘Come with me.’
    A minute later they were in the lift on their way to the third floor.
    ‘The rental agreement says I can go into the rooms as long as I’ve given advance warning. Right now we’re checking all the electric radiators for accumulated dust.