Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

happened.
    Harry poked his head forward and withdrew it as quickly. But he had seen what he wanted. No one there. So he stood in the doorway.
    Truls had replaced what Harry had taken the last time he was here, the bulletproof vest, the gas mask, the MP5, the riot gun. He still had the same guns as far as he could see. Apart from in the middle of the board where an outline of a gun had been drawn around one of the hooks.
    Had Truls Berntsen found out Harry was on his way, taken a gun and fled from his flat? Without bothering to lock the door or switch off the television? If so, why hadn’t he just set an ambush for him inside?
    Harry had searched the whole flat now and knew there wasn’t a living soul around. He sat down on the leather sofa with the Odessa’s safety catch off, ready, with a view of the bedroom door but out of sight of the keyhole.
    If Truls was in there, the first person to make an appearance would be the loser. The stage was set for a duel. So he waited. Unmoving, breathing calmly, deeply, inaudibly, with the patience of a leopard.
    After forty minutes had passed and nothing had happened he went into the bedroom.
    Harry sat down on the bed. Should he ring Berntsen? It would warn him, but, as it was, he already seemed to be aware that Harry was after him.
    Harry took out his phone and switched it on. Waited until it was connected and keyed in the number he had memorised before leaving Holmenkollen almost two hours ago.
    After it had rung three times and no one had answered he gave up.
    Then he called his contact at the telephone company. And got an answer in two seconds.
    ‘What do you want, Hole?’
    ‘I need you to track down a phone signal. For one Truls Berntsen. He’s got a police line, so he must be one of your customers.’
    ‘We can’t keep meeting like this.’
    ‘This is official police business.’
    ‘Follow the procedures then. Contact the police lawyer, send the case to the Crime Squad boss and call us back when you’ve got permission.’
    ‘This is urgent.’
    ‘Listen, I can’t keep giving you—’
    ‘This is about the police murders.’
    ‘It should only take a few seconds to get permission from the boss, Harry.’
    Harry cursed under his breath.
    ‘Sorry, Harry, but it’s more than my job’s worth. If anyone finds out that I check police movements without authorisation . . . What’s the problem with getting permission?’
    ‘See you.’ Harry rang off. He had two unanswered calls and three text messages. They must have come through while he had the phone off. He opened the texts in turn. The first was from Rakel.
    Tried calling. I’m home. Make you something nice if you tell me when you’re coming. Got a surprise. Someone to beat you at Tetris.
    Harry read the message again. Rakel had come home. With Oleg. His first instinct was to jump in the car straight away. Drop this mission. He had made a mistake; he shouldn’t be here now. While knowing that was exactly what it was: a first instinct. An attempt to flee from the inevitable. The second message was from a number he didn’t recognise.
    Have to talk to you. Are you at home? Silje G
    He deleted the message. However, he recognised the number of the third message at once.
    Think you’re looking for me. I’ve got a solution for our problem. Meet me at the G crime scene asap. Truls

44
    WHEN HARRY CROSSED the car park he noticed a car with a smashed side window. The light from the street lamp glinted on the glass splinters on the tarmac. It was a Suzuki Vitara. Berntsen had been driving round in one like it. Harry rang the police switchboard.
    ‘Harry Hole here. I’d like a car checked for the owner.’
    ‘Everyone can do that online now, Hole.’
    ‘You can do it for me then, can’t you?’
    He received a grunt in response and read out the registration number. The answer came in three seconds.
    ‘Truls Berntsen. Address—’
    ‘That’s fine.’
    ‘Any report to make?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Has it been involved in anything? Does it look as if it’s been stolen or broken into, for example?’
    Pause.
    ‘Hello?’
    ‘No, it looks fine. Just a misunderstanding.’
    ‘A mis—’
    Harry rang off. Why hadn’t Truls Berntsen driven away in his car? No one on a police salary took taxis in Oslo any more. Harry tried to visualise the metro network in Oslo. There was a line only a hundred metres away. Ryen Station. He hadn’t heard any trains. They must go through a tunnel. Harry blinked into the darkness.