Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

He had just heard something else.
    The crackle as the hair on his neck stood on end.
    He knew it was impossible to hear, yet it was all he could hear. He took out his phone again. Pressed K.
    ‘Finally,’ Katrine answered.
    ‘Finally?’
    ‘Can’t you see I’ve been trying to ring you?’
    ‘Oh yes? You sound out of breath.’
    ‘I’ve been running, Harry. Silje Gravseng.’
    ‘What about her?’
    ‘She’s got newspaper cuttings of the police murders all over her room. She keeps a baton for beating up rapists, according to the caretaker. And she’s got a brother in the funny farm after being beaten up by two policemen. And she’s nuts, Harry. Off her trolley.’
    ‘Where are you?’
    ‘In Vaterlandsparken. She’s not here. I think we should put out an alert for her.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘She’s not the person we’re after.’
    ‘What do you mean? Motive, opportunity, state of mind. It’s all there, Harry.’
    ‘Forget Silje Gravseng. I want you to check a statistic for me.’
    ‘A statistic!’ She shouted so loud the membrane crackled. ‘I’m standing here with half the criminal records from the Vice Squad dribbling their filth all over me, looking for a possible police murderer, and now you want me to check a statistic ! Sod you, Harry Hole!’
    ‘Check the FBI’s statistics for witnesses who have died in the period between their initial summons and the start of the trial.’
    ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
    ‘Just give me the figures, OK?’
    ‘Not OK!’
    ‘Well, regard it as an order then, Katrine Bratt.’
    ‘OK, but . . . hey, just a minute! Who’s the boss here?’
    ‘If you have to ask, I doubt it’s you.’
    Harry heard more Bergensian swearing before he broke the connection.
    Mikael Bellman was sitting on the sofa with the TV on. The news had finished, the sport was starting, so Mikael’s gaze wandered from the TV to the window. To the town lying in the black cauldron far beneath them. The item about the City Hall chairman had lasted ten seconds. He had said that reshuffles at City Hall were standard practice, and that this time it was because of an unusually large burden on this particular post, so it was reasonable to pass the baton on to someone else. Isabelle Skøyen would return to her post as secretary to the committee for Social Affairs, which would allow the council to benefit from her skills there. Skøyen herself was unavailable for comment, it was said.
    It glittered like a jewel, his town.
    He heard the door to one of the children’s rooms close gently and immediately afterwards she snuggled up to him on the sofa.
    ‘Are they sleeping?’
    ‘Like logs,’ she said, and he felt her breath on his neck. ‘Feel like watching TV?’ She bit his earlobe. ‘Or . . .?’
    He smiled, but didn’t budge. Enjoying the moment, feeling how perfect it was. Being here right now. At the top of the pile. The alpha male with women at his feet. One hanging on his arm. The other neutralised and rendered innocuous. The same was true of the men. Asayev was dead, Truls reinstated as his henchman, the former Police Chief an accomplice in their shared wrongdoing in such a way that he would obey if Mikael needed him again. And Mikael knew that now he had the council’s confidence even if it took time to find the cop killer.
    It was a long time since he had felt so good, so relaxed. He felt her hands on him. Knew what they would do before she knew herself. She could turn him on. Though not set him alight the way other people could. Like her, the one he had cut down to size. Like him, the one who had died in Hausmanns gate. But she could arouse him enough to know he would be fucking her soon. That was marriage. And it was good. It was more than enough, and there were more important things in life.
    He pulled her to him and put his hand up her green sweater. Bare skin, like placing your hand on a stove ring on low heat. She sighed softly. Leaned over to him. He didn’t actually like using his tongue when kissing her. Maybe he had once, but not any more. He had never told her that. Why should he as long as it was something she wanted and he hated? Marriage. Nevertheless it felt like a tiny relief when the cordless phone began to warble on the little table by the sofa.
    He took it. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Hi, Mikael.’
    The voice said his Christian name in such an intimate way that at first he was convinced he knew it, he just needed a couple of seconds to place the