Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

know you didn’t try, that’s what I know, Mikael. You didn’t give a damn for two reasons. First of all, you found a baton close to the scene of the crime, so you were afraid that if you searched too hard you would find out it was one of your own who had killed this creep, this revolting homo. And what was the second reason, Mikael? René wasn’t as hetero as the police force likes us officers to be. Or what, Mikael? But I loved René. Loved him. Do you hear that, Mikael? I’m saying out loud that I – a man – loved the boy, wanted to kiss him, stroke his hair, whisper sweet nothings into his ear. Do you think that’s revolting? Deep down, though, you know, don’t you? That it’s a gift to be able to love another man. It’s something you should have told yourself before, Mikael, because now it’s too late for you, you’re never going to experience it, what I offered you when we were working at Kripos. You were so frightened of your other self that you lost your temper. You had to beat him out. Beat me out.’
    He had gradually raised his voice, but now he lowered it to a whisper.
    ‘But that was just stupid fear, Mikael. I’ve felt it myself, and I would never have punished you this hard for that alone. What you and all the other so-called police officers on the René Kalsnes case received the death sentence for is that you sullied the only person I have ever loved. Demeaned his human value. Said the victim wasn’t even worth the work you’re paid to do. Wasn’t worth the oath you swore to serve the public and to uphold justice. Which means you fail us all, you desecrate the flock, Mikael, the flock which is all that is sacred. That and love. And so you have to be removed. The way you removed the apple of my eye. But enough chit-chat – I have to concentrate if we’re going to get this right. Fortunately for you and me there are very instructive videos online. What do you think about this?’
    He held up a picture in front of Mikael.
    ‘Should be simple surgery, don’t you think? But shush, Mikael! No one can hear you, but if you yell like that I’ll have to tape up your mouth as well.’
    Harry fell into Arnold Folkestad’s chair. It emitted a long, hydraulic wheeze and sank under his weight as Harry switched on the computer and the screen lit up the darkness. And while it started up, with creaks and groans, activated programs and prepared itself for use, Harry read Katrine’s text message yet again.
    No files found for statistic .
    Arnold had told him the FBI had statistics to the effect that in ninety-four per cent of all the serious cases when the prosecution’s witnesses died, the deaths were suspicious. That was what had made Harry examine Asayev’s death more closely. But the statistic didn’t exist. It was like Katrine’s joke, the one that had been nagging away at Harry’s cortex, the one he remembered and couldn’t understand why:
    ‘When people use statistics, in seventy-two per cent of cases, they’ve made them up on the spur of the moment.’
    Harry must have been ruminating on it for a long time. Must have had a suspicion. That this statistic was one Arnold had made up on the spur of the moment.
    Why?
    The answer was simple. To persuade Harry to have a closer look at Asayev’s death. Because Arnold knew something, but couldn’t say straight out what it was or how he had acquired the information. Because it would blow his cover. But, being the zealous policeman he was, morbidly keen to solve a murder, he had still been willing to take the risk by putting Harry onto the case.
    Because Arnold Folkestad knew that the trail could not only lead Harry to the fact that Asayev had been murdered and to his potential murderer, it could also lead to himself, Arnold Folkestad, and another murder. Because the only person who could know and might also have a particular need to say what actually happened up there at the hospital was Anton Mittet. The sedated, remorse-ridden guard. And there was only one reason Arnold Folkestad and Anton Mittet – total strangers to each other – should have been in contact.
    Harry shivered.
    Murder.
    The computer was ready to search.

48
    HARRY STARED AT the computer screen. He rang Katrine’s number again. Was about to end the call when he heard her voice.
    ‘Yes?’
    She was out of breath, as if she’d been running. But the acoustics suggested she was indoors. And it struck him that he should have heard that the time he’d rung Arnold