Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

mouth open, the black eyes unfamiliar. Was this the cop killer? He looked so . . . uncomprehending. The green figure took a step to the side, and it was only now that Harry saw the person the green outfit covered was a woman.
    At that moment the door burst open behind him, and he was pushed to the side by two other people in green operating attire.
    ‘What’s the score?’ asked one of the new arrivals in a high-pitched authoritative voice.
    ‘Unconscious,’ the woman answered. ‘Low pulse.’
    ‘Blood loss?’
    ‘There’s not much blood on the floor, but it could have run into the stomach.’
    ‘Determine the blood type and order three bags.’
    Harry lowered his gun.
    ‘Police,’ he said. ‘What’s happened here?’
    ‘Get out. We’re trying to save a life here,’ the authoritative voice said.
    ‘Same here,’ Harry said, raising his gun again. The man stared at him. ‘I’m trying to stop a murderer, Mr Surgeon. And we don’t know if he’s finished his handiwork for the day, OK?’
    The man turned away from Harry. ‘If it’s only this wound and no damage to the inner organs then there won’t have been much blood lost. Is he in shock? Karen, help this officer.’
    The woman spoke through her mask without moving away from the bed. ‘Someone in reception saw a man in bloodstained scrubs and a mask come from the empty wing and walk straight out. This was so unusual she sent someone in to check. The patient was on the way to dying when he was found.’
    ‘Anyone know where the man could have gone?’ Harry asked.
    ‘They say he just disappeared.’
    ‘When will the patient come round again?’
    ‘We don’t know if he’ll survive. You look as if you need medical help yourself by the way.’
    ‘Not much else we can do beyond covering it with a patch,’ the authoritative voice said.
    No more information to be gleaned. Yet Harry stayed where he was. Took two steps forward. Stopped. Stared at Mikael Bellman’s white face. Was he conscious? It was hard to say.
    One eye stared straight up at him.
    The other wasn’t there.
    Just a black cavity with blood-streaked shreds of sinew and white threads hanging out.
    Harry turned and left. Took out his phone as he strode down the corridor in search of fresh air.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Ståle?’
    ‘You sound upset, Harry.’
    ‘The cop killer got Bellman.’
    ‘Got?’
    ‘He performed an operation on him.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘He removed one of his eyes. And left him to bleed to death. And it was the cop killer who was behind the explosion this evening, which I’m sure you heard about on the news. He tried to kill two policemen, one of whom was me. I need to know what he’s thinking because I’ve got no bloody idea any more.’
    Silence. Harry waited. Heard Ståle Aune’s heavy breathing. And then at last his voice again.
    ‘I really don’t know . . .’
    ‘That’s not what I want to hear, Ståle. Pretend you know, all right?’
    ‘OK, OK. What I can say is that he’s out of control, Harry. The emotional pressure has escalated, he’s boiling over now, so he’s stopped following patterns. He could do anything from now on.’
    ‘So what you’re saying is you have no idea what his next move will be?’
    Another silence.
    ‘Thanks,’ Harry said and hung up. The phone rang at once. Bjørn.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Delta’s on the way to Folkestad’s address.’
    ‘Good! Tell them that he could be heading there now. And that we’ll give them an hour before we sound a general alert so he doesn’t get a tip-off from police radio or something. Call Katrine and tell her to come to the Boiler Room. I’m going there now.’
    Harry arrived at reception, saw people stare at him and recoil. A woman screamed, and someone ducked behind a counter. Harry discovered the reason in the mirror behind the counter.
    Almost two metres of bomb-ravaged man with the world’s ugliest automatic still in his hand.
    ‘Sorry, folks,’ Harry mumbled, and left through the swing doors.
    ‘What’s going on?’ Bjørn asked.
    ‘Not much,’ Harry said, raising his face to the rain to cool the fire for a second. ‘Bjørn, I’m five minutes away from home, so I’ll drive there for a shower, some bandages and some more substantial clothes first.’
    They rang off, and Harry saw the parking warden standing beside his car with his notepad out.
    ‘Thinking of fining me?’ Harry asked.
    ‘You’re blocking the entrance to a hospital, so you can bet your life I