Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

were going to marry, and the boy who called you Dad when he was small and was so tired he forgot himself. The boy you never wanted to disappoint, but whose birthday you still forgot and that – that on its own – could make you cry and you became so desperate you had to trick him. You always had to trick him.
    Harry blinked into the darkness.
    You old trickster.
    The mobile phone on the table. Should he ring Rakel’s phone, see if it would make Folkestad stand up and move away from Rakel and Oleg? Shoot him as he picked it up?
    And what if he didn’t? If he stayed where he was?
    Harry took another peek. Ducked down, hoping Folkestad hadn’t seen the movement. Folkestad had got up with the baton in his hand and pushed Rakel to one side. And even if he got a clear shot in there was very little chance that at a distance of almost ten metres he would be lucky enough to stop Folkestad in his tracks. A better precision weapon was required than a Russian Odessa and a more suitable calibre than a Makarov 9x18mm. He had to get closer, preferably within two metres.
    He heard Rakel’s voice through the window.
    ‘Take me! Please.’
    Harry pressed his head against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Act, act. But how? Most merciful God, how? Give a terrible sinner of a trickster a hint and he’ll pay you back with . . . whatever you want. Harry inhaled, whispering a promise.
    Rakel stared at the man with the red beard. He was standing directly behind Oleg’s chair with the end of the baton resting on his shoulder. In the other hand he was holding a gun pointed at her.
    ‘I’m really sorry, Rakel, but I can’t spare the boy. He’s the real target, you see.’
    ‘But why?’ Rakel wasn’t aware of the crying, only the hot tears running down her cheeks, like a physical reaction disengaged from what she felt. Or didn’t feel. The numbness. ‘Why are you doing this, Arnold? It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’
    ‘Sick?’ Arnold Folkestad smiled, apologetically – or so it seemed. ‘That’s probably what all of you’d like to believe. That we can all enjoy our grandiose revenge fantasies, but none of us is willing, or even capable, of carrying them out.’
    ‘But why?’
    ‘Because I can love, I can hate. Well, now I can’t love any more. So I’ve replaced it with . . .’ He raised the baton aloft. ‘. . . this. I’m honouring my beloved. René, you see, wasn’t just any lover. He was . . .’ He put the baton down on the floor, rested it against the back of the chair and groped in his pocket, but without lowering the gun by so much as a millimetre. ‘. . . the apple of my eye. Who was taken from me. And nothing was done about it.’
    Rakel stared at what he was holding. Knowing she should be shocked, unnerved, frightened. But she felt nothing; her heart was already frozen.
    ‘He had such nice eyes, Mikael Bellman did. So I took from him what he took from me. The best he had.’
    ‘An eye. But why Oleg?’
    ‘Do you really not understand, Rakel? He’s a seed. Harry told me he was going to be a policeman. And he’s already failed in his duty, and that makes him one of them.’
    ‘Duty? What sort of duty?’
    ‘The duty to catch murderers and pass judgement on them. He knows who killed Gusto Hanssen. You look surprised. I’ve had a look at the case. And it’s obvious that if Oleg didn’t kill him himself, he knows who the guilty party is. Anything else is a logical impossibility. Hasn’t Harry told you? Oleg was there, present, when Gusto was killed, Rakel. And do you know what I thought when I saw Gusto in the crime-scene photos? How beautiful he was. He and René were beautiful young men with their whole lives before them.’
    ‘My boy has his whole life too! Please, Arnold, you don’t need to do this.’
    As she took a step towards him he raised the gun. Pointing it, not at her but at Oleg.
    ‘Don’t worry, Rakel. You’ll have to die as well. You’re not a target as such, but you’re a witness, and I’ll have to dispose of you.’
    ‘Harry will find you. And he’ll kill you.’
    ‘I’m sorry to have to bring you so much pain, Rakel. I really do like you. But I think it’s only right that you should know. You see, Harry won’t find anything. He’s already dead, I’m afraid.’
    Rakel stared at him in disbelief. He was really sorry. Suddenly the phone on the table lit up and emitted a simple whistling tone. She glanced at it.
    ‘Looks like you’re wrong,’ she