Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

made him change his mind.
    He went in, left the door open and rounded the bed.
    Looked down at the patient.
    It was him.
    He frowned. Leaned in close to his mouth. Was he breathing?
    Yes, there it was. The movement in the air and the nauseous, sweet smell which perhaps emanated from the medication.
    Anton Mittet went back out. Closing the door behind him. Looked at his watch. Drank the coffee. Looked at his watch again. Noticed that he was counting the minutes. That he wanted this shift to be over soon.
    ‘How nice that he agreed to talk to me,’ Katrine said.
    ‘Agreed?’ the warder said. ‘Most of the men in this unit would give their right hand to spend a few minutes on their own with a woman. Rico Herrem is a potential rapist. Are you sure you don’t want someone in there with you?’
    ‘I know how to take care of myself.’
    ‘The dentist said that as well. But, OK, at least you’re wearing trousers.’
    ‘Trousers?’
    ‘She was wearing a skirt and nylon stockings. Sat Valentin down in the dentist’s chair without having an officer present. You can imagine . . .’
    Katrine tried to imagine.
    ‘She paid the price for dressing like . . . OK, here we are!’ He unlocked the door to the cell and opened it. ‘I’m right outside. Just shout if you need anything.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Katrine said, and went in.
    The man with the red scalp was sitting at the desk and swivelled round on the chair.
    ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Katrine said.
    ‘Take this.’ Rico Herrem got up, carried the chair over to her, walked back and sat on the neatly made bed. Good distance. She sat down and felt his body warmth on the chair. He moved further back on the bed as Katrine pulled the chair closer, and she wondered if he was one of those men who was actually afraid of women. And that was why he didn’t rape them, he watched them. Exposed himself to them. Rang them and said all the things he would like to do with them, but which of course he never dared to do. Rico Herrem’s record was more unsavoury than actually frightening.
    ‘You shouted to me that Valentin wasn’t dead,’ she said, leaning forward. He shrank back even further. The body language was defensive, but the smile was the same: insolent, hate-filled. Obscene. ‘What did you mean by that?’
    ‘What do you think, Katrine?’ Nasal voice. ‘That he’s alive, I reckon.’
    ‘Valentin Gjertsen was found dead in prison, right here.’
    ‘That’s what everyone thinks. Did the guy outside tell you what he did to the dentist?’
    ‘Something about a skirt and nylons. Apparently that ignites your imagination.’
    ‘It ignites Valentin’s imagination. And I mean that literally. She used to be here two days a week. Lots of people complained about their teeth at that time. Valentin used one of her drills to force her to take off her nylon stockings and put them over her head. Then he fucked her in the dentist’s chair. But as he said afterwards: “She just lay there like a slaughtered animal.” She must have been given bad advice about what to do if something happened. Then Valentin took out his lighter and, yes, he set fire to the stockings. Have you seen how nylon melts when it burns? That got her going, I can tell you. Screaming and thrashing around, right? The stench of face fried in nylon was in the walls for weeks afterwards. I don’t know what happened to her, but I would guess she doesn’t have to be frightened of being raped again.’
    Katrine looked at him. Whipping-dog face, she thought. Been given so many beatings that the grin had become an automatic defence.
    ‘If Valentin’s not dead, where is he then?’ she asked.
    The grin grew wider. He pulled the duvet over his knees.
    ‘Please tell me if I’m wasting my time here, Rico,’ Katrine sighed. ‘I’ve spent so much time at mental health institutions that crazy people bore me. All right?’
    ‘You don’t think I’m going to give you this information for nothing, do you, Officer?’
    ‘My rank is Special Detective. What’s the price? Reduced sentence?’
    ‘I’m getting out next week. I want fifty thousand kroner.’
    Katrine burst into loud, hearty laughter. As hearty as she could make it. And saw the fury stealing into his eyes.
    ‘I can’t do anything for you then,’ she said, getting up.
    ‘Thirty thousand,’ he said. ‘I’m skint and when I get out I’ll need a plane ticket to take me a long way away.’
    Katrine shook her head. ‘We