Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

it’s up to you whether you want to be in on this or not.’
    Katrine noticed how her eyes – like everyone else’s – turned towards Beate Lønn. They knew the real decision lay with her. If she threw her hat in the ring, they all would. If not . . .
    ‘The demon face on his chest,’ Beate said. She had picked up the photograph from the table and was studying it. ‘Looks like someone who wants out. Out of prison. Out of his own body. Or his own brain. Like the Snowman. Perhaps he’s one of them.’ She looked up. Fleeting smile. ‘Count me in.’
    Hagen looked at the others. And received brief nods of confirmation.
    ‘Good,’ Hagen said. ‘I’ll be leading the investigative unit as before while Katrine will be the official leader of this one. As she comes under the Bergen and Hordaland Police District, technically you as a group don’t have to report to Oslo Chief of Police.’
    ‘We’re working for Bergen,’ Beate said. ‘Well, why not? Skål to Bergen, folks!’
    They raised their glasses.
    As they stood on the pavement outside Justisen, light drizzle was falling, emphasising the smell of rock salt, oil and tarmac.
    ‘Let me take this opportunity to thank you for having me back,’ said Ståle Aune, buttoning up his Burberry.
    ‘The untouchables ride again,’ Katrine smiled.
    ‘Just like the old days,’ Bjørn said, contentedly patting his stomach.
    ‘Almost,’ Beate said. ‘There’s one person missing.’
    ‘Hey!’ Hagen said. ‘We agreed we wouldn’t talk about him again. He’s gone and that’s that.’
    ‘He’ll never be completely gone, Gunnar.’
    Hagen sighed. Peered up at the sky. Shrugged.
    ‘Maybe not. There was a PHS student doing a shift at the Rikshospital. She asked me if Harry Hole had ever not managed to solve a case. I thought at first she was just being nosy because she had studied one of his cases. I answered that the Gusto Hanssen case was never really solved. And today I heard that my secretary had received a call from PHS requesting copies of that very case file.’ Hagen smiled sadly. ‘Perhaps he’s becoming a legend, after all.’
    ‘Harry will always be remembered,’ Bjørn Holm said. ‘Unsurpassed and unparalleled.’
    ‘Maybe,’ Beate said. ‘But we’ve got four people here who are close on his heels. Aren’t we?’
    They looked at each other. Nodded. Took their leave with brief, firm handshakes and headed off in three different directions.

12
    MIKAEL BELLMAN SAW the figure above his gunsights. He scrunched up one eye, slowly pulled the trigger, listening to his heartbeat. Calm but heavy. He felt the blood being pumped to his fingertips. The figure wasn’t moving, he just had a sense it was. He let go of the trigger, took a deep breath and focused once more. Got the figure in the sights again. Pulled. Saw the figure twitch. Twitch in the right way. Dead. Mikael Bellman knew he had hit the head.
    ‘Bring the body over and we’ll do a post-mortem,’ he shouted, lowering his Heckler & Koch P30L. Tore off his ear and eye protectors. Heard the electric hum and the wires singing and saw the figure dance towards them. It came to a halt half a metre in front of him.
    ‘Good,’ said Truls Berntsen, letting go of the switch. The humming stopped.
    ‘Not bad,’ Mikael said, studying the paper target with the holes over half the torso and the head. Nodded to the target with the severed head in the lane beside his. ‘But not as good as yours.’
    ‘Good enough to pass the test. I heard ten point two per cent failed this year.’ With practised hands, Truls changed his paper target, pressed the switch and a new figure sang its way back. It stopped at the flecked green metal plate twenty metres away. Mikael heard high-pitched laughter coming from a few lanes to the left. Saw two young women huddle together and glance over at them. Probably PHS students who had recognised him. All the sounds here had their own frequencies, so that even over the gunfire Mikael could hear the thwack of paper and the clunk of lead on metal. Followed by the tiny click as the bullet fell into the box for collecting the compressed shells beneath the target.
    ‘In practice, more than ten per cent of the force are incapable of defending themselves or anyone else. What does the Chief of Police say to that?’
    ‘Not all officers can train as much as you do, Truls.’
    ‘Have so much time to spare, you mean?’
    Truls laughed his irritating grunted laugh as Mikael looked