Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

He didn’t understand all the words and names or what the numbers by them signified, but the doctor had added two summarising sentences to clarify:
    . . . nitrazepam is found in strong hypnotic drugs. You MUST NOT take any more of these tablets without consulting a doctor first.
    Anton closed his eyes and sucked in air through clenched teeth.
    Shit.
    He had been right about his suspicion. He had been doped. Someone had doped him. Not only that, he had an inkling how. The coffee. The noise in the corridor. The container with only one capsule left. He had wondered if the lid had been perforated. The solution must have been injected through the lid with a syringe. Then the perpetrator only had to wait for Anton to go and brew his own Mickey Finn, espresso with nitrazepam.
    They said the patient had died of natural causes. Or rather, there was no evidence to suggest anything suspicious had taken place. But a substantial part of their conclusion was of course Anton’s statement that no one had been to see the patient subsequent to the previous doctor’s visit two hours before the heart stopped beating.
    Anton knew what he had to do. He had to report this. Now. He lifted the phone. He had to report the blunder. Explain why he hadn’t told them straight out that he had fallen sleep. He looked at the display. This time not even Gunnar Hagen could save him. He put the phone down. He would ring. Not right now though.
    Mikael Bellman knotted his tie in the mirror.
    ‘You were good today,’ a voice from the bed said.
    Mikael knew it was true. He watched Isabelle Skøyen get up behind him and pull on her stockings. ‘Is that because he’s dead?’
    She threw the reindeer-skin bedspread over the duvet. Above the mirror hung an impressive set of antlers and the walls were decorated with pictures by Sami painters. This wing of the hotel had rooms that were designed by female artists and bore their names. Their room had the name of a female joik singer. The only problem they had with the room was that Chinese tourists had stolen the ram horns, obviously firmly of the belief that the horn extract had a libido-boosting effect. Mikael had considered it himself the last couple of times. But not today. Perhaps she was right, perhaps it was the relief that the patient was finally dead.
    ‘I don’t want to know how it happened,’ he said.
    ‘I wouldn’t have been able to tell you anyway,’ she said, pulling on her skirt.
    ‘Let’s not even talk about it.’
    She was standing behind him. And bit him on the neck.
    ‘Don’t look so worried,’ she sniggered. ‘Life’s a game.’
    ‘For you maybe. I’ve still got these bloody murders to deal with.’
    ‘You don’t have to be elected. I do. But do I look worried?’
    He shrugged. Reached for his jacket. ‘Are you going first?’
    He smiled as she smacked his head. Heard her shoes click-clacking towards the door.
    ‘I may have a problem with next Wednesday,’ she said. ‘The council meeting has been moved.’
    ‘Fine,’ he said, noticing that it was exactly that, fine. Well, more than that, he was relieved. Yes, he was.
    She stopped by the door. Listened as usual for any noise in the corridor, making sure the coast was clear. ‘Do you love me?’
    He opened his mouth. Saw himself in the mirror. Saw the black hole in the middle of his face with no sound emerging. Heard her low chuckle.
    ‘I’m joking,’ she whispered. ‘Did I frighten you? Ten minutes.’
    The door opened and then closed softly behind her.
    They had a deal that the second person would wait ten minutes before leaving the room. He couldn’t remember if it had been his idea or hers. At the time they must have felt that the risk of bumping into a curious reporter or some familiar face in reception loomed large, but so far it hadn’t happened.
    Mikael took out his comb and groomed his slightly too long hair. The ends were still wet after the shower. Isabelle never showered after they had made love; she said she liked to walk around with the smell of him on her all day. He looked at his watch. Everything had worked today, he hadn’t needed to think about Gusto and he had even prolonged it. So much so that if he waited here for the full ten minutes he would be late for the meeting with the chairman of the City Council.
    Ulla Bellman looked at her watch. It was a Movado, 1947 design, and had been an anniversary present from Mikael. Twenty minutes past. She leaned back in the armchair and scanned the