Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

Ulla of a dramatic, oversized galleon figurehead as she rushed over.
    ‘Ulla!’ she cried, several metres away, as though this was a reunion of two long-lost friends.
    Ulla got up, already somewhat uneasy about having to answer the next, inevitable question: what are you doing here?
    ‘Nice to see you again, my dear! What a lovely little party that was!’
    Isabelle Skøyen had placed a hand on Ulla’s shoulder and proffered her cheek in such a way that Ulla had to rest hers against it. Little party? There had been thirty-two guests.
    ‘Sorry I had to leave so early.’
    Ulla remembered that Isabelle had been a bit the worse for wear. While she had been serving the guests the tall, attractive councillor and Mikael had gone onto the terrace for a while. For a moment Ulla had actually been a bit jealous.
    ‘That didn’t matter. We were just honoured you could come.’ Ulla hoped her smile wasn’t as stiff as it felt. ‘Isabelle.’
    The councillor looked down at her. Studying her. As though searching for something. The answer to the question she still hadn’t asked: what are you doing here, my dear?
    Ulla decided to tell the truth. As she would with Mikael later.
    ‘I must be off,’ Isabelle said without making a move to go or taking her eyes off Ulla.
    ‘Yes, I suppose you must be busier than me,’ Ulla said, and to her irritation heard the stupid titter she had been determined to drop. Isabelle was still looking at her, and all of a sudden Ulla felt that this stranger was trying to force it out of her without asking: what are you, the wife of the Chief of Police, doing here in the reception area of the Grand Hotel? My God, did she imagine Ulla was meeting a lover here? Was that why she was so discreet? Ulla could feel the stiffness of her smile dissipating, it was becoming easier, now she was smiling the way she actually smiled, the way she wanted to smile. She knew the smile had reached her eyes now. She was on the point of laughing in Isabelle Skøyen’s face. And the strange thing was that Isabelle looked as if she wanted to laugh as well.
    ‘I hope to see you again before too long, my dear,’ Isabelle said, pressing Ulla’s hand between her big, strong fingers.
    Then she turned and surged back through reception where one of the doormen was already hurrying to assist her. Ulla caught a glimpse of her pulling out a mobile phone before rushing through the swing door.
    Mikael was standing by the lift only a few rapid strides from the Sami woman’s room. Glanced at his watch. Just four or five minutes had passed, but that would have to be enough; after all, the vital element was that they shouldn’t be seen together . Isabelle always booked the room and arrived ten minutes before him. Lying in bed, ready and waiting. That was how she liked it. Was that how he liked it?
    Fortunately it was only three minutes’ fast walk from the Grand to City Hall, where the chairman was waiting.
    The lift doors opened, and Mikael stepped in. He pressed 1 for the ground floor. The lift started and stopped on the next floor down. The doors opened.
    ‘ Guten Tag .’
    German tourists. An elderly couple. Old camera in a brown leather case. He could feel he was smiling. He was in a good mood. He made room for them. Isabelle was right: he was relieved that the patient was dead. He felt a drop fall from his long hair, felt it roll down his neck, wetting his shirt collar. Ulla had suggested he should have his hair cut shorter for his new post, but why? His youthful looks, didn’t they just underline the point? That he – Mikael Bellman – was Oslo’s youngest ever Chief of Police?
    The couple looked at the lift buttons with concern. It was the same old problem. Was floor number 1 street level or the floor above it? What system did they have in Norway?
    ‘It’s the ground floor,’ Mikael said in English, pressing the button and closing the doors.
    ‘ Danke ,’ the woman murmured. The man had closed his eyes and was breathing audibly. Das Boot , Mikael thought.
    They sank down through the building in silence.
    As the doors opened and they exited into reception, a tremble seemed to go through Mikael’s thigh. His phone picked up a signal again. He saw there was a missed call from Isabelle. He was about to ring back when it vibrated again. It was a text.
    Met your wife in reception. :)
    Mikael came to an abrupt halt. Glanced up. But it was too late.
    Ulla was sitting in an armchair directly in front of him. She