prisoners, and psychologists and all the other staff who pander to the inmates' every need. About gyms and days out and leave to visit families. It was a never-ending list of perks that he felt no law-abiding, hardworking citizen had access to. In short: he didn't think that staying in such a hotel and getting three meals a day constituted much of a punishment."
"So you put him in jail?" Sejer said. He suppressed a smile. He had grown out of this stage a long time ago.
"The party was at one of my friends' in Frydenlund," Skarre explained. "He lives in an apartment building there. He's married with a little boy. Because of the party, the boy was at his grandparents'. His bedroom was empty. Let's play a game, I suggested to this idiot. I'm sentencing you to six years' imprisonment. And you'll spend those years in eight square meters. He thought the whole thing was a laugh. Grabbed his brandy and his belongings and wanted to start right away. I had to remind him that alcohol is not allowed in prison. He did accept that, so he put his glass down and off we went to the boy's bedroom. I guess the room was approximately eight square meters so it was about the right size. I asked for a key to the room and they gave it to me. Then, laughing and joking, we shoved the guy in there. Of course he had no idea what lay in store for him. There was a bunk bed in the room, a small TV, a bookshelf, some comics, a CD player and some CDs. Then we locked the door." Skarre smiled smugly and discarded another sheet. "Well?" Sejer said.
"The rest of us carried on having a good time," Skarre said. He had started a new plane. "But it didn't take long before he began to make a fuss in there. We were on the second floor," he added, "so he couldn't jump out of the window. We let him shout for as long as we could be bothered to listen to him. Then I went to the door and asked him what he wanted. He said he'd had enough of this stupid game!" Skarre smiled contentedly at the memory. "So you think it a bit claustrophobic in there? I called out. Yes, he admitted that. You still have six years left, I said, but that's all right. You've only done twenty minutes. And you're freaking out already. We heard some bumping noises in there and got a bit worried. I told him not to fight it, that it would only make it harder. Just accept it, I said. Accept you'll be doing time. Then you'll start to feel better. It went totally quiet in there so we unlocked the door. I've never seen anyone look so grumpy."
"And you think a stunt like this is good PR for the force?" Sejer asked.
"I do," Skarre said. "But you know, he hadn't even realized that the police and the corrections department are two entirely different bodies."
"An F-16," he said, finally, holding up a finished plane. "It looks more like a Hercules," Sejer said. Skarre launched the plane. It flew off in a surprisingly elegant curve and landed smoothly on the floor.
"By the way, what did you want?" he asked, looking at Sejer. "I want you to talk to Ida's cousin," Sejer said. "Tom Erik Rix."
Skarre got up to retrieve the plane. There was dust from the floor on its belly. "Do you think it's worth it?"
"Probably not," Sejer admitted. "But Willy Oterhals got very nervous indeed when I showed up at his garage. I'm asking myself why. I'm probably on a wild goose chase here, but Tomme left the house in Madseberget around 6:00 P.M. on September first. According to his mother, he was going to see his friend Bjørn, who lives in the center of town. In order to get to Bjørn's house he would have had to drive the same route as Ida was cycling. He could have seen something. As for Willy Oterhals, he has a record. A suspended sentence for taking a vehicle without consent in 1998. He was also suspected of using and supplying drugs, but he was never charged. He drives a large Scorpio and works at Mestern bowling alley. I don't think Oterhals can afford a car like that on his wages. It's possible he's got an additional
"So you put him in jail?" Sejer said. He suppressed a smile. He had grown out of this stage a long time ago.
"The party was at one of my friends' in Frydenlund," Skarre explained. "He lives in an apartment building there. He's married with a little boy. Because of the party, the boy was at his grandparents'. His bedroom was empty. Let's play a game, I suggested to this idiot. I'm sentencing you to six years' imprisonment. And you'll spend those years in eight square meters. He thought the whole thing was a laugh. Grabbed his brandy and his belongings and wanted to start right away. I had to remind him that alcohol is not allowed in prison. He did accept that, so he put his glass down and off we went to the boy's bedroom. I guess the room was approximately eight square meters so it was about the right size. I asked for a key to the room and they gave it to me. Then, laughing and joking, we shoved the guy in there. Of course he had no idea what lay in store for him. There was a bunk bed in the room, a small TV, a bookshelf, some comics, a CD player and some CDs. Then we locked the door." Skarre smiled smugly and discarded another sheet. "Well?" Sejer said.
"The rest of us carried on having a good time," Skarre said. He had started a new plane. "But it didn't take long before he began to make a fuss in there. We were on the second floor," he added, "so he couldn't jump out of the window. We let him shout for as long as we could be bothered to listen to him. Then I went to the door and asked him what he wanted. He said he'd had enough of this stupid game!" Skarre smiled contentedly at the memory. "So you think it a bit claustrophobic in there? I called out. Yes, he admitted that. You still have six years left, I said, but that's all right. You've only done twenty minutes. And you're freaking out already. We heard some bumping noises in there and got a bit worried. I told him not to fight it, that it would only make it harder. Just accept it, I said. Accept you'll be doing time. Then you'll start to feel better. It went totally quiet in there so we unlocked the door. I've never seen anyone look so grumpy."
"And you think a stunt like this is good PR for the force?" Sejer asked.
"I do," Skarre said. "But you know, he hadn't even realized that the police and the corrections department are two entirely different bodies."
"An F-16," he said, finally, holding up a finished plane. "It looks more like a Hercules," Sejer said. Skarre launched the plane. It flew off in a surprisingly elegant curve and landed smoothly on the floor.
"By the way, what did you want?" he asked, looking at Sejer. "I want you to talk to Ida's cousin," Sejer said. "Tom Erik Rix."
Skarre got up to retrieve the plane. There was dust from the floor on its belly. "Do you think it's worth it?"
"Probably not," Sejer admitted. "But Willy Oterhals got very nervous indeed when I showed up at his garage. I'm asking myself why. I'm probably on a wild goose chase here, but Tomme left the house in Madseberget around 6:00 P.M. on September first. According to his mother, he was going to see his friend Bjørn, who lives in the center of town. In order to get to Bjørn's house he would have had to drive the same route as Ida was cycling. He could have seen something. As for Willy Oterhals, he has a record. A suspended sentence for taking a vehicle without consent in 1998. He was also suspected of using and supplying drugs, but he was never charged. He drives a large Scorpio and works at Mestern bowling alley. I don't think Oterhals can afford a car like that on his wages. It's possible he's got an additional
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