watch. ‘I’ve got work waiting for me. Let’s get you out.’
They walked out of the custody block, across the car park and stopped at the entrance to Police HQ, a tower of concrete and steel presiding over the park. Beside them, attached to Police HQ by an underground culvert, stood the old grey walls of Botsen, Oslo District Prison. Beneath them, the area of Grønland stretched down to the fjord and harbour. The facades were winter-pale and filthy as though ash had rained down on them. The cranes by the harbour stood like gallows outlined against the sky.
‘Not a pretty sight, eh?’
‘No,’ Harry said, breathing in.
‘But there’s something about this town nonetheless.’
Harry nodded. ‘There is that.’
They stood there for a while, rocking back on their heels, hands in pockets.
‘Chilly,’ Harry said.
‘Not really.’
‘S’pose not, but my thermostat is still set to Hong Kong temperatures.’
‘I see.’
‘You’ve got a cup of coffee waiting for you upstairs, have you?’ Harry motioned to the sixth floor. ‘Or was it work? The Marit Olsen case?’
Hagen didn’t answer.
‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘So Bellman and Kripos have got that, too.’
Harry received the odd measured nod on his way through the corridors of the red zone on the sixth floor. A legend in the building he might have been, but he had never been a popular man.
They passed an office door on which someone had glued an A4 piece of paper saying ‘I SEE DEAD PEOPLE’.
Hagen cleared his throat. ‘I had to let Magnus Skarre take over your office. Everywhere else is bursting at the seams.’
‘No worries,’ Harry said.
They each took their paper cup of the infamous percolated coffee from the kitchenette.
Inside Hagen’s office Harry settled in the chair facing the POB’s desk, where he had sat so many times.
‘You’ve still got it, I see,’ Harry said, pointing with his head to the memento on the desk that, at first sight, resembled a white exclamation mark. It was a stuffed little finger. Harry knew it had once belonged to a Japanese Second World War commander. In retreat, the commander had cut off his finger in front of his men to apologise for not being able to return and pick up their dead. Hagen loved to use the story when he was teaching middle management about leadership.
‘And you still haven’t.’ Hagen nodded towards the hand, minus middle finger, Harry was using to hold the paper cup.
Harry conceded the point and drank. The coffee hadn’t changed, either. Liquefied tarmac.
Harry grimaced. ‘I need a team of three.’
Hagen drank slowly and put down the cup. ‘Not more?’
‘You always ask that. You know I don’t work with large teams of detectives.’
‘In that case I won’t complain. Fewer people means less chance of Kripos and the Ministry of Justice catching wind of our investigations into the double murder.’
‘Triple murder,’ Harry said with a yawn.
‘Hold on, we don’t know if Marit Olsen—’
‘Woman alone at night, abducted, murdered in an unconventional manner. The third time in little old Oslo. Triple. Believe me. But however many there are of us, you can take it from me that we will take bloody good care that our paths don’t cross those of Kripos.’
‘Yes,’ Hagen said. ‘I do know that. That’s why it’s a condition that if the investigation were to be brought to light, it has nothing to do with Crime Squad.’
Harry closed his eyes. Hagen went on.
‘Of course we will regret that some of our employees have been involved, but make it clear that this is something the notorious maverick Harry Hole initiated off his own bat, without the knowledge of the unit head. And you will confirm that version of events.’
Harry opened his eyes again and stared at Hagen.
Hagen met his stare. ‘Any questions?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Where’s the leak?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Who’s informing Bellman?’
Hagen rolled his shoulders. ‘I don’t have the
They walked out of the custody block, across the car park and stopped at the entrance to Police HQ, a tower of concrete and steel presiding over the park. Beside them, attached to Police HQ by an underground culvert, stood the old grey walls of Botsen, Oslo District Prison. Beneath them, the area of Grønland stretched down to the fjord and harbour. The facades were winter-pale and filthy as though ash had rained down on them. The cranes by the harbour stood like gallows outlined against the sky.
‘Not a pretty sight, eh?’
‘No,’ Harry said, breathing in.
‘But there’s something about this town nonetheless.’
Harry nodded. ‘There is that.’
They stood there for a while, rocking back on their heels, hands in pockets.
‘Chilly,’ Harry said.
‘Not really.’
‘S’pose not, but my thermostat is still set to Hong Kong temperatures.’
‘I see.’
‘You’ve got a cup of coffee waiting for you upstairs, have you?’ Harry motioned to the sixth floor. ‘Or was it work? The Marit Olsen case?’
Hagen didn’t answer.
‘Mm,’ Harry said. ‘So Bellman and Kripos have got that, too.’
Harry received the odd measured nod on his way through the corridors of the red zone on the sixth floor. A legend in the building he might have been, but he had never been a popular man.
They passed an office door on which someone had glued an A4 piece of paper saying ‘I SEE DEAD PEOPLE’.
Hagen cleared his throat. ‘I had to let Magnus Skarre take over your office. Everywhere else is bursting at the seams.’
‘No worries,’ Harry said.
They each took their paper cup of the infamous percolated coffee from the kitchenette.
Inside Hagen’s office Harry settled in the chair facing the POB’s desk, where he had sat so many times.
‘You’ve still got it, I see,’ Harry said, pointing with his head to the memento on the desk that, at first sight, resembled a white exclamation mark. It was a stuffed little finger. Harry knew it had once belonged to a Japanese Second World War commander. In retreat, the commander had cut off his finger in front of his men to apologise for not being able to return and pick up their dead. Hagen loved to use the story when he was teaching middle management about leadership.
‘And you still haven’t.’ Hagen nodded towards the hand, minus middle finger, Harry was using to hold the paper cup.
Harry conceded the point and drank. The coffee hadn’t changed, either. Liquefied tarmac.
Harry grimaced. ‘I need a team of three.’
Hagen drank slowly and put down the cup. ‘Not more?’
‘You always ask that. You know I don’t work with large teams of detectives.’
‘In that case I won’t complain. Fewer people means less chance of Kripos and the Ministry of Justice catching wind of our investigations into the double murder.’
‘Triple murder,’ Harry said with a yawn.
‘Hold on, we don’t know if Marit Olsen—’
‘Woman alone at night, abducted, murdered in an unconventional manner. The third time in little old Oslo. Triple. Believe me. But however many there are of us, you can take it from me that we will take bloody good care that our paths don’t cross those of Kripos.’
‘Yes,’ Hagen said. ‘I do know that. That’s why it’s a condition that if the investigation were to be brought to light, it has nothing to do with Crime Squad.’
Harry closed his eyes. Hagen went on.
‘Of course we will regret that some of our employees have been involved, but make it clear that this is something the notorious maverick Harry Hole initiated off his own bat, without the knowledge of the unit head. And you will confirm that version of events.’
Harry opened his eyes again and stared at Hagen.
Hagen met his stare. ‘Any questions?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shoot.’
‘Where’s the leak?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Who’s informing Bellman?’
Hagen rolled his shoulders. ‘I don’t have the
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