The snow lay in deep drifts as the snow ploughs shuttled to and fro down the streets of Oslo city centre.
The woman who had been shot in the Grensen branch of the Den norske Bank was discharged from hospital. In Dagbladet she showed where the bullet had entered with one finger and how close it had been to hitting her heart with two fingers. Now she was going home to take care of her husband and children over Christmas, the paper said.
On Wednesday morning at ten o'clock the same week Harry stamped the snow off his boots outside Room 3, Police HQ, before knocking.
'Come in, Hole,' came the roar of Judge Valderhaug's voice. He was leading the internal SEFO inquiry into the shooting incident in the container terminal. Harry was led to a chair in front of a five-person tribunal. Apart from Valderhaug, there was a Public Prosecutor, one female detective, one male and Defence Counsel Ola Lunde whom Harry knew as tough but competent and genuine.
'We would like to have our findings tied up before we break for Christmas,' Valderhaug opened. 'Can you tell us as concisely as possible about your role in this case?'
To the clatter of the male detective's computer keyboard, Harry talked about his brief meeting with Alf Gunnerud. When he had finished, Valderhaug thanked him and rustled his papers for a while before finding what he was looking for. He peered at Harry over his glasses.
'We would like to know if from your brief meeting with Gunnerud you were surprised when you heard he had pulled a gun on a policeman.'
Harry remembered what he had thought when he saw Gunnerud on the staircase. A young man who was afraid of further beatings. Not a hardened killer. Harry met the judge's gaze and said: 'No.'
Valderhaug took off his glasses. 'But when Gunnerud met you, he chose to run off. Why this change of tactics when he met Waaler, I wonder.'
'I don't know,' Harry said. 'I wasn't there.'
'But you don't think it strange?'
'Yes, I do.'
'But you just answered you weren't surprised.'
Harry tipped his chair back. 'I've been a policeman for a long time, sir. It no longer surprises me when people do strange things. Not even murderers.'
Valderhaug replaced his glasses and Harry thought he detected a smile playing around the mouth of the lined face.
Ola Lunde cleared his throat. 'As you know, Inspector Tom Waaler was suspended for a brief period in connection with a similar incident last year while arresting a young neo-Nazi.'
'Sverre Olsen,' Harry said.
'At that time SEFO concluded that there were insufficient grounds for the Public Prosecutor to bring a charge.'
'You only sat for a week,' Harry said.
Ola Lunde raised an eyebrow at Valderhaug, who nodded. 'Nonetheless,' Lunde continued, 'it is naturally conspicuous that the same man is in the same situation once again. We know that there is a strong sense of solidarity in the police force and officers are reluctant to put a colleague in a difficult spot by er…um…er…'
'Grassing,' Harry said.
'I beg your pardon?'
'I think the word you're looking for is "grassing".'
Lunde exchanged glances with Valderhaug again. 'I know what you mean, but we prefer to call it presenting relevant information to ensure rules are enforced. Do you agree, Hole?'
Harry's chair landed back on its front legs with a bang. 'Yes, in fact, I do. I'm just not as good with words as you.'
Valderhaug could no longer conceal his smile.
'I'm not so sure about that, Hole,' Lunde said, who had himself begun to smile. 'It's good we agree, and since you and Waaler have worked together for many years, we would like to use you as a character witness. We have had other officers in here who have alluded to Waaler's uncompromising style when dealing with criminals and sometimes non-criminals. Could you imagine that Tom Waaler may have shot Alf Gunnerud in a moment of rashness?'
Harry cast lingering looks out of the window. He could barely see the outline of Ekeberg Ridge through the snow showers. But he knew it was there. Year in, year out, he had sat behind his desk at Police HQ and Ekeberg had always been there, and always would be, green in the summer, black and white in the winter, it couldn't be shifted, it was a fact. The great thing about facts is that you don't have to ponder whether they're desirable or not.
'No,' Harry said. 'I cannot imagine that Tom Waaler would have shot Alf Gunnerud in a moment of rashness.'
If anyone on the SEFO panel had noticed the tiny extra stress Harry had given to "rashness", they didn't say anything.
In the corridor outside, Weber got up as soon as Harry came out.
'Next please,' Harry said. 'What's that you've got?'
Weber lifted up a plastic bag. 'Gunnerud's gun. I'll have to go in and get this over with.'
'Mm.' Harry flipped a cigarette out of the packet. 'Unusual gun.'
'Israeli,' Weber said. 'Jericho 941.'
Harry stood staring at the door as it slammed after Weber until Mшller came past and called his attention to the unlit cigarette in his mouth.
It was strangely quiet in the Robberies Unit. At first the detectives had joked that the Expeditor had gone into hibernation, but now they said he had let himself be shot and buried in a secret place so as to achieve eternal legendary status. The snow lay on the roofs around town, slid down and new snow came while smoke rose peacefully from chimneys.
The three units at Police HQ arranged a Christmas party in the canteen. Seating was fixed and Bjarne Mшller, Beate Lшnn and Halvorsen ended up sitting next to each other. Between them, an empty chair and a plate with Harry's name card on.
'Where is he?' Mшller asked, pouring wine for Beate.
'Out looking for one of Sverre Olsen's pals who says he saw Olsen and another guy on the night of the murder,' Halvorsen said, struggling to open a beer bottle with a disposable lighter.
'That's frustrating,' Mшller said. 'Tell him not to work himself to death. A Christmas dinner doesn't take up much time after all.'
'You tell him,' Halvorsen said.
'Perhaps he just doesn't want to be here,' Beate said.
The two men looked at her and smiled.
'What's the matter?' She laughed. 'Don't you think I know Harry as well?'
They toasted. Halvorsen hadn't stopped smiling. He just watched. There was something-he couldn't quite put his finger on what-different about her. The last time he saw her was in the meeting room, but she hadn't had this life in her eyes. The blood in her lips. The posture, the willowy back.
'Harry would rather go to prison than to affairs like these,' Mшller said and told them about the time Linda from reception in POT had forced him to dance. Beate laughed so much she had to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then she turned to Halvorsen and tilted her head: 'Are you going to sit there gawping all night, Halvorsen?'
Halvorsen could feel his cheeks burning and managed to stammer out a puzzled 'Not at all' before Mшller and Beate burst out laughing again.
Later that evening he plucked up the courage to ask her if she felt like a whirl on the dance floor. Mшller sat alone until Ivarsson came over and sat on Beate's chair. He was drunk, slurring his speech, and he talked about the time he sat terrified out of his wits in front of a bank in Ryen.
'It's a long time ago, Rune,' Mшller said. 'You were straight out of college. You couldn't have done anything anyway.'
Ivarsson leaned back and studied Mшller. Then he got up and left. Mшller guessed Ivarsson was a lonely person who didn't even know it himself.