Harry Hole Oslo Sequence 10 - Police

care. But Dad always reacted as if she was the new world champion whenever she reported another victory in the girls’ under-13s league.
    As Emilie and Aurora had played almost all the first match, they were on the bench for most of this one. Aurora had started counting the spectators in the stands on the other side of the court, and there were only two rows left. Most of them were parents of course and players from other teams who were taking part in the tournament, but she thought she had seen a familiar face up there.
    Emilie nudged her. ‘Aren’t you following the match?’
    ‘Yes, I am. I just . . . Can you see the man up there in the third row? He’s sitting apart from the others. Have you seen him before?’
    ‘Don’t know. Too far away. Don’t you wish you’d gone to the wedding?’
    ‘No, it’s grown-up stuff. I need a pee. Are you coming?’
    ‘In the middle of the match? What if they want us to go on.’
    ‘It’s Charlotte’s or Katinka’s turn. Come on.’
    Emilie looked at her. And Aurora knew what she was thinking. That Aurora didn’t usually ask anyone to go with her to the toilet. Didn’t usually ask for company anywhere.
    Emilie hesitated. Turned back to the court. Glanced at the coach standing with his arms crossed on the sideline. Shook her head.
    Aurora wondered whether she could wait until the game was over, and the others were streaming towards the changing rooms and the toilets.
    ‘I’ll be back in a mo,’ she whispered, getting up and jogging over to the stairs. Turned in the doorway and looked up at the stands. Searched for the face she thought she recognised, but couldn’t see it. Then she ran down the stairs.
    Mona Gamlem stood alone in the cemetery by Bragernes Church. She had driven from Oslo to Drammen and it had taken her some time to find the place. And she’d had to ask her way to the gravestone. The sunlight glistened on the crystals in the stone around his name. Anton Mittet. It glistened now more than when he was alive, she thought. But he had loved her. He had, of that she was sure. She popped a piece of mint chewing gum into her mouth. Thinking about what he had said when he had driven her home after the shift at the Rikshospital and they had kissed: he liked the minty taste of her tongue. And the third time, when they were parked in front of her house and she had leaned over to him, unbuttoned his fly and – before she began – discreetly removed the gum from her mouth and stuck it under his seat. And straight afterwards she had started chewing a fresh piece of gum before they kissed again. Because she had to taste of mint; that was the taste he wanted. She missed him. Without having any right to miss him, and that made it even worse. Mona Gamlem heard footsteps crunching up the path behind her. Perhaps it was her. The other woman. Laura. Mona Gamlem started to walk ahead without turning, trying to blink the tears from her eyes, trying to stay on the gravel path.
    The church door opened, but Truls couldn’t see anyone coming out yet.
    He glanced at the magazine on the passenger seat. Magasinet . An interview with Mikael. The happy family man pictured with his wife and three children. The astute, humble Chief of Police who said that the Cop Killer case would not have been solved without his wife Ulla’s support at home. Without all his excellent colleagues at Police HQ. And that the unmasking of Folkestad meant another case had been cleared up. The ballistics report showed that the Odessa gun Arnold Folkestad had shot himself with was the same one that Gusto Hanssen had been killed with.
    Truls had grinned at the thought. No fucking chance. Harry Hole had had a finger in the pie and had been up to his usual tricks. Truls had no idea how or why, but at any rate it meant that Oleg Fauke was off the hook and could stop looking over his shoulder. Hole would get the boy into PHS now as well, you see.
    Fair enough. Truls wouldn’t stand in his way. Great burner job. Respect. Anyway, he hadn’t saved the magazine because of Harry, Oleg or Mikael.
    It was the photo of Ulla he’d been after.
    A temporary setback, that was all, he would get rid of the magazine afterwards. Get rid of her.
    He thought about the woman he had met in the cafe the day before. Internet dating. Of course she couldn’t hold a candle to Ulla or Megan Fox. Bit too old, arse a bit too fat and talked a bit too much. But apart from that he’d liked her. If a woman failed in the age, face