Chapter 6 Chapter Six Going Home

A Volvo Amazon sedan pulls up to the sidewalk next to the arrivals terminal at Oslo Gardermoen Airport and pulls up.The Amazon was one of the last Amazons produced by Volvo in 1970. A group of nursery toddlers walking slowly in single file, rustled their raincoats as they passed in front of the Amazon.Some toddlers cast a curious glance at the classic car, which has racing stripes painted on the hood and two men sitting behind the windshield, with windshield wipers swishing away the morning rain. The man in the passenger seat was Inspector General Gunner Hagan.In the past, Hagen would smile when he saw a group of children crossing the road holding hands, and he would think of solidarity, consideration for others, and everyone taking care of each other in society.But at this moment, what he thought of was that the searchers were looking for a possible dead victim.That's what being the captain of the criminal SWAT team does to you, otherwise you'd be like what some funny colleague wrote in English on Harry Haller's office door: I see See the dead.

"What are these nursery kids doing at the airport?" said the man in the driver's seat.The man's name is Bill Hollam, and this Amazon is his most cherished treasure. The noisy but extremely efficient heating system in the car, the faux leather that has absorbed a lot of sweat, and the dusty rear shelf have all been affected. Brings peace to his heart.Especially when the engine reaches a certain speed-about 80 kilometers per hour-driving on flat ground, the cassette player plays the songs of American country singer Hank Williams, which brings him the most peace.Hollem works at the Criminal Forensics Center in Bull District. His hometown is in the village of Skaia. He grew up in a mountainous area. He wears snakeskin boots on his feet. He has a round face like a full moon and protruding eyes. These eyes Let him have a surprised expression all the time.Hollum's face has stunned more than one criminal investigation commander, because he is the most talented crime scene investigator since the brilliant Webb.Hollem wears a suede fringed soft jacket and a Jamaican beanie with lush red sideburns.Hagen had never seen a man in this part of the North Sea with a more luxuriant beard than Houlum, whose beard almost covered his cheeks.

Houlum drove Amazon to the makeshift parking lot, where it took a breath and stopped.The two opened the door and got out of the car.Hagen turned up the collar of his coat, but the collar couldn't stop the rain from bombarding his shiny head.The hair around the top of his head is so thick and luxuriant that it was once suspected that Hagen's hair was completely normal and he just had an odd hairstylist. "Tell me, is that jacket really waterproof?" Hagen asked.The two strode towards the terminal entrance. "It's not waterproof," said Houlum. They had just received a call from Kaya in the car, saying that the SAS flight had landed ten minutes early and that she had lost Harry.

They went through the swing doors, and Hagen looked around and saw Kaya at the taxi counter, sitting on the trunk.Hagen nodded slightly to Kaya, and then walked towards the exit gate leading to the customs hall.He and Hollem slipped in just as the exit gates opened as the passengers emerged.A guard immediately stepped forward to stop him. Hagen showed his ID and said succinctly, "Police." The guard nodded, almost bowing. Hagen walked to the right, past the customs officers, the dogs, the metal counters, and into the back room.Those metal counters reminded him of pathology lab carts.

Hagen stopped so abruptly that Houlum, who was following him, almost ran into him.A familiar voice came from between clenched teeth. "Hey, sir, I'm sorry I can't stand at attention right now." Hollem looked over Hagen's shoulder. The image before him would haunt his mind for years. I saw a man leaning on the back of a chair, bending over and lifting his hips.The man is a living legend, for better and for worse, to the Oslo Police Headquarters and police departments across Norway.Hollem had worked closely with the legendary figure, but never as closely as the customs officer in front of him, no matter how closely.The latex glove on one hand of the customs officer is partly hidden between the legend's pale buttocks.

"He's mine," Hagen told the customs officer, showing his ID. "Let him go." Customs officers looked at Hagen, seemingly reluctant to let the man go.Then an older official, with a gold stripe on his shoulder straps, came in, closed his eyes, and nodded slightly.The customs officer turned his hand one last turn and pulled it out.The legend groaned loudly. "Put your trousers on, Harry," said Hagen, looking away. Harry pulled up his trousers and said to the customs officer who was taking off his latex gloves, "Do you feel good too?" Kaya stood up from the suitcase and saw three colleagues walk out of the exit gate.Houlum went to drive, and Hagen went to the little store to buy drinks.

"Are you checked often?" Kaya asked. "Every time." "I don't seem to have ever been stopped by customs." "I know." "how do you know?" "Because they look for a thousand little signs, none of which you have, and at least half of which I have." "Do you think Customs is biased?" "Um, have you ever smuggled anything?" "No." Kaya laughed a few times, "Okay, I have. But since they are so powerful, it should be obvious that you are also a policeman, let you pass." "They saw it."

"Come on, this kind of thing only happens in movies." "They saw it, they saw me as a depraved cop." "Really?" Kaya said. Harry dug a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Look quietly at the taxi counter. There is a man with small eyes and drooping corners. Did you see that?" Kaya nodded. "After we came out, he pulled his belt twice, as if he had something heavy hanging around his waist, maybe handcuffs or a baton or something. A policeman who has been a patrol officer or worked in a detention center for a few years will develop this. a habit."

"I've been a policeman on patrol too, but I've never—" "He's on the narcotics team now, watching the passengers coming out of the customs hall, to see if anyone looks relieved after passing through customs, or goes straight to the toilet, because the drugs can't stay in the rectum. Or It's to see if any passengers have given their luggage to someone else, because the smugglers have found a naive and kind idiot passenger to help clear a box of drugs with luggage." Kaya turned her head, squinted at Harry, and a smile appeared on the corner of her mouth: "Or he is just a commoner, but his trousers have been slipping down. He is waiting for his mother, and you have missed it."

"Of course," said Harry, looking at his watch and then at the clock on the wall. "I keep getting it wrong. Is the time on the wall correct?" The Amazon pulls onto the freeway, and the streetlights cast a blaze of light. Houlum and Kaya in the front seat were chatting vigorously.American folk singer-songwriter Townes Van Zant sang melancholic cries through a cassette player.Hagen in the back seat put a briefcase on his lap, stroking the silky pigskin material of the briefcase with both hands. "I wish I could say you look fine," Hagen whispered. "I'm jet-lagged, sir," said Harry, more likely to be reclining in a chair than sitting.

"What happened to your jaw?" "It's a long and boring story." "Anyway, welcome back. Sorry to call you back under the circumstances." "I thought I had handed in my resignation." "You've handed in your resignation before." "Then how many times do you want me to deliver it?" Hagen looked at the former police inspector, lowered his eyebrows, and his voice became even deeper: "I said it, I'm sorry to call you back in this situation. At the same time, I also thank you for your support last time. It's a case that puts a lot of effort into it and gets you and your loved ones involved in it... Well, I think anyone who's ever had this sort of thing would wish they had a different life. But it's your job, That's what you do best, Harry." Harry sniffed like he had a typical returning flu. "There have been two murders so far, Harry. We don't even know what the murderer used. We only know that the two murders are similar. With the valuable experience of the last time, we know that we are facing What." Hagen paused. "It won't do any harm to tell it, sir." "I'm not so sure." Harry looked out the window at the receding brown countryside, but saw no sign of Snow White. "Someone has called wolf several times in the past, and it turns out that serial killers are very rare." "I know," Hagen nodded, "The Snowman was the only case in the country during my tenure. But this time we're pretty sure because the victims were not related to each other and the sedative found in the blood was the same .” "Great find, good luck." "Harry..." "Sir, please find someone qualified to handle this case." "You are quite qualified." "I'm broken." Hagen took a deep breath: "Then we'll put you back together." "It's gone," said Harry. "You are the only person in Norway with the skills and experience to hunt down serial killers." "You can fly to the United States to find someone." "You know very well that things cannot be handled this way." "Then there is nothing I can do to help." "Are you telling the truth? Two people have died so far, Harry, both young women..." Hagen opened his briefcase and produced a brown file folder.Harry waved him off. "I mean it, sir. Thank you for helping me buy my passport back, but I don't want to look at those bloody photos and reports anymore." Hagen looked hurt, but still placed the file on Harry's lap. "I just ask you to read the report and don't tell anyone we're working on this case." "Oh why?" "It's complicated, so don't tell anyone anyway, okay?" The conversation between the two people in the front seat fell silent, and Harry stared at the back of Kaya's head.Houlum's Amazon was built before the term "whiplash injury" was invented, so the seats don't have head restraints.Kaya's hair was pinned up, and Harry could see directly her slender neck and pale skin.She was so fragile, he thought, and things were changing so quickly, so much could be destroyed in seconds.Life is like this, a series of destructive processes, starting from the initial perfect state and collapsing all the way.The only uncertainty is whether we will die suddenly or gradually.It was a pessimistic thought, but it lingered in his mind until the car went through the Ibsen Tunnel.The nondescript gray tunnel is part of the capital's transport network, and there could be one in any city in the world.Yet at this very moment, a feeling came over him, a great, pure joy, just because he was here, he was back in Oslo, back home.This joy filled his whole body, making him temporarily forget the reason why he came back. The Amazons pulled out of Harry's sight behind him.He looked at the apartment at No. 5 Sophie Street. There was more graffiti on the walls than when he left, but the blue paint underneath was still the same. Therefore, he refused to take over the murder investigation work, and his father was lying on a hospital bed, which was the only reason why he came back here.He didn't tell them that if he could choose whether to know about his father's illness, he would choose not to.Because he didn't come back out of love, he came back out of shame. He looked up at the two dark windows on the second floor, which were the windows of his house. He opened the gate and went into the backyard.The trash can still stands in its old position.He promised Hagen that he would take a look at the homicide files, but this was just to save the officer's face, after all, the criminal SWAT team paid a lot of money to redeem his passport.He pushed open the lid of the box and threw the files in. There were torn garbage bags in the trash can, and coffee grounds, diapers, rotting fruit, and potato peels all escaped.He took a breath, thinking that the smell of this garbage is really international. In his two-bedroom apartment, everything was in its place, but something was different.There was a powder-gray hue in the room, as if someone had left and left behind a scent of frost.He went into the bedroom, put down his bag, and took out an unopened pack of cigarettes.Everything here is the same as before, the skin of a corpse that has been dead for two days is the same gray.He lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and greeted the familiar voice.The holes in the gutters in the roof, for example, seep water droplets onto the gleaming lead frames of the windows.What it emits is not the slow and soothing sound of dripping water from the ceiling of Chungking Mansions in Hong Kong, but a warm knocking sound, between dripping water and running water, as if to remind him that time is ticking every bit and every minute. Seconds passed, and the end of the number line was approaching.It made him think of the Italian cartoon character "Mr. Line", who always falls out of the cartoonist's line and is forgotten every time at the end of the four-minute cartoon short. Harry knew there was a half-full Jim Beam bottle in the cupboard under the sink, left over from before he left the flat, and he could keep drinking it.Hell, he was so drunk when he hopped in a taxi to the airport a few months ago, no wonder he couldn't fly to Manila. He could just walk into the kitchen and pour the rest of the whiskey down the sink.He groaned. His mind kept thinking about who she was like, and it didn't make any sense.He knows who she is like.She's like Rachel.They were all like Rakel.