Chapter 8 Chapter 8 Snow Police

At three o'clock in the afternoon, Harry woke up.He opened the bag, put in a set of clean clothes, found a woolen coat in the closet, and went out.The drizzle falling from the sky woke him up and made him look wide awake.He walked into the brown, smoky space of Schroeder's, saw his usual table occupied, and walked under the TV in the corner. He looked around and saw a few unfamiliar faces in front of the beer glasses at each table, but other than that, it was the same as before.Rita came over and put a white mug and a pot of coffee in front of him. "Harry," Leta said, not in a welcoming tone, but more inclined to make sure it was him.

Harry nodded. "Hey, Leta. Got an old newspaper?" Rita walked quickly to the inner room and brought out a stack of old and yellowed newspapers.Harry never knew why the Schroeder's Tavern kept old newspapers, but he had benefited from them on several occasions. "It's been a long time since I saw you," Rita said, before leaving.Harry remembered why he liked coming to the Schroeder's Tavern, not only because it was the closest tavern to his home, but also because the waiters here were not talkative and knew how to respect the privacy of the guests, and they would notice that you came to patronize again, But no explanation will be asked.

Harry downed two cups of coffee, surprisingly bad, while flipping through the newspaper to get a rough idea of ​​what had been going on in the Kingdom of Norway over the past few months.As usual, nothing major happened, which is what he likes most about Norway. Someone wins the "Norwegian Idol" talent show; a celebrity gets brushed off a dance competition; a Division III soccer player gets caught snorting cocaine; Tong inherited millions of dollars in advance, and got engaged to a handsome but not so wealthy investor, and his fiancé was named Tony. The editor-in-chief of Freedom Magazine, Jaffie Sdepp, wrote that Norway desperately wanted to be a model social democracy, only now remembering that it actually remained a monarchy and feeling ashamed.It seems that all is well.

Harry saw the murder on the headlines of the December newspaper.He recognized Kaya's description of the crime scene: the murder occurred in a complex office building under construction in the Netherland area. The cause of death of the deceased is unknown, and the police suspect homicide. Harry flipped through the paper, preferring to read the news of a politician who had boasted that he was planning to quit his job to spend more time with his family. The newspapers kept at the Schroeder Tavern were incomplete, but a few weeks later there were reports of a second murder. The dead woman was found on the edge of the woods next to Lake Dosha in the Darren Valley of Mali, lying in the back of an abandoned Datsun sedan.The police did not rule out the involvement of "criminal acts" in the incident, but did not explain the cause of death in detail.

As Harry scanned the report, he judged that the reasons for the police silence were commonplace: the police had no clues, not a single one, as if radar had swept across an open field and the screen was blank. There were two murders in total, but Hagen seemed certain that both murders were committed by the same serial killer.So what's the connection?What's the news that the newspapers don't report?Harry found his mind beginning to follow the patterns of the past, deciphering the case.Cursing at his inability to restrain himself, he turned to the next page. After finishing the coffee in the coffee pot, Harry left a crumpled note on the table and set off into the street.He wrapped his coat tighter, squinted his eyes, and looked at the gray sky.

He waved to an empty taxi, which pulled up on the sidewalk.The driver leaned over and opened the rear door.It is rare to see taxi drivers providing this kind of door opening service.Harry decided to tip the driver, not just because it would allow him to get in the car, but because the window reflected a car parked behind him, with a face emerging behind the steering wheel. "National Hospital," said Harry, moving himself into the middle of the back seat. "it is good." Harry looked in the rearview mirror as the taxi pulled off the pavement. "Oh, can you go to No. 5 Sophie Street first?"

The taxi came to Sophie Street and pulled over, its diesel engine rumbling.Harry strode up the stairs, evaluating the possibilities in his mind.triad?Hermann Cruiy?Or his pre-existing paranoia?His gear is in the toolbox in the cupboard where he stored it before his flight to Hong Kong.The equipment included old expired identification cards, two pairs of Hayatt speed handcuffs with spring arms for quick handcuffs, and a Smith & Wesson .38 police revolver. He stepped onto the street, jumped into a taxi without looking left and right. "Are you going to the National Hospital?" the driver asked.

"Just go that way," Harry replied, looking in the rearview mirror.The taxi turned onto Sternberg Street and then onto Woolliver Road.He didn't see anything in the rearview mirror, which meant two possibilities: one, his pre-existing paranoia had flared up; two, the guy was a connoisseur. Harry hesitated for a moment, then finally said, "We're going to the National Hospital." Harry's eyes were fixed on the rearview mirror as the taxi passed Visjac Church and Woolliver Hospital.In any case, he couldn't lead the gangster to his most vulnerable place, where his family was, and that was where the gangster wanted to attack the most.

The largest hospital in Norway sits on a hillside in Oslo. Harry paid for the car, and the driver thanked him repeatedly for the tip, and then performed the same trick to help him open the rear door. The hospital building stood in front of Harry, and the clouds were so low in the sky that it seemed to be opening the roof. He took a deep breath. Olaf Höller was lying on the bed, smiling softly and vulnerablely, making Harry gulp. "I went to Hong Kong," said Harry, "to think things over there." "Have you figured it out?" Harry shrugged, "What did the doctor say?"

"The doctor tried not to say anything. It's not a good sign, but I found that I liked it better. You know, my family doesn't know how to face the truth of life." Wondering, Harry wondered, would he and his father talk about his mother?Hope not. "Do you have a job now?" Harry shook his head.Olaf's white hair fell neatly across his forehead, making Harry think it wasn't his father's hair, but an accessory that came with his pajamas and slippers. "No work?" said Olaf. "The Police Academy wants me to teach." This statement is very close to the truth.After the Yeti case was over, Hagen gave Harry the chance to teach at the police academy while giving him a sabbatical.

"Are you going to be a teacher?" Olaf chuckled a few times, very restrained, as if laughing loudly would kill him, "I thought your principle of life was to never do what I did." "Not at all." "Well, you always do what you want, like run off to be a cop... Well, I guess I should be thankful, it's a good thing you didn't do what I did, I'm not a good example. You know, After your mother passed away..." Harry had only been sitting in this white ward for twenty minutes, and he was already anxious to leave. "After your mom passed, I tried to figure it out and hide in my shell, not being happy with anyone, as if feeling alone would bring me closer to her, or so I thought. But it wasn't right Yes, Harry." Olaf smiled softly, like an angel. "I know losing Rakel is a big blow to you, but you can't be like me. You can't hide, Harry. You can't lock the door and throw away the key." Looking down at his hands, Harry nodded, feeling as if his body was covered in ants.He needs something, anything. A male nurse entered the room and introduced himself as Altman.Altman held up a syringe to inject Olaf with a sleep aid.Altman spoke with a bit of a tongue.Harry wondered if he could have a little too. Olaf turned sideways on the bed, the skin on his face loosened, and he looked much older than when he was lying flat.He looked at Harry with hollow, heavy eyes. Harry stood up suddenly, and the chair legs scraped against the ground with a loud noise. "Where are you going?" Olaf asked. "I'm going out for a cigarette," said Harry, "be right back." Harry sat down on the low brick wall and lit a Camel.You can see the parking lot from here.On the other side of the highway is the campus of the University of Oslo, where Olaf studied.Harry had heard it asserted that the son would always follow the father's path, only in a different form and disguise, that the so-called separation from the father's influence was an illusion at best, that the son would always return to the father's path, blood kinship. Not only is gravity stronger than your willpower, it is your willpower itself.Harry always thought he had proved the falsehood of the statement, but why was it as if he were looking in a mirror when he looked at his father's naked, barren face on the pillow?Why, when he listened to his father, it was as if he was listening to himself?He listened to his father's thoughts and words...it felt like a dentist had drilled into his nerves with precision.Because he is a copy of his father.hateful!His eyes searched the parking lot for a white Toyota Corolla. Always white, the least distinctive color.The Corolla parked outside Schroeder's was white, and the face behind the wheel, the same face that had looked at him less than twenty-four hours ago, had tiny eyes, The corners of the eyes droop. Harry threw away his cigarette and walked quickly back to the hospital.He stepped into the corridor leading to his father's ward, slowed down, turned a corner, and came to the open waiting area, pretending to look through a stack of magazines on the table, while scanning the people sitting in the waiting area with the corner of his eye. The man hides himself behind a copy of Liberty Magazine. Harry picked out an Audio-Visual Magazine—with a picture of Lena Gautung and her fiancé on the cover—and turned to leave. Olaf lay on the bed with his eyes closed.Harry bent down and put his ear to his father's mouth.Olaf's breathing was so faint that Harry felt air move against his cheek. Harry sat for a while in the chair by the hospital bed, gazing at his father, a disjointed stream of childhood memories, belonging to different people, events, and objects, all of which he remembered clearly. Then he put the chair next to the door, opened the door a crack, and waited. Half an hour later, he saw the man leave the waiting area and step into the hallway.The man was short and stocky, and Harry noticed that he had unusually bowed legs and walked as if he had a beach ball between his knees.The man walked into the door with the logo of the international general men's toilet, and pulled his belt, as if there was a heavy object around his waist. Harry stood up and followed. Harry stopped at the toilet door and took a breath.It's been a while since he's done anything like this.Then he quietly opened the door and entered. This toilet seemed to be a microcosm of the entire hospital: clean, tidy, new, and oversized.There are six compartments along the main wall, and none of the door locks have red squares.The shorter wall houses four wash basins, while the longer wall houses four ceramic urinals at hip height.The man was standing in front of a urinal, with his back to Harry, and the wall above had a water pipe running horizontally, which looked quite solid.Harry produced his revolver and handcuffs.It is international etiquette for men to avoid looking at each other in public toilets. Even unintentional eye contact may attract murderous intentions, so the man did not turn his head to look at Harry, even when Harry locked the toilet door very carefully and walked slowly. Behind the man, he pressed the barrel of the gun against the fat circle between the man's head and neck, and after saying a word softly, the man did not turn his head.One of Harry's colleagues once said that there is one phrase that should be said at least once in a career as a police officer: "Don't move." The man was obedient and did not move.Harry saw the man's body stiffen, goosebumps popping out of the circle of fat. "Put your hands up." The man raises his short, powerful arms above his head.Harry leaned forward, seeing at once that the move had been miscalculated.The man's movements were extremely fast.Harry had worked hard on his hand-to-hand combat techniques and knew that striking was as important as receiving it, and the trick was to relax the muscles and understand that the impact could not be avoided, it could only be mitigated.Therefore, when the man suddenly spun, raised his knees, and his figure was as soft as a dancer, Harry's reaction was only to follow the opponent's attack, and his body moved in the direction of the opponent's kick.The man kicked Harry over the hip, and Harry lost his balance and landed on his side, falling to the tile floor and sliding out of range.He lay on the ground without moving, sighed and looked at the ceiling, took out a pack of cigarettes, and stuck one in his mouth. "Quick handcuffs," Harry said, "I went to Chicago to take an FBI course. I was living at the Cabiny Green National House, and it was a rotten place, and white people couldn't do anything at night unless you wanted to. Going out and getting ransacked. So I just sat in the house and practiced two things. The first was to practice quick reloading and ejection in the dark, and the second was to practice quick handcuffing with the legs of a table." Harry propped himself up on his elbows.The man was still standing, with his hands raised above his head, his wrists were handcuffed to both sides of the water pipe, and he stared at Harry expressionlessly. "Mr. Cruy sent you?" Harry asked in English. The man stared at Harry without blinking. "Or a triad? I've already paid off the money, haven't you heard?" Harry looked at the man's expressionless face.The man's face may be Asian, but his facial features or skin color are not Chinese.Maybe he is Mongolian? "What do you want me for?" no respond.This is not good, because the man may not come to ask for something, but to perform a task. Harry stood up, made a semicircle, approached the man from the side, pointed the gun at the man's temple, stretched out his left hand, and searched the man's suit jacket.His hand touched the cold metal weapon, then he found the wallet and pulled it out. Harry took three steps back. "Let's see...Jussi Koka." Harry pulled out an American Express credit card and leaned it into the light. "You're Finnish? I suppose you can speak a little Norwegian?" no respond. "You used to be a policeman, didn't you? When I saw you in the arrival hall of Gardermoen Airport, I thought you were an undercover detective from the Narcotics Squad. How did you know I was on that flight, Yossi? I can call you Yossi Right? It seems more natural to call a man with his life hanging out of his pants by his first name." There was a sudden cough, and a mouthful of saliva spun on its axis and flew through the air, landing on Harry's chest. Harry looked down at his T-shirt, and saw that the black saliva mixed with snus fell right on top of the letter O, stretching it diagonally, making the Snow Patrol in English become Snow PatrØl. "Looks like you know Norwegian," said Harry. "Who do you work for, Yossi? What do you want me for?" Yossi didn't move a single muscle in his face.Someone outside shook the doorknob, cursed a few times, and left. Harry sighed, raised the pistol, aimed it at the Finn's forehead, and cocked the hammer to the cocking position. "Yusi, you should think that I am a sane and clear-headed person, er, my mind is very clear, so I know that my father was lying helplessly on the hospital bed outside, and you found out , so I'm in trouble, and there's only one way out of it. It's a good thing you had a gun, and I can tell the police that I shot in self-defense." Harry pulled the hammer back a little more, and a familiar feeling of nausea came over him. "Cripple." Harry's finger on the hammer stopped. "say it one more time." "I'm from Krippo," Jussi whispered in Swedish, with a Finnish accent in his tone.This accent is a favorite of Norwegian wedding orators. Harry stared at Yossi.He didn't suspect at all that Yossi was lying, but it was completely beyond his comprehension. "There are documents in the wallet." Yoshi roared, suppressing his anger. Harry checked his wallet and pulled out a laminated ID.There is not much personal information on the certificate, but it is genuine.The man in front of him was indeed a police officer of the Kripple Criminal Investigation Department.Kribo Criminal Investigation Department, referred to as Kribo, is a crime investigation center located in Oslo, responsible for assisting or leading the investigation of murder cases across the country. "What does Krippo have to do with me?" "Ask Bellman." "Who is Bellman?" Yossie made a short sound, and it was hard to tell whether it was a cough or a laugh: "Inspector Behrman, my officer, you pathetic guy. Well, let me go, handsome guy." "Fuck!" said Harry, looking at Yossi's ID again. "Shit, fuck!" He dropped his wallet on the floor and headed for the door. "hey-hey!" Yossi's yelling died away as the toilet door closed behind Harry's back.Harry stepped up the corridor, heading for the hospital exit, just as the male nurse who had just been in his father's ward came from the other end.He nodded and smiled at Harry as the two approached, and Harry tossed him the little key to the handcuffs. "Altman, there's an exhibitionist in the men's room." The male nurse caught the key with both hands out of reflex.Harry felt Altman gaping, watching him go out the door behind his back.