Parkveien, Uranienborg. 11 May 2000.
Johan Krohn received Harry in his office. The book shelves behind him were crammed with volumes of legal publications, bound in brown leather. They contrasted oddly with the lawyer's childlike face.
'We meet again,' Krohn said, motioning Harry to take a seat. 'You have a good memory,' Harry said.
'There's nothing wrong with my memory. Sverre Olsen. You had a strong case there. Shame the court didn't manage to keep to the rule book.'
'That's not why I've come,' Harry said. 'I've got a favour to ask.'
'Asking costs nothing,' Krohn said, pressing the tips of his fingers together. He reminded Harry of a child actor playing an adult.
'I'm looking for a weapon which was imported illegally and I have reason to believe that Sverre Olsen might have been involved in some capacity or other. As your client is dead you are no longer prevented by client confidentiality from providing us with information. It may help us to clear up the murder of Bernt Brandhaug, whom we are fairly positive was shot with precisely this weapon.'
Krohn gave a sour smile.
'I would rather you let me decide the boundaries of client confidentiality, officer. There is no automatic assumption that it ceases upon death. And you clearly have not considered the fact that I may regard your coming here to ask for information as somewhat brazen, bearing in mind that the police shot my client?'
'I'm trying to forget emotions and behave professionally,' Harry said.
'Then try a little harder, officer!' Krohn's voice merely became even squeakier when he raised it. 'This is not very professional. In the same way as killing a man in his own home was not very professional.'
'That was self defence,' Harry said.
A technicality,' Krohn said. 'He is an experienced policeman. He should have known that Olsen was unstable and he should not have burst in as he did. The policeman should obviously have been prosecuted.'
Harry couldn't let that go. • 'I agree with you that it's always sad when a criminal goes free on account of a technicality'
Krohn blinked twice before he realised what Harry meant.
'Legal technicalities are a different kettle of fish, officer,' he said. 'Taking an oath in court may seem to be a detail, but without legal safeguards -'
'My rank is inspector.'
Harry concentrated on speaking softly and slowly:
'The legal safeguard you're talking about cost my colleague her life. Ellen Gjelten. Tell that to that memory you're so damn proud of. Ellen Gjelten. Twenty-eight years old. The best investigative talent in the Oslo police force. A smashed skull. A very bloody death.'
Harry stood up and leaned across Krohn's desk, all one metre ninety of him. He could see the Adam's apple in Krohn's scrawny vulture neck bobbing up and down, and for two long seconds Harry allowed himself the luxury of relishing the fear in the young lawyer's eyes. Then Harry dropped his business card on the desk.
'Ring me when you've decided the extent of your client confidentiality,' he said.
Harry was half out of the door when Krohn's voice brought him to a halt.
'He called me just before he died.' Harry turned. Krohn sighed.
'He was terrified of someone. Sverre Olsen was always frightened. Lonely and very frightened.'
'Who isn't?' Harry mumbled. Then, 'Did he say who he was frightened of?'
'The Prince. That was what he called him. The Prince.’
‘Did Olsen say why he was frightened?'
'No, he just said that this Prince was a kind of superior and had ordered him to commit a crime. So he wanted to know how far following orders was a punishable offence. Poor idiot.'
'What kind of orders?'
'He didn't say'
'Did he say anything else?'
Krohn shook his head.
'Ring me any time at all if you think of anything else.'
'And one more thing, Inspector. If you believe that I will lose any sleep over having the man who killed your colleague acquitted, you are mistaken.'
But Harry had already left.