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happened to cause a delay. Besides, it took time to bring to mind something that had occurred eighteen months, perhaps two years, earlier. Simply locating the case documents consumed enough time. The simplest solution would be to receive a copy of the prosecutor’s documents a couple of days in advance, but Hanne Wilhelmsen knew, in common with the other fifteen hundred police officers at Oslo Police Station, that this was accomplished only in one of ten instances. The police attorneys proffered assurances and promises, but the papers never arrived, and as a rule one ended up rummaging through an archive that was more or less homemade.
    Her court appearance concerned a triviality. Sitting with somber expressions, the gown-clad prosecutors were spending their working day investigating whether a twenty-one-year-old girl had bitten a police officer in the leg and spat in his ear during a demonstration.
    Slurping on chewing gum, the young woman tugged at her lilac-colored hair and looked daggers at the chief inspector as sheassumed her place in the witness box, dressed in full uniform. Hanne Wilhelmsen did not hear the word, but judging by the lip movements she could swear the accused formed the word “pig” before leaning back with an exaggerated sigh and casting her eyes to the ceiling, with her defense counsel making no move to ask her to behave more decorously.
    The questioning this time was swiftly over and done with. Hanne Wilhelmsen had in fact seen what had taken place. In her off-duty hours she had happened to pass the square at Stortorget as a small group of people, pretty accurately known by the name of Blitz Youth, was furiously screaming about the bar they were standing outside being a fascist den. In fact, their description was spot on, as the police had known for a long time that it was the haunt of right-wing extremist groups. At the moment Hanne Wilhelmsen was walking past, the girl with the lilac hair was being hauled out and handcuffed by two officers, without offering much resistance. Chief Inspector Hanne Wilhelmsen had stopped and was standing only three or four meters away when the Blitzer asked one of the police officers if she could tell him a secret. Before he had time to answer, she had leaned toward his ear and dispatched a substantial lump of chewing gum and spittle. The enraged police officer had dropped her to the ground, whereupon the girl sank her teeth into his boot, just above the ankle. There must have been considerably greater strain on the accused’s teeth and jaw than the shoe leather, especially since the bad-tempered police officer tried to shake her off. Eventually letting go, she had started to laugh, and at that was yanked onto her feet and packed into a waiting police van.
    “Did you see clearly that she bit the policeman in the leg?”
    It was the prosecutor posing the question, a small assistant police attorney of tender years, with red roses on his beardless cheeks. Wilhelmsen knew that this was his very first case.
    “Well, to the extent that boots form a part of your leg, yes,” responded the chief inspector, gazing at the judge.
    He looked as though he might die of boredom at any moment.
    “There is no doubt that she bit him?”
    The prosecutor was insistent.
    “She bit the police officer’s leather boot. The court will have to decide whether that is biting him in the leg.”
    “Did you see that she had spat first?”
    Hanne Wilhelmsen tried not to smile.
    “Yes, she spat a large splodge of chewing gum right in his ear. It looked unpleasant.”
    The red-cheeked lawyer was satisfied, and the defense counsel did not have many questions either. Wilhelmsen was allowed to leave.
    The girl would probably be behind bars for thirty days. Violence toward a public servant. Not good. As the chief inspector emerged from the new Oslo Courthouse onto the open space of C. J. Hambros plass, she stood still for a second, gently shaking her head.
    “We spend our time and money on a lot