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or dread what was coming next.
    ‘Of course. Who would find a man in his mid-thirties, who knows all the details about the lives of the people on The Robinson Expedition but can hardly name any head of state, or the Israeli President, sexy?’
    ‘Prime Minister.’
    ‘There you are. Now you know what I mean.’
    Møller stifled a laugh. He had a tendency to laugh too easily. And a soft spot for the somewhat anguished officer with big ears that stuck out from the close-cropped cranium like two colourful butterfly wings. Even though Harry had caused Møller more trouble than was good for him. As a newly promoted PAS he had learned that the first commandment for a civil servant with career plans was to guard your back. When Møller cleared his throat to put the worrying questions he had made up his mind to ask, and dreaded asking, he first of all knitted his eyebrows to show Harry that his concern was of a professional and not an amicable nature.
    ‘I hear you’re still spending your time sitting in Schrøder’s, Harry.’
    ‘Less than ever, boss. There’s so much good stuff on TV.’
    ‘But you’re still sitting and drinking?’
    ‘They don’t like you to stand.’
    ‘Cut it out. Are you drinking again?’
    ‘Minimally.’
    ‘How minimally?’
    ‘They’ll throw me out if I drink any less.’
    This time Møller couldn’t hold back his laughter. ‘I need three liaison officers to secure the road,’ he said. ‘Each will have ten men at their disposal from various police districts in Akershus, plus a couple of cadets from the final year at police college. I thought Tom Waaler . . .’
    Waaler. Racist bastard and directly in line for the soon-to-be-announced inspector’s job. Harry had heard enough about Waaler’s professional activities to know that they confirmed all the prejudices the public might have about the police. Apart from one: unfortunately Waaler was not stupid. His successes as a detective were so impressive that even Harry had to concede he deserved the inevitable promotion.
    ‘And Weber . . .’
    ‘The old sourpuss?’
    ‘. . . and you, Harry.’
    ‘Say that again?’
    ‘You heard me.’
    Harry pulled a face.
    ‘Have you any objections?’ Møller asked.
    ‘Of course I have.’
    ‘Why? This is an honourable mission, Harry. A feather in your cap.’
    ‘Is it?’ Harry stabbed out his cigarette furiously in the ashtray. ‘Or is it the next stage in the rehabilitation process?’
    ‘What do you mean?’ Bjarne Møller looked wounded.
    ‘I know that you defied good advice and had a run-in with a few people when you took me back into the fold after Bangkok. And I’m eternally grateful to you for that. But what is this? Liaison Officer ? Sounds like an attempt to prove to the doubters that you were right, and they were wrong. That Hole is on his way up, that he can be given responsibility and all that.’
    ‘Well?’ Bjarne Møller had put his hands behind the long skull again.
    ‘Well?’ Harry aped. ‘Is that what’s behind it? Am I just a pawn again?’
    Møller gave a sigh of despair.
    ‘We’re all pawns, Harry. There’s always a hidden agenda. This is no worse than anything else. Do a good job and it’ll be good for both of us. Is that so damned difficult?’
    Harry sniffed, started to say something, caught himself, took a fresh run-up, then abandoned the idea. He flicked a new cigarette out of the pack.
    ‘It’s just that I feel like a bloody horse people bet on. And I loathe responsibility.’
    Harry let the cigarette hang loosely from his lips without lighting it.
    He owed Møller this favour, but what if he screwed up? Had Møller thought about that? Liaison Officer . He had been on the wagon for a while now, but he still had to be careful, take one day at a time. Hell, wasn’t that one of the reasons he became a detective? To avoid having people underneath him, and to have as few as possible above him? Harry bit into the cigarette filter.
    They heard voices out in the