Halvorsen remembered Harry had once said that what separates a good detective from a mediocre one is the ability to forget. A good detective forgets all the times his gut instinct lets him down, forgets all the leads he has believed in that led nowhere. And pitches in, naive and forgetful again, with undiminished enthusiasm.
‘So far, all we’ve heard about Robert Karlsen is pure Disney. I think there’s more.’ ‘Why aren’t you taking me along?’ ‘Because Beate, unlike you, knows when people are lying.’
‘This guy’s a pro. He knows that if he had shot a policeman he wouldn’t have had a hope of getting away. He fired to frighten you.’ ‘How do you know …?’ ‘He didn’t fire at me, either. You tell yourself that and you’ll be able to sleep. And don’t go to a psychologist; there are other people who need them.’ Harry’s knees gave a nasty crack as he stood up. ‘And remember that higher ranked officers are by definition cleverer than you. So, next time, follow orders, OK?’
‘There are a couple of things you ought to reflect on right now, Rikard. I’m not very quick but I weigh ninety-five kilos and I have punched my fist through an oak front door. And paragraph 127 of the Penal Code gives a minimum punishment of six months for violence against a public servant. You’re risking a hospital visit. And prison.’