‘Yes. You do know what it is, don’t you?’
She looks around the team. Most people nod, but not very convincingly. Emil Hagen shifts in his chair.
‘Extreme rules telling you how to live or something?’
Sandland smiles briefly.
‘That’s one way of putting it. Most people who’ve heard about sharia immediately think “mad mullahs and fundamentalists”. But sharia is a complex concept. Those who call themselves learned, as far as sharia is concerned, have studied the legal principles of sharia for years. They study the Koran, the sayings and doings of the Prophet Mohammed, Muslim history, how different legal schools have interpreted the law and so on. In Muslim countries today, sharia primarily applies to aspects of family law such as divorce and inheritance.’
‘But what has this got to do with the murder of Henriette Hagerup?’ Gjerstad asks impatiently.
‘I’m getting to that. There’s no such thing as one Islamic law, and only a few countries enforce a penal code based on Islamic law. The countries that do, have something they call hudud punishments.’
‘Hu-what?’ Hagen asks.
‘Hudud punishments. It’s a penal code in the Koran. It prescribes specific punishments for certain crimes. Flogging, for example. Or chopping off someone’s hand.’
Brogeland nods quietly to himself. He has instantly grasped the implications of Sandland’s information.
‘So what crimes warrant these punishments?’ Nokleby asks, folding her hands in front of her. Sandland looks at her, while she explains.
‘Adultery, for example. You can get one hundred lashes for that. If you’re caught stealing, you might lose your hand. But the degree of enforcement of hudud punishments varies from country to country and, in some cases, people take the law into their own hands and justify their sick acts by referring to the law of Allah. The symbolic value of having such punishments is probably more important, because it proves that you respect the edicts of the Koran and Islamic law.’
‘Even if it’s only in theory?’ Nokleby continues.
‘Even if it’s only in theory,’ Sandland says and nods. ‘However, some countries do actually enforce the laws. In November 2008, a thirteen-year-old Somali girl was stoned to death for trying to report a rape. She was taken to a football stadium, buried in a hole which was filled with earth up to her neck. Then fifty people started stoning her and a thousand people watched.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Hagen gasps. Brogeland gazes dreamily at Sandland. You can lecture to me anytime, he thinks. With a cane and handcuffs within easy reach, for when I give the wrong answers.
Stang shakes his head.
‘How come you know all this?’
‘I did Religious Studies for A-level.’
‘This is all very well,’ Gjerstad interjects, ‘but we’re still no closer to knowing to why this happened.’
‘No, or who did it.’
‘You don’t think Marhoni did?’ Nokleby asks.
‘I don’t know what I think yet. But Marhoni didn’t strike me as a hardcore Muslim, to be flippant, or as someone who is up to date on hudud punishments. And I think it’s important to bear in mind that this isn’t normal Muslim behaviour. Someone with extreme views — and I mean really extreme views — and a twisted mind probably did this. And I don’t think that description fits Marhoni.’
‘Don’t you have to be a Muslim to warrant the punishment?’ Brogeland asks.
‘Yes, that’s correct, you do.’
‘But Hagerup is white, like us?’
‘Precisely. So lots of things don’t add up.’
‘She could have converted?’ Hagen suggests.
Sandland pulls a face.
‘But as she was white and Norwegian, this might not have anything to do with sharia or hudud,’ Gjerstad objects.
‘No, it’s…’
‘Perhaps someone just felt like stoning her to death. Hell of a way to kill someone. It takes forever, I imagine, especially if the stones are small.’
‘Yes, but we should be looking for someone who knows about hudud punishments.’
‘That could be anyone, surely?’
‘Anyone can read up on it, that’s true, whether you’re Norwegian or Muslim. However, this killing is highly ritualistic. Flogging her, stoning her and chopping off one of her hands — it all means something.’
‘So it would appear,’ Nokleby remarks.
‘Was Hagerup unfaithful?’ Hagen asks. ‘Or did she steal something?’
Sandland shrugs.
‘No idea. Could be both. Or neither. We don’t know yet.’
‘Okay,’ Gjerstad says in a voice designed to bring the meeting to a close. He gets up. ‘We need to carry out a more detailed background check on both Marhoni and Hagerup, find out who they were and what she did or didn’t do, what she knew, what she studied, people she knew, friends, family situation and so on. Secondly, we need to talk to the Muslim communities, find out if anyone there approves of flogging and that kind of punishment and see if there’s a link to Hagerup or Marhoni. Emil, you’re an IT whiz. Check the chat rooms, homepages, blogs and more, look up everything you can on sharia and hudud, and report back if you come across any names we should take a closer look at.’
Emil nods.
‘And one more thing,’ Gjerstad says and looks at Nokleby, before he continues. ‘It shouldn’t need saying, but NRK was remarkably well informed at today’s press conference. This investigation ticks so many boxes that we’ll only make it worse for ourselves if the press gets a hint of what we’re looking into. Anything said here stays within these four walls. Understood?’
Nobody says anything. But everyone nods.
Chapter 16
It doesn’t take him long to finish at Westerdal. He interviews some people, gets the information he knows the newspaper wants him to get, takes more pictures and heads home. He is outside Jimmy’s Sushi Bar in Fredensborgvei when his mobile rings.
‘Henning,’ he answers.
‘Hi, it’s Heidi.’
He pulls a face and says ‘hi’ back without a flicker of enthusiasm.
‘Where are you?’
‘On my way home to write up the story. I’ll e-mail it to you tonight.’
‘Dagbladet already has a story about grieving students at the college. Why don’t we? Why is it taking so long?’
‘Long?’
‘Why didn’t you call in with what you had?’
‘Surely I have to write the story before I can call it in?’
‘Four lines about the mood, two quotes from a distraught bystander and we could have put together a story and padded it out with photos and some more quotes later. Now we’re waaaaay late.’
He is tempted to say that the expression isn’t ‘waaaaay late’ but either ‘way behind’ or ‘running late’, but he doesn’t. Heidi sighs heavily.
‘Why would anyone want to read our human interest story, when they’ve already read it elsewhere?’
‘Because mine will be better.’
‘Hah! I hope so. And next time: call in your story.’
He has no time to reply before Heidi hangs up. He grimaces at his mobile. And takes his time going home.
*
He changes the batteries in the smoke alarms in his flat and settles down on the sofa with his laptop. On his way home, he thought about possible angles. It shouldn’t take him too long to write the story. He might even have time for a walk to D?lenenga and watch some training sessions, before it gets dark.
The most time-consuming task is uploading and editing the pictures, before he can send them to the news desk. He doesn’t want to risk the news desk ruining them.
Six or seven years ago, he doesn’t remember precisely, a woman was brutally murdered in Grorud. Her body was found in a skip. He had taken dozens of photos and sent them all to the news desk at Aftenposten, just as they were, because The Old Lady goes to press early. He stated explicitly which photos could be used and which ones couldn’t, at least not before consent from her relatives has been obtained, as several of them had been present behind the police tape. He also stressed to the news desk that they must check with him before going to print.