Kama Sutra growls again. Skagestad throws the stick. Run, drool, chew, run.
‘And I think the ladies like it.’
He smiles briefly. This time Henning really doesn’t want Skagestad to elaborate. Skagestad grows serious.
‘Poor girl.’
‘Did you notice anything else inside the tent?’
‘You don’t think that was enough?’
‘Yes, yes. But anything could be important.’
‘True. No, I don’t think there was anything else.’
They stand in silence.
‘You won’t write anything about this in your newspaper — what was it called again?’
‘123news. And, no, I won’t.’
Skagestad nods and thanks him. Then he makes to leave.
‘Nice talking to you. Time for me to go home, have a coffee and a cigarette,’ he says. Henning waves and thinks that Thorbjorn Skagestad, embarrassed or not, might just have contributed an important piece to the jigsaw.
Jarle Hogseth must be smiling in his grave.
Chapter 33
He has some hours to kill before meeting Yngve Foldvik, so he goes down to the newspaper. He does so with a feeling that today has got off to a good start. It’s a rare sensation.
He had said he wouldn’t show his face for a couple of days, but he can’t be bothered to go home now. The tired duty editor is at his desk when Henning arrives. A young woman sits with her back to him. The duty editor sees him and straightens up, but says nothing. Henning imagines that he has been told what has happened in the last twenty-four hours. He is probably surprised to see him at work, so soon.
Henning is surprised, too. Surprised that he doesn’t feel in need of some time off. It must be about having a sense of purpose, something that fills up your days, something that takes away the focus from That Which He Doesn’t Think About. And he has always been like this, when he gets the bit between his teeth. He can’t let go.
Dr Helge would probably be concerned, if he could see me now, he thinks.
Don’t take on too much, Henning, take it easy for the first couple of weeks.
Take it easy, that’s a good one. I’m really taking it easy now.
He presses the button to get a cup of coffee, waits 29 seconds, lets the machine finish dripping and goes over to his desk. He switches on his computer. The place is quiet. The only sounds are sporadic clattering from a keyboard and voices from a television near the duty editor. It sounds like CNN. Lots of breaking news.
A minute later, he is on the Internet. It doesn’t take him long to establish that little has happened overnight. His story about Tariq Marhoni is still 123news ’s main story. The right-hand column on the front page tells him that his story is the most read in the last twenty-four hours.
He clicks to check that everything is as it should be. He has taken his first sip of coffee and only just manages not to spit it out again. He stares at the screen. He has a by-line and a by-line photo. The body text, too, has been broken up by a photograph of him.
He shoots up and stomps over to the duty editor who is startled when Henning appears. The duty editor says nothing, but straightens up in his chair.
‘Did you upload my story?’ Henning thunders.
‘Your story?’
‘Yes, the one about Tariq Marhoni.’
‘When did you submit it?’
‘Last night.’
‘I started my shift at midnight, so it can’t have been me.’
Henning shakes his head and swears silently to himself.
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘You bet your life something’s wrong. I wasn’t supposed to have a by-line and now my face is plastered all over the story.’
The duty editor says nothing. The young woman sitting opposite carries on typing as if nothing has happened. Henning snorts.
‘Is there any way I can find out who uploaded the story?’
‘Yes, hold on a moment.’
The duty editor clicks. Henning paces up and down, and then stops behind him. The publishing tool, Escenic Content Studio, is open. The duty editor opens the article log and clears his throat.
‘It was entered by Jorgen last night at 20.03, edited by Jorgen at 20.06 and 20.08, before Heidi opened it at 21.39 and 21.42.’
‘Heidi Kjus?’
‘Yes.’
His cheeks feel hot. He returns to his desk without saying thank you. Heidi ought to thank her lucky stars that she isn’t here yet.
She arrives half an hour later. She goes straight to Henning’s desk. She looks angry. That makes two of us, Henning fumes.
‘Why don’t you answer when I call you?’ she says, dumping her bag on his desk. He is temporarily flummoxed.
‘I — ’
‘When I call you, you pick up. I don’t care what time it is. Is that clear?’
‘No.’
‘What did you say?’
She plants her hands on her hips.
‘I said no. When I’m off duty, then I’m off duty. I don’t have to report to you then. And why the hell did you insert my by-line photo, when I expressly said I didn’t want a byline on the Tariq story?’
Now it’s Heidi’s turn to be taken aback.
‘I — ’
‘You realise how easy it’ll be for the killer to find me now, if he wants to?’
She digests this.
‘On this paper, everyone who writes a story gets a by-line,’ she begins cautiously, then gets into her stride.
‘If we don’t have the balls to stand by what we write and put our name and photograph to it, then we shouldn’t publish it.’
He is unsure if he has heard her correctly, so he says ‘hm’ and looks at her.
‘Besides, your name and photograph are in every paper today, so if we don’t include it, it just looks weird.’
He looks at her, but can’t think of anything to say. Because she has a point. Bloody hell, he thinks, she’s actually right.
Heidi sits down and begins her morning rituals. She switches on her computer, takes her mobile out of her bag, opens her diary. She has won. The bitch was right.
And he was just thinking that today had got off to a good start.
Chapter 34
Heidi walks quietly up and down, while Henning drinks his coffee in silence. She probably has important meetings today, he imagines. Every time she sits down, she glances at him, before her eyes become managerial again.
The clock turns eight without Lord Corduroy deigning to make an appearance. He probably worked late last night. Perhaps he is doing something? Or he has already filed a story? Henning decides to give him a call, even though their last conversation wasn’t particularly amicable. Sometimes you have to offer your hand in friendship, swallow a camel and all that. This has rarely been Henning’s strongest point.
Gundersen answers quickly, but his voice sounds sleepy.
‘Hi, it’s Henning.’
‘Good morning.’
No background noises. Good.
‘Where are you?’ he asks, even though he doesn’t want to know.
‘At home. I’ll be in a little later. I’ve already spoken to Heidi about it.’
‘That’s not why I’m calling.’
‘Oh?’
Gundersen is slightly more awake now, but a pause arises and gives Henning the feeling that they both have something they want to say, but that neither of them wants to go first. Like two awkward teenagers.
‘Are you busy?’ Henning asks at last. ‘Any plans for today?’
He hears Gundersen sit up. His voice sounds distant. He lights a cigarette and blows the smoke hard into the handset.
‘I had a brief chat to Emil Hagen,’ he says, inhaling deeply.
‘Who is he?’
‘A police officer from the investigation. Seems quite new. He bridled a little when I mentioned the stun gun.’
Henning gulps.
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t want to comment on it. Mahmoud still denies having done anything wrong, but he hasn’t said anything to prove his innocence, either, so the police aren’t really getting anywhere. He doesn’t have an alibi for the evening. You met the only person who could provide him with one, yesterday.’