Kare claps his hands. The room reverberates.
‘Bloody brilliant!’
Rikke smiles smugly.
‘And she has Norwegian ancestors.’
‘Can it get much better? Anything else?’
‘We’ve started a survey. “How often do you have sex?” It’s already attracting plenty of hits.’
‘Another magnet. Sucks in the reader. He-he. Sucks, get it?’
‘And we have another web hit: a sexologist says we need to prioritise sex in relationships. Might run it a little later today.’
Kare nods.
‘Well done, Rikke.’
He carries on, full steam ahead.
‘Heidi?’
Henning hadn’t noticed Heidi Kjus until then, but he does now. She is still skinny, her cheekbones are gaunt, the makeup around her hollow eyes is far too gaudy and she wears a lip gloss whose colour reminds him of fireworks and cheap champagne on New Year’s Eve. She leans forward and coughs.
‘Not much doubt about our big story today: the murder at Ekeberg Common. I’ve been informed that it is murder. Quite a brutal one. Police are holding a press conference later. Iver is going straight there and will be working on the story for the rest of the day. I’ve already spoken to him.’
‘Great. Henning should probably join him at the press conference. Right, Henning?’
Henning jumps at the sound of his name and says ‘hm?’ The pitch of his voice rises. He sounds like a ninety-year-old in need of a hearing aid.
‘The murder at Ekeberg Common. Press conference later today. Would be a good start for you, wouldn’t it?’
From ninety to newbie in four seconds. He clears his throat.
‘Yes, sure.’
He hears a voice, but fails to recognise it as his own.
‘Super. You all know Henning Juul, I presume. He needs no further introduction. You know what he’s been through, so please give him a warm welcome. No one deserves it more than him.’
Silence. The inside of his face is burning. The number of people in the room seems to have doubled in the last ten seconds and they are all staring at him. He wants to run. But he can’t. So he looks up and concentrates on a point on the wall, above all of them, in the hope they might think he is looking at someone else.
‘Time’s flying. I’ve another meeting. Anything else you need to know before you go off chasing clicks?’
Kare is addressing the duty editor, a man with black glasses, whom Henning has never seen before. The duty editor is about to say something, but Kare has already leapt from his chair.
‘That’s it, then.’
He leaves.
‘Ole and Anders, would you send me your lists, please?’The duty editor’s voice is meek. There is no reply. Henning is thrilled that the meeting is over, until the chairs are pushed back and a bottleneck is created at the door. People breathe down his neck, they bump into him accidentally, his breathing becomes constricted and claustrophobic, but he holds it together, he doesn’t push anyone out of the way, he doesn’t panic.
He exhales with relief when he gets outside. His forehead feels hot.
A murder so soon. Henning had hoped for a gentler return, time to find his feet, read up on stories, check out what has been happening, get in touch with old sources, re-learn publishing tools, office routines, discover where everything is kept, chat to his new colleagues, acclimatise gradually, get used to thinking about a story. No time for any of that now.
Chapter 5
Heading back to his desk, Henning expects the worst. Heidi Kjus appears not to have noticed him, and yet she twirls around on her chair to face him the instant he gets there. She stands up, smiles her brightest Colgate smile and holds out her hand.
‘Hi, Henning.’
Business. Courtesy. False smiles. He decides to play along. He shakes her hand.
‘Hi, Heidi.’
‘Good to have you back.’
‘It’s good to be back.’
‘That’s — eh, that’s good.’
Henning studies her. As always, her eyes radiate earnestness. She is ambitious for herself and for others. He prepares for the speech she has undoubtedly rehearsed:
Henning, you were my boss once. Times have changed. I’m your boss now. And I expect that you blahblahblah.
He is taken aback when it fails to materialise. Instead she surprises him for the second time.
‘I was sorry to hear about — to hear about what happened. I just want to say that if there’s anything you need, if you need more time off, just let me know. Okay?’
Her voice is warm like a rock face on a sunny afternoon. He thanks her for her concern, but for the first time in a long time, he feels an urge to get stuck in.
‘So Iver is going to the press conference?’ he says.
‘Yes, he worked late last night, so he’ll be going straight there.’
‘Who’s Iver?’
Heidi looks at him as if he has just suggested that the earth really is flat.
‘Is this a joke?’
He shakes his head.
‘Iver Gundersen? You don’t know who Iver Gundersen is?’
‘No.’
Heidi suppresses the urge to laugh out loud. She controls herself as if she has just realised that she is talking to a child.
‘We hired Iver from VG Nett last summer.’
‘Aha?’
‘He delivered big stories for them and he has continued to do that here. I know that TV2 are desperate to get him, but so far Iver has been loyal to us.’
‘I see. So you pay him well.’
Heidi looks at him as if he has sworn in church.
‘Eh, that’s not my area, but — ’
Henning nods and pretends to listen to the arguments which follow. He has heard them before. Loyalty. A concept that has worn thin in journalism. If he were being charitable, he might be able to name two reporters he would describe as loyal. The rest are careerists, ready to jump ship every time a fatter pay package is offered, or they are so useless that they couldn’t get a job anywhere else. When a relatively undistinguished VG Nett reporter is poached by a rival on-line publication, and later declines an offer from TV2, it’s bound to be about the money. It’s always about the money.
He registers Heidi expressing the hope that he and Iver will get along. Henning nods and says ‘mm’. He is good at saying ‘mm’.
‘You’ll get to meet each other at the press conference and then you can decide who will be doing what on this story. It’s a frenzied murder.’
‘What happened?’
‘My source tells me the victim was found inside a tent, half buried and stoned to death. I imagine the police have all sorts of theories. It’s obvious to consider foreign cultures.’
Henning nods, but he doesn’t like obvious thoughts.
‘Keep me informed about what you do, please?’ she says. He nods again and looks at the notebook on his desk, still in its wrapper. Brusquely, he rips off the wrapper and tries one of the four pens lying next to it. It doesn’t work. He tries the other three.
Damn.
Chapter 6
It’s not far from Urtegata to Gronland police station, where the press conference is being held. Henning takes his time and strolls through an area which Sture Skipsrud, his editor-in-chief, described as ‘a press Mecca’ when 123news relocated here. Henning thought it was very apt. Nettavisen is there, Dagens N?ringsliv has an ultra-modern office block close by and Mecca features in most flats in the neighbourhood. If you ignore the tarmac and the temperature, you might just as well be in Mogadishu. The aroma of different spices greets him at every corner.
Henning is reminded of the last time he was heading the same way. A man he had interviewed decided to kill himself a few hours later, and both the police and the man’s relatives wanted to know if Henning had said something or had opened old wounds which might have pushed the man over the edge.
Henning remembers him well. Paul Erik Holmen, forty-something. Two million kroner mysteriously went missing from a company Holmen was working for and Henning had more than suggested that the extravagant vacation Holmen had just taken, combined with the renovation of the family’s holiday cabin in Eggedal, might explain the whereabouts of the missing money. His sources were reliable, obviously. Holmen’s guilty conscience and the fear of being locked up got too much for him and consequently Henning found himself in one of the many interview rooms at the police station.