‘Hanne’s not the sort to turn away a battered whore,’ Mary fumed. ‘Now get out the way. Now!’
‘Hanne,’ Johanne called again, louder this time. ‘Come here!’
The wheelchair appeared at the end of the hall, silhouetted against the glass wall where the trees cast long evening shadows into the flat.
Slowly she rolled towards them, the rubber wheels squeaking ever so slightly on the wooden floor.
‘This one needs a bath,’ Mary pleaded. ‘And something to eat, maybe. Be nice, Hanne, please. You’re a kind-hearted soul.’
Hanne Wilhelmsen rolled closer.
‘Madam President,’ she said and bowed her head before looking up again and holding her breath for a moment. ‘Come in, please. Let’s see what we can do to help you.’
XXV
‘So, let me just sum up,’ Adam said. ‘So there’s no misunderstandings.’He ran his fingers through his hair, then turned the chair round before sitting down so his stomach was against the back of it. He was balancing a red felt pen between his index finger and his thumb.
‘You were rung by a man you’ve never met before.’
Gerhard Skrøder nodded.
‘And you don’t know where he’s from or what he’s called.’
Gerhard shook his head.
‘Nor what he looks like, obviously.’
The arrestee scratched his neck and looked at the table, embarrassed.
‘It wasn’t exactly a video phone.’
‘So.’ Adam spoke with exaggerated slowness and put his hands over his face. ‘You’re sitting here saying that you took a job from a man you have only spoken to on the phone and you don’t even know his name. Someone you’ve never met.’
‘It’s not that unusual, that.’
Ove Rønbeck, his lawyer, twitched his hand in warning.
‘I mean, it’s not so strange…’
‘Yes, I think it is. What did he sound like?’
‘Sound like?’
Gerhard wriggled back on his chair like a teenager who’d been caught taking liberties with a reluctant girl.
‘What language did he speak?’ Adam asked.
‘He was Norwegian, I think.’
‘I see,’ Adam said, and let out a long breath. ‘So he spoke Norwegian?’
‘No.’
‘No? So why did you come to the conclusion that he was Norwegian?’
Rønbeck raised his hand and opened his mouth, but immediately sat back in his chair again when Adam turned to face him.
‘You have a right to be here,’ he said. ‘But don’t interrupt. I don’t need to remind you how serious this case is for your client. And for once I’m not actually that interested in Gerhard Skrøder. I just want to know as much as possible about the anonymous man who gave you the job.’
He screamed this at Gerhard, who pulled back even more. His chair was right up against the wall now, so there was no room to tip it, as he normally did. His eyes were evasive, so Adam leant forward and pulled off his cap.
‘Did your mother not teach you that boys should take their hats off indoors?’ he asked. ‘Why did you think the man was Norwegian?’
‘He didn’t speak proper English, like. More like… with an accent.’
Gerhard was scratching his crotch furiously.
‘You should go to the doctor about that,’ Adam said. ‘Stop it.’
He got up and went over to a cabinet by the door. He picked up the last bottle of mineral water, opened it, and drank half in one go.
‘Do you know what?’ He suddenly laughed. ‘You’re so used to lying that you don’t know how to tell a story properly, even when you’ve decided on it yourself. Talk about occupational injury.’
He put the bottle down and sat on the chair again. With his hands folded behind his neck, he leant back and closed his eyes.
‘Carry on,’ he said calmly. ‘As if you were telling a fairytale to a child, if it’s at all possible for you to imagine something like that.’
‘I’ve got two nephews,’ Gerhard told him curtly. ‘I bloody know what kids are like.’
‘Good. Excellent. What are they called?’
‘Huh?’
‘What are your nephews called?’ repeated Adam, with his eyes still closed.
‘Atle and Oscar.’
‘OK, I’ll be Atle, and Rønbeck over there can be Oscar. Now tell us what happened when Uncle Gerhard got a paid job from a man he’d never met.’
Gerhard didn’t respond. He was poking at a hole in his camouflages.
‘Once upon a time,’ Adam started. ‘Come on. Once upon a time, Uncle Gerhard…’
‘… got a phone call,’ said Gerhard.
There was silence.
Adam made a circular movement with his hand.
‘… from an anonymous number,’ Gerhard continued. ‘It didn’t show up on the display screen. I answered. The man spoke English. But it was as if… as if he wasn’t English, like. He sounded kind of Norwegian… in a way.’
‘Uhuh,’ encouraged Adam.
‘There was something… weird about his language, anyway. He said that he had a really easy deal to offer and that there was loads of dosh to be had.’
‘Can you remember if he said “dosh” or something else?’
‘Money, I think. Yes. Money.’
‘And this was on…’ Adam leafed through his notes, ‘the third of May,’ he said, and looked askance at Gerhard, who gave a faint nod and continued to pull at the hole in his trousers. ‘Tuesday the third of May, in the afternoon. We’ll get a printout of your log so we can check the time.’
‘But, it’s-’
‘You can’t-’
Rønbeck and his client protested at the same time.
‘Take it easy, take it easy!’ Adam groaned in exasperation. ‘Your telephone log is the least of your problems right now. We’ll come back to that. Carry on. You’re not very good at telling stories. Now concentrate.’
The lawyer and Gerhard exchanged glances. Rønbeck nodded.
‘He said that I should keep the sixteenth and seventeenth of May clear,’ Gerhard mumbled.
‘Keep them clear?’
‘Yes. Not make any plans. Stay sober. Be in Oslo. Available, like.’
‘And you didn’t know the man who rang?’
‘No.’
‘But you still said that was fine. You would drop the biggest street party of the year because a stranger phoned and asked you to keep the day clear. Well, well.’
‘It was the money. It was a lot of bloody money.’
‘How much?’
There was a long pause. Gerhard grabbed his cap and almost by reflex was about to put it on when he changed his mind and laid it back on the table. He still didn’t say anything. He was staring at the hole in his trousers.
‘OK,’ Adam said eventually. ‘We get the amount later. What more were you told?’
‘Nothing. Just that I should wait.’
‘For what?’
‘A phone call. On the sixteenth of May.’
‘And did you get one?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘In the afternoon. Can’t remember exactly. Around four, maybe. Yes, just after four. I was going to meet some mates in Grünerløkka for a beer before the match. Vålerenga versus Fredrikstad at Ullevål. The guy rang just before I went out.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing really. He just wanted to know what I was up to.’
‘What you were up to?’
‘My plans for the evening, like. If I’d stick to the arrangement. That I wouldn’t drink and all that. Then he said that I had to be home by eleven at the latest. He said it would be worth it. That it would pay well. So I…’
He shrugged, and Adam could have sworn that he blushed.
‘I had a beer or three with the boys, watched the match and went home. The score was nil-nil, so there wasn’t much to celebrate anyway. Was home before eleven. And…’
His discomfort was tangible now. He scratched his shoulder under his sweater and rolled his buttocks from side to side on the chair. His right thigh was shaking noticeably and he was blinking continuously.