Soon the aroma of freshly brewed coffee spreads across the kitchen. Henning thanks her when she puts a cup in front of him.
‘Tore said you’re a journalist,’ she says, half-asking half-accusing, and sits down opposite him.
‘Yes. I work for 123news.’
‘ 123news? As easy as 1, 2, 3?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Henning replies.
Nansen takes out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of her hoodie. She offers Henning a cigarette, but he shakes his head.
‘Good place to work, is it?’
‘No,’ he replies, and smiles quickly.
‘Why not?’ she says, and lights up. Henning stares at the flame.
‘I don’t know if I would like it anywhere in the media, to be honest.’
‘So why are you in this line of work?’ she asks, and blows out hard blue smoke through pursed lips.
‘It’s the only thing I’m good at.’
‘I don’t believe that. Everyone has hidden talents.’
‘In that case my talents are very well hidden.’
She smiles. ‘Isn’t there something you would like to do?’
Henning hesitates. ‘I like making music. Playing the piano.’
‘So why don’t you do that?’
‘I’m not good enough.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says me.’
A furrow appears on Nansen’s brow when she takes another drag of her cigarette.
‘Also, it’s been a while since I last played, so-’
‘Didn’t you just say that you enjoy playing?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why haven’t you played for a while?’ Nansen fixes him with her eyes.
‘Because — because I can’t bear it.’ Henning looks down, surprised at how quickly they have reached such an intimate point in their conversation. And the fact that they got there at all.
‘It reminds me of my son,’ he says, quietly. ‘And what… what-’
Henning can hear how desperate he sounds.
‘Tore told me what happened.’
Henning looks up. ‘Did he? What did he say?’
‘He said that you lost your son in a fire.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘No.’
Nansen doesn’t elaborate. She looks at the smoke that wafts randomly from the embers of the cigarette.
‘He hasn’t mentioned my son before?’
‘No. Why would he?’ she says.
Henning can’t think of a suitable reply. Nansen takes another tight-lipped drag.
‘You really should try to play again,’ she says, blowing the smoke up right in front of her face. ‘For your own sake. You never know, you might surprise yourself. It might do you good.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he says.
They drink coffee in silent seconds.
‘And you run a modelling agency?’
‘Yes,’ she says, matter-of-fact. ‘Someone has to look out for them.’
‘Is there that much to look out for?’
Nansen smiles faintly. ‘The things I’ve seen… One day I’ll write a book about it.’
‘Really?’
She nods and sucks the cigarette again.
‘Are you busy?’
‘Not at the moment. It has been tough, what with the recession and all that. I’ve had to lay off a lot of staff recently, and that’s never much fun. Tore being convicted of murder didn’t exactly help either.’
Her face darkens.
‘How has it been… since?’ Henning asks. Nansen sighs.
‘It has been tough, I won’t lie. I haven’t had the energy to go out much.’
She looks down. He can barely make out the contours of her face in the warm light from the kitchen window.
‘But,’ she says, and straightens up. ‘I’m boring you talking about myself. What do you want to know?’
‘As much as possible,’ Henning smiles.
‘I don’t really know how to begin,’ she says, looking at him. Her ponytail winds its way down one side of her neck like a blonde snake. Her eyes, ice blue and sharp, contain something Henning can’t quite fathom.
‘I’ve done some homework on the case,’ he begins. ‘I understand that Tore was arrested at the crime scene and that he had arranged to meet Jocke Brolenius there.’
Nansen nods, takes a final drag and stubs out the cigarette, grinding it into the ashtray.
‘Why did Tore ask Brolenius to meet with him?’
‘How much do you know about Vidar Fjell and all that?’
‘I’ve read that the murder of Jocke Brolenius was regarded as revenge for the murder of Vidar Fjell.’
Nansen nods again. ‘Vidar had worked with the Drug Rehabilitation Service for many years. Young addicts who were trying to get clean were encouraged to work out in his gym.’
‘You’re referring to Fighting Fit?’
‘Yes. Christ, what a name,’ she says, and rolls her eyes. ‘Anyway, Vidar received grants from the council so he could look after disadvantaged youths.’
‘Isn’t that the Inner City Project?’
‘It’s part of it, certainly. Vidar taught them how to work out and what workouts to do, and he tried to give them a sense of belonging. A couple of the young people he helped even ended up working there. Vidar was a really great guy.’
Nansen lights up another cigarette.
‘And he had a zero-tolerance policy as far as dope, steroids and all that were concerned. If you messed about with drugs in his gym, you were out on your ear. But Jocke Brolenius didn’t give a toss about that. He even tried to recruit some of the kids Vidar had managed to straighten out.’
Nansen curls her lips around the cigarette and sucks greedily.
‘Because of who Brolenius was, he was given a friendly warning first. But he didn’t listen, so Vidar threw him out.’
‘And Brolenius took offence?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Henning recalls that Fjell was attacked in his office and that he died of a brain haemorrhage as a result of the injuries he sustained. The fact that he was a haemophiliac and wasn’t found by one of his staff until the following day didn’t improve his chances.
‘Why didn’t the police arrest Brolenius?’
‘They interviewed him, as far as I know, but he denied having anything to do with the murder.’
‘And there was no incriminating evidence?’
‘No,’ Nansen replies, crossing her feet while she leans back. ‘But everyone knew it was him. When the police failed to do their job, it didn’t exactly calm the troubled waters down at Fighting Fit. But Tore put his foot down. He knew exactly what Brolenius was like and who his friends were, and he wanted to prevent a bloodbath. That was why he invited Brolenius to a meeting. To see if the two of them could settle the conflict.’
Henning tries to visualise the scenario.
‘Why did he think he could do that?’
‘I don’t know. I tried talking him out of it because I thought it was a crap idea.’
‘Did a lot of people know about this meeting?’
‘Yes, a fair number, I think. Everyone was talking about it, both here and at the gym. Tore eventually managed to convince them that nothing good would come from killing Brolenius. He asked them to trust him.’
Henning looks at her pensively.
‘So what do you think happened?’
‘I think that someone got there before Tore, killed Brolenius and ran off before Tore arrived.’
‘That sounds risky.’
‘Yes, perhaps. But they succeeded.’
‘They?’ Henning raises an eyebrow.
‘Yes, I don’t really know why I say that. But somehow it sounds more likely than “him” or “her”.’
Henning turns his head and looks across the kitchen. A long pause follows.
‘On the phone, you said to me, “if you knew what I know, you would have done Tore a favour and turned down the job.” What did you mean by that?’
Some moments pass before she answers.
‘It suits a lot of people very well that Tore is where he is.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’ Henning attempts a smile, but Nansen’s stern armour remains intact.
‘Let’s start with the police,’ she says, and blows smoke out into the room with an air of resignation. ‘They’ve been trying to get something on Tore for years. And when the opportunity finally presented itself, they grabbed it with both hands.’