‘And did they have any reasons for wanting to get Tore?’
Nansen taps the ash off her cigarette with an angry index finger.
‘No one is saying that Tore was a choirboy, at least not until he stopped working as a debt collector. But he didn’t kill Brolenius. He was trying to prevent Brolenius getting killed. But when the police discovered that there was some evidence that implicated Tore, it suited them perfectly. It meant they didn’t have to look for anyone else.’
‘So the police deliberately failed to investigate important leads. Is that what you’re saying?’
Nansen sucks in one last drag before stubbing out the cigarette.
‘The police force is riddled with incompetent two-faced idiots.’
The glance she throws out into the room is bitter, but she doesn’t elaborate. Henning considers the wisdom of discussing this particular topic with her.
‘So who could have killed Brolenius — if Tore didn’t do it?’
‘It must have been one of those morons Tore surrounded himself with.’
‘You’re referring to his friends at Fighting Fit.’
She nods and looks away.
‘Tore’s so-called friends,’ she says, acidly. The darkness in her eyes is still there when she continues, ‘How many of them have visited Tore in prison, do you think?’
Henning looks at her quizzically.
‘Just one,’ she says, holding up a single finger in the air. ‘Just one.’
‘And that is?’
‘Geir. Geir Gronningen. I suppose you could say he’s one of the more decent of that bunch. He’s still a moron, though. And that was one of the reasons I was so sceptical when you called.’
‘In what way is he decent?’
‘Geir has been trying to help Tore ever since he was first arrested. But he hasn’t managed to find out a sodding thing. And then you turn up out of nowhere, and-’
She interrupts herself.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to-’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Henning says. ‘But Gronningen, who is he? What does he do?’
‘I think he still works as a debt collector, not that I have much contact with him these days. He also works as a doorman in a strip club in Majorstua. Asgard, it’s called, or something like that.’
‘Who runs Fighting Fit now?’
‘A guy called Kent Harry Hansen.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Well,’ she says, after a short pause. ‘I don’t really know how to answer that. There certainly isn’t much left of Vidar’s old gym, that much I can tell you.’
‘What do you mean?’
Nansen looks at him for a little while before she continues. ‘I think Kent Harry is happy to look the other way when it comes to drugs. I also think people call him up when they need some muscle. And there is a lot of that in the gym.’
Henning nods again.
‘Do you have any more names?’
‘There’s Petter Holte, Tore’s cousin. He works as a doorman at Asgard and is a wannabe debt collector, though I can’t imagine that Kent Harry would ever dare to use him. Tore certainly never did even though Petter was always pestering him.’ Nansen looks him straight in the eye as she explains. ‘When Tore was still involved with his old life he got so many requests he had to outsource some of his work for a while. He passed on several jobs to Geir, that much I do know, but never to Petter. Petter had a temper.’
Henning, who has forgotten to drink his coffee for several minutes, raises the cup to his lips again.
‘There are plenty of other morons down at the gym,’ Nansen goes on. ‘Or… at least there used to be. I don’t have very much to do with them these days.’
Henning looks out of the window. Outside in the street a tram glides past.
‘Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Tore is innocent,’ Henning says, looking at her. ‘That means someone managed to beat up and murder Jocke Brolenius, a hardened criminal, something which in itself is no easy matter. But not only that: the same person also made it look as if Tore did it.’
Nansen doesn’t reply. She just looks at him.
‘It would require brains,’ Henning says, tapping his forehead. ‘And a level head. Do you think that any of the people you’ve mentioned so far fits that description?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says, quietly.
‘You keep referring to them as morons.’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But that is mostly because I hate everything they stand for. Everything they are.’
‘You blame them,’ he says. ‘That’s understandable.’
She sighs and takes out another cigarette.
‘It’s just so bloody frustrating,’ she bursts out. ‘I know that Tore is innocent, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it!’
She squeezes the lighter hard.
‘And you don’t have any theories about who could have done it? Anyone who would have wanted to make life difficult for Tore or avenge the murder of Vidar Fjell?’
She shakes her head.
A long silence ensues.
‘So what do you think?’ she says, and looks up at him. ‘What do you think you can do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Henning says, and exhales heavily. ‘But I think I’m going to need my gym bag.’
Chapter 13
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Julie Brenden whines. She tries to wriggle out of the car seat, but the seat belt keeps her in place.
‘Not long to go now, darling,’ Elisabeth replies, turning around. ‘Isn’t that right, Daddy?’
‘It’s just over there,’ Thorleif says, as the popular Bogstad Lake, where people go swimming in the summer and skiing in the winter, appears behind the trees. On the far shore, the manicured fairways of the fashionable Oslo Golf Club sparkle in the late summer sun.
‘Oh dear,’ Elisabeth exclaims as they turn into Bogstad Farm. ‘We’re not the only ones who thought of this.’
Thorleif looks at the sea of cars parked outside the farm. He lets the car roll across the thick cobblestones. There isn’t a single vacant parking space to be seen.
‘I’ll drop you off outside the entrance and then I’ll look for somewhere to park,’ he says.
‘That would be great.’
He drives them as close as he can and stops. Elisabeth and Pal get out. Thorleif helps Julie out of her car seat. ‘I’ll be with you very soon,’ he says to Elisabeth. ‘Keep your mobile on so I can find you.’
Elisabeth doesn’t seem to hear him; instead she extends her hand towards the children and waves them eagerly over to her. Julie jumps and skips across the cobblestones. Thorleif is about to repeat his request when he notices a dark-blue BMW right behind him.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he says, holding up a hand apologetically. He quickly gets into the car and drives off. Soon he is back on the road. It’ll be a long walk back, he concludes. Both sides of the road are wallpapered with cars. The BMW is still right up his tail.
A car park appears to his left. Expectant-looking families are getting out of their cars. I’ll try my luck here, Thorleif thinks, and turns into it. He drives slowly across the gravel while scouting for a vacant space.
There! A single vacant space. He presses the accelerator and slips in before someone else grabs it. Triumphantly, he turns off the engine and sits there for a while feeling the sun heat the car. Thorleif removes his seat belt, and, as he does so, he looks in the rear-view mirror. The dark-blue BMW is quietly blocking him in. The driver appears to be staring at him. Thorleif tries to work out if the man wants something from him, but it doesn’t appear to be the case.
As Thorleif gets out, the wheels of the BMW dig into the ground and tear it up. Thorleif follows the car with his eyes as it turns right at the end of the car park and accelerates towards the exit. He notices the driver’s fair skin and ponytail. The car indicates left and drives off at speed towards Oslo.
Chapter 14