A waiter with bed hair and large bags under his eyes comes over to them.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Henning asks his guest.
‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’
‘Two coffees,’ Henning says to the waiter, who turns around instantly without saying a word. Henning holds up his new mobile. ‘Would you mind if I record our conversation?’
‘No, no. That’s fine.’
Henning presses the red button in the centre of the active screen and checks that it starts recording.
‘As I explained to you on the telephone,’ he clears his throat, ‘I’m working on this case.’
‘Yes, so I gather.’
Henning is about to ask his first question when his mobile rings.
‘I’m sorry, I have to-’
‘That’s all right,’ Ophus says and holds up his hands. Henning looks at the number. Unknown. He ignores the call.
‘Let’s try again,’ he smiles. ‘So you worked as a fire investigator all your life?’
‘That’s right,’ Ophus says, proudly. ‘I guess I’ve investigated more cases than anyone else in Norway. The insurance companies were keen to snatch me up when I retired, but once I had decided it was time to stop, I wanted to stop completely — though I have to admit I’m starting to regret my decision.’
‘Too much weeding?’
Ophus nods and smiles as he accepts the clattering china cup from the sleepy waiter.
‘What is the most common cause of a domestic fire?’
‘Carelessness,’ Ophus replies and slurps his coffee greedily. ‘Around one in four fires are started by naked flames, cigarettes and candles. People are careless with ashes. It doesn’t cross their minds that something could still be burning or smouldering long after the flames have burned down. Then you have people playing with lighters — and fireworks, of course. Things like that.’ Ophus gestures.
‘A fair number of fires are caused by people boiling a kettle dry or overheating a cooker or covering electric heaters. These days we all have so many electrical products and the quality varies enormously. Around 20 per cent of all fires are caused by faulty electric goods.’
Henning leans across the table.
‘What about arson?’
‘Roughly 10 per cent of all fires are started deliberately. We never succeed in identifying the cause of around double that number. And finally some fires are caused by lightning or people immolating themselves.’
Henning makes a quick note on the pad lying in front of him.
‘Is it difficult to investigate a fire?’
‘Yes, very much so. Most of the time the fire will have wiped out any evidence there might have been. Besides, even the most experienced investigator never stops learning.’
‘And the police must investigate all fires by law, am I right?’
‘Indeed they must.’
Henning’s mobile rings again. Unknown is calling him a second time, he notices, but he continues to ignores it.
‘How do they do that?’
‘Eh?’
‘How do the police go about investigating a fire?’
‘Have you ever heard about the Five Es rule?’
‘No, what’s that?’
Ophus smiles and takes a run at it: ‘Evidence, Examination, Evaluation, Elimination and Enforcement.’
Henning grins.
‘How long did it take you to come up with that?’
‘Weeks. No. Months!’ Ophus smiles again.
Silence falls at the table while Ophus drinks his coffee. Henning looks at his notes. ‘So approximately 10 per cent of all fires are arson?’
‘Around 10 per cent, yes.’
Henning nods. He feels the scars on his face burn as if they were being licked by flames. Slowly, he looks up at Ophus.
‘My flat burned down two years ago,’ Henning says and looks down again. ‘I lost my son.’
‘Oh, how awful.’
‘That was when I got these.’ Henning points to his scars. ‘I had to jump through a wall of flames to get to my son, but-’
He doesn’t manage to complete the sentence. He never does. ‘I think the fire was started deliberately.’
‘What makes you think that?’ Ophus asks after an unashamed slurp of his coffee. Henning cringes. He is only too aware that his argument is low on evidence.
‘I don’t know, really. It’s a hunch I have, a gut feeling, call it what you will. And then there is-’
Henning breaks off, thinking that there is no point in telling a man like Ophus about his dreams and the images he sees in them. He shakes his head softly. ‘It’s just something I believe.’
Ophus nods quietly while he raises his cup to his lips. ‘When did it happen?’
‘11 September 2007.’
‘That’s after my time, sorry.’
Henning gives him a deflated look before lowering his gaze.
‘What did the police say? I presume they investigated the fire?’ Ophus looks at him over the rim of his cup and narrows his eyes.
‘Yes,’ Henning says. ‘And they concluded that the cause of the fire was unknown.’
‘But you believe it was started deliberately?’
Henning tries to straighten up, but he slumps immediately and hugs himself. ‘I’ve no idea how it could have been done,’ he admits.
Ophus finally takes a sip of his coffee and puts down the cup with a clatter. ‘What did the police report say?’
‘I’ve never saw it myself, but I’ve heard they concluded that the fire most likely started in the hallway.’
‘Did the fire start while you were at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any sign of a break-in?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Did you lock the door?’
‘I don’t remember. I’ve no memory of anything that happened in the days and weeks leading up to the fire. But I think so. I always used to lock the door even when I was at home during the day, but I can’t remember if I locked it that evening.’
‘Didn’t you have smoke detectors fitted?’
The rhythm of Ophus’s questions and Henning’s answers breaks down. The cobblestones stare back at him accusingly.
‘I did have one, but the battery was dead and I-’ Henning tries to look up while he gulps.
‘And the police found no foot- or fingerprints, no other evidence, DNA-’
Henning shakes his head.
‘And yet you still believe that someone started a fire in your home?’
‘Yes.’
Ophus leans back in his chair. At that moment, Henning’s mobile rings for the third time. Henning glances irritably at the display. Unknown.
‘I’m sorry, I-’
‘Go on, answer it. I’m in no rush.’
‘Is that all right? Are you sure that-’
‘Yes, absolutely. I don’t mind.’
‘Thank you, I’ll-’
Henning waves his hand without quite knowing why. Ophus nods sympathetically. Henning takes the call.
‘Henning Juul?’
‘Yes?’
‘Henning Juul, the reporter?’
‘That’s me, yes. Who is this?’
‘My name is Tore Pulli.’
Henning straightens up and says hi.
‘Do you remember me?’
‘I know who you are. What’s this about?’
Pulli doesn’t reply. Henning moistens his lips in the silence that follows. ‘Why are you calling me?’ he asks.
‘I’ve got a story for you,’ Pulli says.
‘What kind of story?’
‘I can’t tell you over the phone.’
‘All right. Listen, I would like to talk to you, but I’m a bit busy right now. Could I get you to call me back later? Preferably during office hours?’
‘I can’t-’
‘Great,’ Henning interrupts him. ‘Thanks very much.’
He ends the call and smiles quickly at Ophus, who is watching the increasingly busy traffic. Henning exhales hard.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says and is rewarded with another understanding smile.
‘But back to our conversation,’ Ophus says, looking at Henning. ‘I have to be honest with you. If the police investigation has made no progress in two years, there’s little that can be done now. Finding fresh evidence is out of the question. I assume that your flat was demolished or renovated following the fire?’