‘I’m not sure,’ Haaland says. ‘But I’ve met him, I think. He interviewed me a couple of days ago.’
‘Is he a reporter?’
‘He said he was, but now I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the interview he did with me was never published.’
Henning studies her. ‘Which newspaper was it?’
‘ Aftenposten. ’
‘And this man was called Furio?’
‘No,’ she says, looking down. ‘But he looked like Furio, the character in The Sopranos, if you’ve seen that.’
Henning nods. ‘Do you mean the type, or did he specifically resemble Furio?’
‘Both.’
Henning ponders this. ‘Do you remember anything else about him?’
‘No.’
‘What kind of questions did he ask you?’
‘He wanted to know how far I would go to protect my family. It was supposed to be for a survey in the newspaper, but-’
Again she shakes her head.
‘And you told Thorleif about the interview?’
Haaland nods tearfully.
‘But this Furio guy appears to have been in contact with Thorleif after you were interviewed?’
‘Yes, wouldn’t you think so when you look at this?’
Henning examines the drawing. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Did he speak Norwegian?’
She looks up at him at once. ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Thorleif has asked me the same question several times in the past few days, if the people I had come into contact with spoke Norwegian. I thought he had gone mad. Why do you want to know?’
‘Because Tore Pulli was convicted of killing a Swedish enforcer,’ Henning says, gravely.
‘And you think his friends used Thorleif to take revenge on Pulli?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says.
There is no reason why they would want to do that. Pulli was already in jail, and, according to his lawyer, there was no new evidence in the appeal which might lead to him being acquitted. And even if there had been, all that would mean is that Jocke Brolenius’s real killer is still out there. So why kill Pulli? Pulli must have had other enemies, Henning thinks. ‘Has anyone else around you been acting strangely?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And no other unusual events have occurred?’
‘No.’
Henning nods slowly to himself. There is silence for a few seconds. The cab slows down on Henrik Ibsensgate as they drive towards the National Theatre.
‘Our burglar alarm,’ Haaland exclaims and looks up.
‘Eh?’
‘A few days ago our burglar alarm stopped working.’
‘When was this?’
‘I don’t remember. Last Sunday, I think.’
‘What happened? How did you discover that it had stopped working?’
‘We had been out on a day trip — we tend to do this on Sundays — and we set the burglar alarm and locked the flat before we left. But when we came back, the alarm wasn’t working. Its power had been cut. Thorleif promised to fix it, but-’
She starts to cry again. Something occurs to Henning. The media has free access to prison inmates. The only item reporters are asked to hand over when they arrive is their mobile. No one is searched. Someone must have known about the interview, must have known which TV2 staff would be visiting the prison. It follows that the people who wanted Pulli dead must have identified and coerced whoever would be best placed to carry out the killing for them. The question is what they intend to do with Brenden afterwards, something which, now that he thinks about it, might explain why Brenden has gone missing.
It doesn’t bode well for Brenden; Henning shudders, and he looks at Haaland again. She dries her face. ‘Can you remember when Thorleif’s behaviour started to change?’
‘A couple of days later, I think. I’m not really sure.’
There is silence for a few more seconds as the cab approaches the police station.
‘This is a very important lead,’ Henning says, pointing at the drawing. ‘You need to tell the police everything you know, tell them about the burglar alarm, everything you remember about this Furio character. They will probably ask you to help them make an E-fit.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ she says and starts to cry again.
‘They’ll help you,’ Henning assures her and puts his hand on her shoulder. ‘They’re very good at these things. Ask to speak to DI Brogeland.’
Haaland nods and tries to pull herself together as the cab stops outside the police station.
‘Will you be writing about this?’ she asks him.
‘It’s my job.’
‘No matter what you write then, please don’t say anything that makes Thorleif sound guilty. I know what people think when they read the papers. I don’t want my children to hear what their father might have done at their school or in nursery. Will you promise me that?’
‘If you like I can give you a call and read the article to you before it’s uploaded.’
‘I don’t know if I have the energy,’ she says, weakly. ‘Besides, you look — you look… decent.’
Henning grins. ‘Can I have that in writing, please?’
Her tearful smile fills him with compassion. ‘I have to go,’ she says. ‘They’re waiting for me.’
‘Okay. Don’t give up, Elisabeth.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ she says and gets out of the cab.
Chapter 68
Orjan Mjones has to stop himself from laughing out loud. Everyone he meets on his way into Oslo Central Station quickly averts their eyes when he pretends to look them up and down. He can easily understand why someone would want to join the police. Having the power to make people shrink the moment they see a uniform even though they haven’t done anything wrong. When you think about it, it is ridiculous.
He goes over to the ticket office, nods to a woman behind the glass and asks to speak to ‘someone in charge’ — a safe bet since all offices have a manager. She gives him a name he doesn’t catch, but further into the office a corpulent man gets up from a chair. The man grabs hold of his belt and hoists up his trousers, peers out through the glass and walks reluctantly towards the door. Soon he joins Mjones outside.
‘Inspector Stian Henriksen, Oslo Police,’ Mjones says, holding out his hand.
‘Terje Eggen. How can I help you?’
‘We’re looking for this man,’ Mjones says, holding up the picture Flurim Ahmetaj printed out for him. ‘He is wanted in connection with a murder, and we have reason to believe that he was here at Oslo Central Station around one o’clock yesterday afternoon. We also believe that he left Oslo on a train that departed around that time. I need a list of all one o’clock departures.’
‘I’m sure that should be possible. Do you mean one o’clock precisely?’
‘A few minutes either side would be fine. Let’s say between 12.50 and 13.10, then we have a margin to work with.’
‘Okay.’
Eggen disappears back inside the glass office. Mjones waits outside until he returns a few minutes later with a printout. Mjones studies it and nods sternly.
‘I also need a list of ticket inspectors working on those trains. I want to start with the trains going furthest, and I’ll contact you again if I need the names of anybody else.’
‘I’ll have to ring around to get those for you. It could take some time.’
‘I can wait.’
Eggen is about to go back inside the glass office when he stops and turns around. ‘There are more than 500 cameras at the station,’ Eggen says, looking up. ‘There is bound to be a recording of him.’
Mjones improvises. ‘My officers are looking into that, obviously. However, it’s not enough to know which train he boarded. We also need to know where he got off. And I believe that the ticket inspectors are best placed to answer that question.’
Eggen nods. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-’
‘Not at all.’
Mjones smiles. Pretending to be a police officer is great fun.