‘Because I can’t work out why Tore was so keen to talk to me. There aren’t that many journalists in Norway, certainly not crime reporters, so I can’t ignore the fact that Tore might have known who I was before he was locked up. But how did he know that I was back at work?’
Gronningen keeps his eyes fixed on Henning for a few seconds before they glide away.
‘Tore doesn’t have access to the Internet in prison. And the only person to visit Tore, apart from Veronica, was you.’
Gronningen briefly meets his eyes again before they disappear out into the room.
‘Did you tell him I was back at work?’
‘Me? No.’
Henning makes no reply, but looks directly at Gronningen. ‘Do you know if Tore knew who I was before he went to prison?’
‘No idea.’
Henning takes a deep breath. I’m getting nowhere, he thinks. Every door slams in my face. ‘Okay,’ he says and signals that he is about to leave. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
Gronningen nods to indicate that Henning is welcome.
‘I’ll probably see you on Tuesday,’ Henning adds. ‘Good luck with the eulogy.’
‘Thanks.’
Chapter 80
The bell above the entrance to Fighting Fit chimes energetically as Henning arrives and steps on to the purple carpet. He walks up to the reception counter. The girl who was behind it before is there again today. Like the last time, she looks up and pushes her chest up and out as he comes over. Her T-shirt, which displays a Pondus cartoon he has seen before, briefly attracts his attention.
‘Kent Harry Hansen?’ he enquires and sees that the woman recognises him. She manages a bored nod towards the back room before her fringe falls over her eyes again. Henning thanks her, and, as he starts to walk, the popular Prima Vera song about the Swedes starts to play on the loudspeakers. Henning doesn’t bother knocking, he just walks straight into Hansen’s office.
‘I’ll call you back,’ Hansen says and puts down the handset. He gets up and looks at Henning. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes,’ Henning says, aggressively and without introducing himself. ‘The man who interviewed you yesterday is in hospital, beaten to a pulp.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes, he is.’
Henning looks at Hansen’s unruffled face and shifts his gaze to Hansen’s hands. No evidence of recent fighting. ‘Would you know anything about that?’
‘Me? Why would I?’
Henning doesn’t reply. Instead, he studies Hansen’s eyes, but he can’t read anything in them.
‘Sometimes he upsets people. He told me he had got on the wrong side of you.’
‘Yes, but I don’t go round beating people up for that.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do. You have people who do it for you.’
Hansen scoffs. ‘As I said to that journalist, I don’t know what you think we’re doing in here. And I don’t know who the hell you think you are, coming here, hurling accusations about-’
‘My name is Henning Juul,’ Henning interrupts him. ‘I asked Iver to talk to you about Tore Pulli. I got him into this mess. I don’t know what questions he asked you, but I gave him the ammunition. If you have a problem with the press or your operation here can’t stand a little close scrutiny then take it up with me. Don’t beat people up in dark alleys.’
‘Listen, I don’t know what you think you’re-’
‘It’s either you or Even Nylund who sent some heavies to tell Iver to shut up and back off.’
‘I think you should leave now.’
‘Or you’ll beat me up, too?’
Hansen looks at Henning for a long second before he quickly moves past the desk, grabs hold of Henning’s upper arm and pushes him out of the office. Prima Vera is halfway through the chorus, Henning can hear, as Hansen shoves him in the back and Henning has to take a step to the side to avoid falling over.
‘Get out of here,’ Hansen thunders.
‘Thanks for talking to me,’ Henning says with sarcasm, but he does as he is told. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the for-now-gentle receptionist staring at him.
Chapter 81
The sound of a car approaching is unmistakable. Thorleif sits up, goes straight to the kitchen window and looks outside. Down the road an Audi comes to a halt before it turns left, towards the cabin. Thorleif’s heart skips a beat. Panicking, he considers rushing to the larder to hide when he notices an estate agent’s sign at the roadside by the crossroads. The sign wasn’t there yesterday.
There must be a viewing at one of the cabins this weekend, he concludes. It could attract many potential buyers. Thorleif swears softly. He hears the car spray gravel as it comes down the road. He steps back behind the curtain as it drives past. With a sigh he sits down at the dining table where a notepad and pen are waiting for him.
When he came home last night he began to write, inspired by Mia, the hotel receptionist. He did it in an attempt to keep himself busy since he couldn’t concentrate on reading, and he realised at once how good it felt to express himself in the old-fashioned way again. Writing on a computer is so quick by comparison.
He started with the man who forced him to kill Tore Pulli, tried to describe him in as much detail as possible in case he needed to remember it later. Then he tried to articulate what he had been through in the past week. At the end he realised that what he had written was a confession and an apology to Tore Pulli’s family and to his own. It was as if the words took on a will of their own.
It’s Saturday, Thorleif thinks. It’s almost twelve hours since he emailed Iver Gundersen. Perhaps Gundersen was working last night or he is at work today. Worst-case scenario is he won’t see Thorleif’s email until Monday. But he might get his emails forwarded to his mobile; he might be one of those people who can’t help checking their messages all the time. It could mean that Gundersen has already taken action and contacted someone he knows or trusts.
There is still hope, Thorleif says to himself.
Never give up hope.
Chapter 82
Henning finds Nora on a chair outside the intensive-care unit where Iver is being monitored. Her skin is pale. The circles under her eyes have grown more noticeable, but she is just as beautiful as she always was. She stands up when Henning approaches her.
‘How is he?’ he asks. ‘Any change?’
She shakes her head.
‘He hasn’t regained consciousness yet?’
‘No.’
‘So what are the doctors saying?’
‘Not much. They’re just waiting for him to wake up.’
Henning nods and concentrates on her. ‘And how are you?’
She looks up. Her eyes are swollen.
‘Forget it,’ he says. ‘Stupid question. Have you had something to eat?’
She stares at him as if the concept of food is alien to her.
‘You have to eat something, Nora.’
There is silence for a few seconds. Then she says ‘You too, Henning.’
They stand there looking at each other.
‘Then let’s do that,’ he says.
They sit in the hospital’s cafe clutching warm mugs. Henning has coffee, Nora drinks tea. As always, each has taken two sugars. He bought a ham and cheese baguette and had it heated up in the cafe’s microwave oven, but neither Henning nor Nora are in a rush to sink their teeth into the chewy bread.
He studies her in brief flashes. He has never noticed until now how small vertical lines appear to be carved into her lips with a careful scalpel. It feels weird to be with her again after everything that has happened. Nora stares vaguely at something with a glowing melancholy in her eyes.
‘The police haven’t found the person who did it,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Iver’s attacker. The police haven’t got much to go on at the moment.’
‘Right.’