Henning takes a sip of his coffee. He knows there are other people present, but the only face he sees is Nora’s. It is like being caught in a force field. Even if he could, he isn’t sure that he would want to escape. Sitting here, opposite her, with food and drink on the table between them, makes it difficult not to remember the golden hours before everything became so bloody complicated. Before Jonas. And he knows deep down, in his heart of hearts, that they loved each other once.
For a while they eat in silence, and though Henning knows that it belongs to their past life, he recognises the feeling of companionship, the idea of a joint project where pauses are permitted so that the silence which follows each sentence can embrace them. But then the silence becomes uncomfortable and he knows that the longer they sit there without saying anything, the harder talking will be.
‘There is something I need to tell you.’
Nora takes a bite of her baguette and chews it absent-mindedly. Henning takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve discovered a clue,’ he says, uncertain as to how to continue.
‘What do you mean? What kind of clue?’
‘A clue that relates to the fire.’
‘The fire? What do you… ’ Her mouth opens.
‘I know that somebody set fire to my flat… our old flat… my place, on the day that-’
For no reason he makes a fencing movement with one arm.
‘Henning, what are you-’
‘Just listen to me, Nora, please,’ he interrupts her. ‘I know I’m right. And now I’ve discovered a clue which I believe changes the case. The day of the fire… Tore Pulli was outside my flat that day, and-’
Nora’s mug hits the table with a bang. ‘Henning, what the hell are you talking about? What clue? What case? Tore Pulli? Are you sitting there telling me that someone caused Jonas’s death? Is that what you’re saying to me?’
‘I-’
‘What the hell does Tore Pulli have to do with anything?’
Henning searches for the start of a sentence that will extinguish the embers he sees in her eyes, but he finds nothing. Nora pushes the chair out behind her.
‘Christ, Henning, I knew that you were mad‚ but not that you had lost the plot completely.’
‘Nora, please-’
‘Forget it. Just forget it. I don’t want to hear another word about it, I can’t bear it. And don’t come here again. Please, don’t come here again.’
On her way out she bumps into her chair, which almost falls over. People stand back to make way for her. Henning sees that she is crying as she leaves the cafe.
He doesn’t move for several minutes. You idiot, he says to himself. It has taken you almost two years to be able to breathe normally when Nora is in the same room as you. And then you go and ruin everything. And, honestly, what did he think would happen? That she would jump for joy and say, ‘ Well done, Henning. I’m thrilled that you’ve found a clue. Come here, I always knew that one day you would discover who killed our son. My all-time hero! ’
He should have tested the waters first, found out what Nora thought about that day, if she shares his suspicions. When he thinks about it, he knows that she has crossed Jonas out. Not deep down, because she carries him in her heart, but she applies correction fluid every day.
He shakes his head at himself. Great, Henning. Well played.
Chapter 83
They ought to rename this dump Hole, Orjan Mjones thinks, as he gets back on the train after spending three hours wandering around the centre and vicinity of Gol. He is fed up with hotels and motels and bars and cafes, especially since none of the people inside them have seen anything of Thorleif Brenden. Durim might be right when he said it would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Nor have the other two got anywhere in Fla and Nesbyen. They are on their way to Al and Geilo now. Mjones remembers what Langbein said. The clock is ticking.
He finds an empty seat by the window and updates Durim and Jeton before he rests his head against the wall and weighs up the situation. Brenden might have sat in this very seat. What did he think? What plans did he make?
Mjones rings Flurim Ahmetaj, taking care to speak quietly into the mobile. ‘Have you found out if Number One has friends or relatives or any other links to the area between Fla and Finse?’
‘I haven’t discovered any.’
‘He wasn’t stationed here when he was in the army?’
‘No. He did his military service in Jorstadmoen.’
‘Do a wider search on the guy, check his Facebook profile, see if any of his friends live around here.’
Ahmetaj sighs. ‘We should have wrapped this up two days ago. I have other things to do. If you need my services after today you’ll have to stump up some more dosh.’
‘You’ll carry on working until the job is done. That was the deal.’
‘Yes, and the job you wanted done finished on Thursday. Today is Saturday. So how much extra are you going to pay me?’
Mjones sighs as he shakes his head. ‘Let’s discuss your fee when I’m back. In the meantime I want you to-’
‘No.’
‘What did you say?’
‘“Discuss your fee”? What the hell do you think this is?’
Mjones takes a deep breath. ‘What will it take for you or the three of you to stick with this job until it’s done?’
‘Twenty a day.’
Mjones shakes his head. ‘I’ll give you ten.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Agreed. But then you had better come up with something useful.’
‘Now, now old man. I’ve got some news for you. I’ve lost the feed at Number Two’s flat. The cops turned up and searched the place. They found the cameras and took them away.’
Mjones ends the call and feels like hurling the mobile against the wall. Soon afterwards they pass Al.
Al. Gol. Where the hell do they get those names from?
Chapter 84
Henning walks under the ruby-red canopy and stops in front of the two doormen outside Asgard. He looks at them in turn.
‘Which one of you is Petter Holte?’ he asks.
The doormen exchange glances before the bigger one pushes his chest up and out.
‘You don’t seem to be answering your phone,’ Henning says.
Holte makes no reply, he merely stares at him blankly. The light above the entrance shines on the bald patch on Holte’s head. There is a dense crescent of stubble around his pate.
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ Henning continues.
‘And you are?’
‘My name is Henning Juul.’
Holte looks at him, but shows no signs of recognition. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘No, but I know you. You’re Tore Pulli’s cousin.’
Holte doesn’t reply.
‘Are you going in or what?’ the other doorman says.
‘In a moment. I just need to have a quick word with Petter first. I’m a reporter.’
‘I don’t talk to reporters,’ Holte says, far from impressed.
‘Oh, you don’t? But perhaps you beat them up?’
Henning watches Holte closely as his muscles tense and his face darkens. Henning reacts by straightening up.
‘A colleague of mine was beaten up last night. Before that he had been here.’
Henning has to narrow his eyes in order to see Holte’s pupils in the dim light.
‘We don’t know anything about that,’ the other doorman says.
Henning focuses exclusively on Holte. ‘Why are you wearing gloves?’
Holte looks down at his hands before he steps forwards. His tanned face has taken on a flushed undertone. ‘What do you want?’
In the past, the heavies in front of Henning would have intimidated him. ‘I want to know if you beat up my colleague last night.’
Holte snorts. The light from the lamp above the entrance bounces off his right earring. The voice of the other doorman is softer.
‘Petter has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be interviewed. You need to respect that or we’ll have to ask you to leave.’