‘There is nothing to suggest it, Henning. We need evidence. Like the missing murder weapon, for example. And, ideally, we need to place that axe in the killer’s hands, whether that person was Petter or someone else.’
Brogeland hears a sigh down the other end of the telephone, but Henning doesn’t elaborate on his frustration.
‘And there is always the possibility that Pulli really did kill Jocke. You mustn’t ignore that.’
‘No,’ Henning replies, glumly. ‘I won’t. I just can’t get it all to add up.’
Chapter 108
Suddenly everything is happening at once, Henning thinks. Even the weather seems to be changing. An ominous dark cloud has appeared out of nowhere. Could Petter Holte really be responsible for the death of Jocke Brolenius as well? Henning can’t quite imagine how a man who has failed at practically everything in life could plan and execute such a sophisticated murder only to screw up completely when killing one of his oldest friends.
So Henning rings Geir Gronningen repeatedly that afternoon. Finally, he gets hold of him, and Gronningen reluctantly agrees to meet for a chat outside the supermarket in Gronland Torg. By the time Henning arrives it has started to rain. Gronningen has taken shelter under an umbrella, but Henning is oblivious to the downpour.
He decides to cut straight to the point.
‘The police have arrested Petter,’ he announces.
Gronningen reacts with disbelief.
‘Bloody idiot,’ he says, squeezing the handle of the umbrella hard. ‘I don’t know how someone can be that stupid.’
Gronningen shakes his head and looks ready to punch the first person he sees. Instinctively, Henning takes a step back.
‘What did he say to you after his row with Robert yesterday?’
Gronningen looks down at Henning, then he scans the surroundings for anyone who might see or overhear them. ‘I saw him whisper something to you when the earth was scattered on the coffin,’ Henning says to prompt him. ‘And afterwards he clenched his fist.’
‘Yes,’ Gronningen replies. ‘But that had nothing to do with Robert.’
‘Then what was it about?’
‘Petter said that if anyone dared to knock over Tore’s gravestone he would-’
Gronningen imitates Holte and clenches his fist. Henning remembers printing out an article about how Vidar Fjell’s grave was desecrated though he can’t remember the details.
‘But at the wake afterwards he started mouthing off again,’ Gronningen continues. ‘Said he was going to get Robert and blah blah blah.’ He shakes his head again. ‘But you need to know that’s just Petter. Even though he has a temper and does the first thing that comes into his head, he is still a softie. He has had plenty of opportunities to have a go at Robert, but he has never done anything about it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Probably because he knew that he couldn’t have handled it. Robert may not have been as strong as Petter, but he was much better technically. In close combat, for example, there is no doubt who would have had the upper hand.’
‘Perhaps that was why Petter chose to shoot him.’
‘Yes, but he could have done that any time. Why yesterday, when the whole bloody congregation had just seen him argue with Robert? It’s — it’s like asking to be caught.’
Henning nods in agreement. ‘Did he know the Pulli punch?’ Henning lifts up his elbow to demonstrate. Gronningen hesitates.
‘I think he might have practised it, but, like I said, Petter was no technical genius. He was just muscle.’
Exactly, Henning says to himself. And if Petter was too scared to take on a guy like Robert van Derksen, he was unlikely to have tried it on with Jocke Brolenius in the first place.
Something here isn’t right, Henning thinks.
Again his thoughts return to Tore Pulli. ‘Did you work out with Tore on the night that Jocke was killed?’
‘Yes, we always worked out together.’
Henning looks at him closely. ‘Did you have separate lockers?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you would lock them while you worked out, obviously?’
‘Yes, of course we would, we’re not idiots.’
‘Where did you keep your locker keys?’
‘That depended. People who had been members a long time were allowed to leave them behind the reception or in Kent Harry’s office. What Tore did depended on who was on duty. Tore put his trust in people rather than locks. Why do you ask?’
Henning ignores the question and mulls over the information he has just been given. ‘So, when you worked out, how would you know what time it was?’
‘We would check the clock on the wall.’
Henning looks up at him. ‘The clock behind the reception counter?’
Gronningen nods. ‘None of us wear wristwatches these days. We check our mobiles instead.’
Pulli probably did exactly that when he had finished his workout, Henning thinks, excited, to see if he had any messages or missed calls. That’s the first thing Henning does when he has been asleep or has had a shower. So it can’t just be the time on Pulli’s mobile that was wrong, he surmises.
The clock at Fighting Fit must have been wrong too.
Henning thanks Gronningen for his time and heads straight to the gym. He expects the place to be packed given everything that has happened, but it is practically deserted. He assumes the group must be in shock.
Henning takes a step on to the purple carpet. The tall woman behind the counter looks even more surly than usual when she sees who it is. Henning ignores her attitude and asks if Kent Harry Hansen is around.
‘Didn’t he make it clear that you’re not welcome here?’
‘Yes,’ Henning replies. ‘But I still need to talk to him. Where is he?’
‘Dunno.’
Henning nods, but his attention is drawn to the wall behind her. He takes out his mobile and compares the two clocks. They show practically the same time. No wonder, he thinks. If someone deliberately changed the clock the night Pulli was meeting Jocke Brolenius, then that person would have had to change it back again either later the same evening or the following morning at the latest. Anything else would have been a giveaway.
But who could have done it?
‘That clock up there,’ he begins. ‘Has it… do you know if it-’
Henning hesitates, unsure as to how to phrase the question.
‘Is it always precise?’ he asks, and realises instantly that his question is blatantly obvious.
‘I think so,’ she says without taking her eyes off the magazine in front of her.
‘Do you know if it has been too slow… in the past?’
Henning groans inwardly at his atrocious questioning. Behind him the weights clang against each other.
‘No idea,’ she says, sounding bored.
‘I’m only asking because I was wondering if it was very slow on the 26th of October nearly two years ago.’
She lifts her head, slightly less bored now.
‘That was the night Jocke Brolenius was killed,’ Henning informs her. ‘Were you working here that night?’
She snorts. ‘Do you think I can remember that?’
‘No, but please could you check who was? There is probably a list on your computer. A duty roster, possibly. Timesheets. Payroll. How many people work here?’
‘You need to talk to Kent Harry,’ she says and looks down again. ‘Though I very much doubt that he’ll be willing to help you.’
Henning stares at the clock behind her again, at the wall surrounding it, before he looks back at her. His eyes stop at the T-shirt she is wearing. At chest height three monkeys appear to be having a whale of a time.
‘Is that yours?’ he says, pointing to the monkeys.
She looks up and follows his finger. ‘Jesus, of course it’s mine. What kind of stupid question is that?’