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‘And you’re quite sure that you never stuck anything to the inside?’

‘Quite. I certainly never had before. What’s on your mind, Ophus?’

There is a short silence.

‘There was a drawing pin stuck to the inside of your door. Like the door itself, it was badly burned. And that’s why I wanted to know if you had stuck anything there.’

‘I can’t imagine.’

‘But if you’re right that someone was trying to frighten you, it might be that this person stuck a note to the back of your door which you were supposed to see as you left. That sounds plausible to me,’ Ophus says, keenly.

Yes, it does, Henning thinks and tries to visualise the scene. He closes his eyes. When he opens them again it’s like he is back in the dream. He is awake, but he isn’t waving his arms in front of him to clear the smoke. This time the smoke stands still. The flames sting and burn his face. There is a beam of light in the smoke, an opening he can peer through. The light grows stronger and brighter with every second, and suddenly a picture emerges. For a brief, gripping moment he observes himself looking at the door while the flames lick the walls and consume him with intense heat. He is about to take a step back in the run-up to jumping through the wall of flames, but he pauses. And that’s when he notices a piece of paper on the door. A standard white A4

sheet. And now he sees that there is writing on it: FIRST AND LAST WARNING.

Chapter 119

That evening, Henning sits in front of his laptop for hours waiting for 6tiermes7 to log on. It is nearly midnight before he gets a response.

Henning immediately brings up the warning note.

6tiermes7: And you didn’t notice anything? You didn’t hear anyone enter?

MakkaPakka: No. I was woken up by Jonas’s screaming.

6tiermes7: Do you think it could have been someone looking for Rasmus Bjelland?

MakkaPakka: No idea. Right now I just don’t know.

6tiermes7: I haven’t found any updated info on Bjelland, by the way. It’s not going to be easy if he has got himself a new identity.

MakkaPakka: Okay. But please carry on looking.

6tiermes7: Will do.

Neither of them has anything to report for a while, but they don’t leave the chat. Henning thinks about the people who want to get Bjelland‚ but can’t convince himself that B-gjengen or Svenskeligaen — whatever is left of them — would torch a flat to obtain information because flames are difficult to control. They would have chosen a physical approach, aimed directly at him. Even so, Henning has a distinct feeling that Bjelland is important. He just doesn’t know why.

6tiermes7: By the way, I have something to tell you.

It takes a few seconds before the continuation comes.

6tiermes7: I wasn’t going to tell you at first, but I’ve reached the conclusion that I have to.

MakkaPakka: What is it?

6tiermes7: Your son died on 11 September 2007, didn’t he?

Henning sits up.

MakkaPakka: Yes, why?

6tiermes7: After what you told me about Tore Pulli and the fire, I checked him out. And I found out something interesting. A traffic warden in Grunerlokka contacted the police the following day because of a car with a man inside that had been parked outside your flat several nights in a row. The traffic warden thought it suspicious, and a patrol car was dispatched. The man in the car was identified as Tore Pulli.

MakkaPakka: But Pulli has already admitted to being there. Are you saying he sat there for several nights?

6tiermes7: Yes. But I haven’t found out anything about what he was doing there.

MakkaPakka: So nobody challenged him?

6tiermes7: I certainly found no information to that effect. And neither the officers nor the traffic warden are named in the incident so there is not much to go on.

MakkaPakka: Is that normal procedure?

6tiermes7: Whoever entered the incident into Indicia may not have known which officers were dispatched. And the traffic warden could have requested that his or her name was kept out of it to avoid possible repercussions.

MakkaPakka: Quite. But does it say anything else?

6tiermes7: No. That’s it.

Henning sits for a while thinking, but he isn’t sure how to interpret the information he has just been given.

MakkaPakka: But if someone entered information about Pulli being in my street on 11 September 2007, surely his name should have cropped up during the fire investigation?

6tiermes7: Not necessarily. We can’t be sure that an Indicia search was carried out in connection with the fire. Many swear by the old systems. And Pulli was never called in for an interview.

Dear God, Henning thinks. Is that possible?

MakkaPakka: But why were you reluctant to tell me this?

6tiermes7: Because the entry has been edited. And I think that important information has been deleted.

MakkaPakka: What makes you think that?

6tiermes7: Because there is hardly anything there.

MakkaPakka: But why would anyone do that?

6tiermes7: Why do you delete information?

MakkaPakka: Because it’s wrong?

6tiermes7: Or because it’s sensitive.

The sentence he is staring at sends a shiver down Henning’s back. His head spins.

MakkaPakka: You’re saying that someone who works for the police probably deleted information about what Tore Pulli was doing outside my flat that evening?

6tiermes7: That’s how I interpret it, yes.

Henning leans closer to the table.

MakkaPakka: What’s the point of deleting some of the information? Wouldn’t it make more sense to delete the whole entry?

6tiermes7: That’s probably the biggest mistake you can make. Pulli was a celebrity, and it wasn’t just the traffic warden and the officers in the patrol car who knew that he had been spotted outside your flat. It was known in the control room, the duty officer probably knew about it, and it’s likely that several staff members discussed it that night. It would look more suspicious if a well-known incident about a recently deceased celebrity disappears from the system than if only bits of information are missing.

MakkaPakka: Okay, so tell me who edited the log.

6tiermes7: This is the part that makes me uncomfortable.

The continuation, when it comes a few seconds later, takes Henning’s breath away.

6tiermes7: It was Pia Nokleby.