‘Okay, I understand, but—’
‘I have to go now.’
Henning is about to launch a fresh protest before he realises his words will have no effect. The line has already gone dead.
Chapter 21
Pernille Thorbjørnsen is perching on the edge of a chair and leaning forwards with one leg slung over the other. The care worker has a round face with dimpled cheeks. Her brown hair is swept back in a low ponytail. Bjarne Brogeland puts her at thirty, perhaps a few years older.
They are in a meeting room on the ground floor of the care home where a couple of IKEA tables have been pushed together. The light from two large windows casts a layer of something sallow across Thorbjørnsen’s face.
‘Thanks for coming in at such short notice,’ he says.
‘Don’t mention it,’ she smiles and leans back.
‘When did you leave work yesterday?’
‘My shift ended at five o’clock.’
‘Okay. Did anything strike you as unusual? I’m thinking about anyone who might have been acting differently. Staff. Patients. Visitors.’
Bjarne flings out his hands.
‘Anything and anyone is of interest,’ he says.
Thorbjørnsen squeezes her fingers for a moment, brushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ears; then she folds her arms across her chest.
‘I don’t think so,’ she begins. ‘I can’t really think of anything. I was working and I didn’t realise I was meant to be looking out for something.’
‘No, I know. But try to think back. Was anyone a bit more agitated than they normally were, or calmer than usual, or more exalted—’
Thorbjørnsen looks up to the left.
‘I don’t think so.’
Bjarne doesn’t continue until he is sure that she has finished sifting through her memories.
‘Were you here when the people from the Volunteer Service arrived?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t join in the entertainment this time.’
‘Why not?’
‘I had things to do. The residents here are ill, Officer. Not everyone is able to take part in the entertainment every time. And there isn’t room for us all, either.’
‘So you don’t know if Erna Pedersen took part yesterday?’
‘Yes, I do actually. Ole Christian told me that she didn’t.’
‘Ole Christian – you mean Ole Christian Sund?’
Thorbjørnsen nods.
‘When did you talk to him?’
‘Last night.’
Bjarne looks at her for several long moments. A hand shoots up to her cheek and her nails scratch a dark brown mole.
‘I’ve been told that someone had an argument in Ward 4 yesterday afternoon.’
Thorbjørnsen quickly glances up at him, but when she doesn’t comment on his statement, Bjarne continues: ‘Did you see or hear anything about that?’
She shakes her head.
Bjarne tries to make eye contact, but Thorbjørnsen is looking down now.
‘There’s always a little bit of arguing here and there,’ she says eventually and juts out her chin. ‘That doesn’t mean that anyone here would stick knitting needles through the eyes of our patients. You don’t seriously think that any of the staff or one of the patients could have done it?’
‘It’s too soon to say,’ Bjarne responds, surprised at the sudden resistance in her voice, but he doesn’t have time to think about it further before Ella Sandland knocks on the door and pops in her head to signal that she wants a word.
Bjarne apologises, irritated at the interruption because it shouldn’t happen during an interview. But because Sandland is aware of that and yet still interrupts him, he gets up and asks Thorbjørnsen to stay where she is. Then he steps out into the corridor and closes the door behind him.
‘What is it?’ he asks.
Sandland’s gaze is serious.
‘There’s something I’ve got to show you.’
Chapter 22
Henning was sorely tempted to ring back Andreas Kjær immediately, but on second thoughts he decided against it. It was too desperate. Maybe Kjær was on his way to work, perhaps he was about to walk an impatient dog. Or maybe he is one of those people who don’t like answering the same question twice. Therefore another call would only make matters worse.
Henning grew up in Kløfta, seven or eight kilometres south of Jessheim where Erna Pedersen originally came from. One of his childhood friends is called Atle Abelsen. They didn’t really get to know each other until after sixth form when they discovered a shared love of music. They would meet up from time to time and try to put words to something that was supposed to be a melody. And where Henning’s interest in technology has remained at the gifted amateur level, Atle’s passion for cyberspace and computers fed and sustained him all the way into his choice of career. He now works as a programmer for a company in Lillestrøm, but every now and then he will take on work of a quirkier nature – as long as he considers it a challenge. Henning sends him an email and explains what he wants help with this time with the usual promise of a bottle of Calvados as a thank you.
Henning then thinks about Erna Pedersen’s closest family. Surely no one is better placed to tell him about any former enemies that she might have had and he finds out that Pedersen has a son called Tom Sverre Pedersen who works as a doctor at Ullevål University Hospital.
Tom Sverre Pedersen has featured in the media a few times in recent years because he believes that the training of doctors is ripe for reform. If Henning is not mistaken, Pedersen took part in a debate on NRK on exactly this subject not that long ago.
Henning finds Pedersen’s mobile number, but his call goes straight to voicemail. I’m not the only one who wants to get hold of him today, Henning guesses. For all he knows Pedersen could be being interviewed at the police station right now. Even so Henning leaves a message and asks Pedersen to return his call. He probably won’t, but you never know, he just might. Sometimes people with a public profile are happy to speak to the media when the opportunity presents itself.
The buzz in the offices of 123news hasn’t diminished – on the contrary; Henning can’t remember when he last heard his sister’s name mentioned so many times in one day. And it occurs to him that he hasn’t even bothered to find out why every news organisation in Norway seems to have gone overboard with this story.
He brings up the front page of 123news where he encounters fat, bold typeface against a black background and large pictures of Trine standing on a podium with a hotel logo strategically placed as near the microphone as possible. ‘Shortly after giving this speech she assaulted a young, male politician,’ the lead-in says.
Henning clicks on it and learns that Trine took part in the Labour Party’s annual conference on 9 October last year where she is alleged to have forced a young man to have sex with her. ‘The worst abuse of power,’ someone states. ‘Shameful,’ cries another. A third person says that Trine ought to be reported to the police. So far the police haven’t taken action; they are waiting for someone to file a complaint, but the public prosecutor the newspaper has spoken to will not rule out that the police might launch their own inquiry.
The lead story is accompanied by background material, reactions, comments, blogs and quotes. There are several other pictures of her; Henning looks at the new Trine as he has slowly started to know her. Smooth skin, nice make-up, elegant clothes, excellent posture and political gravitas in her eyes.
Henning clicks his way through several articles. An unnamed source claims that the unidentified, up-and-coming politician had tried to resolve the issue with Trine, to get her to apologise unreservedly, but that she refused. There are also speculations as to whether the Party knew about the accusations and failed to deal with them.