‘His mother wasn’t sure. It came out of the blue. Remi had knocked over a glass of water and refused to clean it up. And when his father told Remi to apologise, he went crazy.’
‘Just because he knocked over a glass of water?’
The articulated lorry refuses to get out of his way.
‘So it would seem. They don’t sound like the world’s happiest family.’
Bjarne opens the window and places a blue flashing light on the roof, though technically he should have requested permission first. It takes only a few seconds before the lorry pulls over. Bjarne accelerates and sends the driver a long hard stare before he overtakes him. The speedometer is close to 150.
‘We need to send officers over to Remi’s parents’ address,’ he says.
‘I think that’s already happening.’
‘I’m seven or eight minutes away from Jessheim.’
‘Thanks for letting me know.’
Bjarne exits the motorway at Jessheim, turns right at the first roundabout, drives past a bank and across the new roundabout left of the bridge. He continues towards the industrial estate and speeds through more roundabouts and sleeping policemen until he reaches a residential area. He follows the sat nav instructions on the screen and it doesn’t take long before he spots the patrol car from Romerike Police parked outside a red house. Bjarne parks his car alongside the local officers and looks across to Henning.
‘Stay here. And don’t even think about leaving the car—’
He pushes his index finger very close to Henning’s face.
‘Okay.’
Bjarne gets out and introduces himself.
‘It doesn’t look as if anyone is in,’ says one of the officers.
‘Have you rung the doorbell?’
‘Yes. No one came to the door.’
Bjarne checks the windows for signs of movement and listens out for sounds. The house glistens in the sunlight that has broken through the layer of clouds. The garage door is open. A stroller is parked outside. A green garden hose is stretched across the shingle.
‘There!’ Bjarne exclaims.
‘Where?’ the officer asks.
‘The curtain in the small window. It twitched. There’s someone inside.’
‘Then why doesn’t she open the door?’
Bjarne doesn’t reply.
‘I’ll try calling her again,’ he says and takes out his mobile. He lets it ring for a long time.
Finally the call is answered, but he hears only static.
‘Hello?’ Bjarne says.
There is no voice down the other end.
‘This is Detective Inspector Bjarne Brogeland from Oslo Police. Who am I speaking to?’
The silence continues.
At last a dark voice says: ‘Go away.’
Bjarne freezes.
‘Remi?’ he stutters. ‘Is that you?’
‘I want you to leave.’
Bjarne hears a chill in Remi’s voice that he doesn’t like the sound of. Bjarne says Remi’s full name, but gets no response.
‘Is Emilie there?’ Bjarne then asks.
Silence.
‘Emilie isn’t here,’ the voice replies eventually.
‘I know she’s in there, Remi. I want to talk to her.’
‘No.’
Pause.
Bjarne starts to feel hot.
‘Please could you just tell me if she’s okay?’
No reply.
Bjarne places his hand over the telephone and looks at the others for assistance, but all he gets in return are blank stares.
‘Remi,’ Bjarne begins.
‘Just drop it,’ Remi interrupts him. ‘And don’t try to come inside or I’ll shoot.’
It takes Bjarne a moment before he is able to respond.
‘What did you just say, Remi?’
‘I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it. Don’t – come – in.’
Then he hangs up.
Chapter 75
Trine Juul-Osmundsen looks at her watch and sighs. In just a few hours she will be facing the pack of wolves. She has tried writing a statement, but her fingers just hovered over the keyboard. She has heard about writer’s block and believed that it was restricted only to writers, but now she understands its true meaning. Not being able to put down a single, coherent thought. Stare at the screen and get nothing but emptiness back. It’s like living in a vacuum.
She has gone through her emails and fortunately not found any more messages from biglie0910. It confirms the conclusion she reached earlier this morning. The sender knows that there is no point in sending her emails she can’t read or reply to.
There is a knock on the door and Katarina Hatlem peeks in.
‘You wanted a word with me?’ she says and enters Trine’s office. Her long red curls are coiled around her neck.
‘Yes. Close the door behind you,’ Trine says.
Katarina does as she is asked and approaches the desk. Her steps are normally brisk. Her face is usually alert. Now it looks haggard. As if she has been crying or not slept for several days.
‘How are you?’ Hatlem asks her cautiously.
‘Sit down.’
Katarina hesitates a second before she does as she is told.
‘I’ve been doing a bit of thinking recently,’ Trine begins. ‘Or more accurately, I wasn’t able to think very much until I came home last night. It has been a little – how can I put it – difficult to focus on anything other than negative thoughts.’
‘I understand,’ Katarina says, nodding vigorously.
‘But this morning I remembered something.’
Trine drums her fingers on the desk.
‘Whoever started this smear campaign against me must have known that I wouldn’t defend myself. He or she must have known why I couldn’t tell the public what I really did on the night of 9 October last year, or rather what I did the following day. It means that this person must have known that I was in Denmark and what it would do to me if the truth came out.’
Katarina Hatlem lowers her gaze.
‘I confided in one person,’ Trine says, locking her eyes on to Katarina. ‘One person who helped me with the arrangements. And that person, Katarina dear, was you.’
Katarina makes no reply. She just stares at the floor.
‘Either you’re behind all of this or you told someone what I did.’
Trine pre-empts Katarina’s potential protest.
‘I’m going to give you one chance – just one – to explain yourself. And spare me the outrage; don’t tell me it wasn’t you, because you must have had something to do with it. Because I certainly didn’t tell anyone else.’
Katarina can’t even look her in the eye, but Trine sees the colour flare up in her cheeks. It doesn’t take long before the corners of her mouth start twitching.
‘Please believe me,’ she whimpers. ‘I never thought that it would go this far.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Trine replies tartly. ‘Few people know the media better than you, Katarina. You knew exactly how to play it.’
Katarina shakes her head frantically.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ she says. ‘It was my fault, but I promise you, Trine, I had nothing to do with this.’
‘Then I suggest that you start talking. The press conference begins in less than two hours.’
Katarina breaks down and sobs. She cries for a long time until Trine orders her to pull herself together.
‘I’m sorry,’ Katarina stutters while she closes her eyes and lets the tears run free. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
Trine doesn’t reply, she just looks at someone who has been her closest colleague for several years. A colleague she regarded as her friend. And the tender feeling she gets inside surprises her. But she can’t make herself say that it’s okay. It’s very much not okay. The damage can never be undone.
‘I’m waiting,’ she says and juts out her chin.