He does, but reluctantly.
‘Look me in the eye. Do I look like I want to lose this fight?’
‘No,’ he says and tries to straighten up. ‘But you’d never take it public.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Harald. As soon as I get home I’m going to tell Pål Fredrik everything. Do you know why? Because I can’t bear to go on living under the same roof as a man I’ve hurt without knowing what he feels about it. It might well be the end of our marriage, but in the long run we might have broken up all the same. My secret would have driven a wedge between us, I’m sure of it, I know all about how secrets can destroy a family. And just so you know it: I can document all my movements in Denmark. I still have the plane ticket, the hotel booking, I can even produce an invoice and a receipt for the abortion. Katarina has also stated that she’s willing to confirm that she helped me with the arrangements. And who knows – perhaps she’ll also tell the public how you came to be in possession of the information you so deviously used against me. And what about your wife?’ Trine says, pointing to the door behind Ullevik. ‘What do you think she’s going to say? What do you think your children will say?’
Trine has participated in many debates, in private as well as in public. Usually the duellers have been evenly matched. It’s rare to be able to serve your opponent a death blow of this magnitude.
‘I’ve no desire to go public with this, Harald, it wouldn’t help either of us. It would hurt our families, it would hurt the Prime Minister, and not least, it would hurt the Party. But I’ll come clean without a moment’s hesitation if you become the next Justice Secretary. Nothing will be off-limits. And that’s a promise.’
The rain has slowly gathered strength. Ullevik’s cheeks are even redder now. He looks at her for a long time before he drains his glass and gazes across to the tennis courts behind her.
Trine can’t resist the temptation to smile.
‘You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, aren’t you? You know that whatever you do, your life will be hell.’
A part of Trine can’t help wishing that Ullevik will call her bluff, so she can redeem herself in public. But something tells her he won’t take that step. His body language betrays him. His shoulders are slouching. The muscles in his cheeks have slackened. He even seems shorter than usual.
Trine is tempted to deliver a final blow to intensify the obvious pain in his eyes. But enough is enough.
So she turns her back on him and leaves.
Chapter 89
Henning crosses the street at Café 33 and walks down Seilduksgaten, which is quiet as always, even though the street is in the middle of a bustling part of Oslo. Still, the area could be filled with noise without Henning noticing; he is completely lost in a world of his own.
That is why the man who comes up behind him has to speak to him twice before Henning reacts.
‘Don’t turn around.’
Henning turns his head instinctively, but doesn’t recognise the man’s face in the brief glimpse he catches of him before he does as he is told. But he noticed that the man had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and that the hood over his head cast dark shadows across his face.
‘Just keep walking,’ the man says. ‘Walk straight ahead and don’t turn around.’
Henning does as the man says while his heart jumps in his chest. As he walks, he tries to remember if he has seen the man before, but the face rings no bells.
Markveien appears in front of them, dark like a river at night. There is no traffic so he crosses the street and slows down outside the entrance to his own apartment block, but the man tells him to keep moving. Henning crosses Steenstrupsgate and continues towards Fossveien. He can barely resist the temptation to turn around.
Suddenly the footsteps gain on him and before Henning has time to react, he feels two strong hands pushing him into a dark archway and slamming him hard against a wall. A face is shoved right up in his; he smells garlic breath and a furious rage.
And that’s when he realises who the man is.
Henning tries to lean back his head so he can look into the eyes of Andreas Kjær, but the concrete wall prevents him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Kjær hisses. ‘Talking to my kids in my garden when my wife and I are out.’
Henning tries to stay calm, but struggles to reply because Kjær’s hand is pressing his cheek into his teeth. Kjær glances furtively out at the street to see if anyone is watching them, before his eyes return with rekindled anger. He relaxes his hold on Henning’s face and Henning tries to say something, but only gurgling sounds come out.
‘Don’t you dare come near my home again, you bastard,’ Kjær snarls.
Henning is paralysed with terror and all he can manage is a nod. This makes Kjær let go of him. Henning touches his face and neck and realises that he hurt his back when Kjær flung him against the wall, but when he looks at Kjær’s eyes, he sees not only rage.
He also sees fear.
The white cross in the garden, the dead dog on the veranda steps. Someone has tried to scare him. And they have managed to scare him so much that he doesn’t want anyone to see or hear him when he confronts Henning.
‘We’re alone,’ Henning says, surprised at how quickly he rediscovers the composure in his voice. ‘I think you know something about Tore Pulli. Is that why you decided to come looking for me?’
Kjær’s defences are still intact and his eyes continue to smoulder.
‘Is that why they killed your dog? So you won’t tell anyone what you know?’
Kjær is about to say something, but he stops and takes another look around.
‘Please,’ Henning appeals to him. ‘You’re a father yourself; you fear for your children, that’s why you’re here. You want to protect them. But I lost my son that day, Kjær. So I’m sure you can understand why I need to know what happened.’
A car drives through the puddles in the street outside. Kjær’s gaze flits.
‘I promise you, Kjær, no matter what you tell me it’ll stay between us.’
Again Kjær looks as if he is tempted to say something. His eyes search for a point on the ground.
‘It…’
He looks up, he looks down. Out into the street and back again.
Then he fixes his eyes on Henning and stands with his back to the street.
‘I don’t know who it was,’ he whispers.
‘You don’t know?’
‘Hush,’ Kjær hisses. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’
‘Come on, Kjær.’
For the second time Henning is slammed hard against the wall.
‘I don’t know,’ he says with his mouth close to Henning’s ear. ‘Okay? I don’t know. And I don’t want to know, either.’
Kjær glances around again before he lets go of Henning.
‘But they spoke funny.’
‘Funny?’
‘Yes. They spoke Swedish, but with an East European accent. That’s all I’m prepared to tell you. Now stay away from me,’ Kjær says with renewed intensity in his voice. ‘Stay away from my family. If I see or hear from you ever again, then—’
Kjær points an angry index finger at Henning’s face. It stops, quivering, in front of his eyes.
Then he turns around and disappears out of the archway.
Chapter 90
Bjarne Brogeland savours the pleasant sensation of having solved a crime, of having tightened up the loose screws. It’s like hunting for your glasses for a long, long time before finally finding them and putting them on. Suddenly the world comes into focus again.
In Markus Gjerløw’s bank account they found a transfer of 3,500 kroner from Remi Gulliksen with the reference ‘PC purchase’. The police concluded that Remi must have bought Markus’s old laptop and uploaded pictures of his victims on it before leaving it in Markus’s flat to incriminate him.