‘Have you heard of Ekeberg Common?’ she asks next.
‘No.’
‘Ever been up there?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘Not been up there for the Norway Cup?’
‘I don’t like football.’
‘No brothers or nephews who play? You haven’t been up there to support them when they played?’
He shakes his head and twinkles arrogantly at her.
‘Have you ever played cricket up there?’
He is about to say ‘no’ on autopilot, but he hesitates half a second too long. Brogeland notes down ‘has been to Ekeberg, but is lying about it’. Sandberg reads it, and carries on:
‘Do you own a stun gun, Mr Marhoni?’
His reaction suggests she has just asked him the stupidest question in the world.
‘A what?’
‘Don’t give me that. You know what a stun gun is. Don’t you ever go to the movies? Watch cop shows?’
He shakes his head again and adds a smirk.
‘I don’t like cops.’
‘Inspector, what’s the point of these questions?’
‘We’re getting to it, Mr Indrehaug,’ Brogeland says with forced restraint in his voice. Sandland is about to attack. She pulls out a sheet.
‘The victim was found with marks on her neck. They match those caused by a stun gun. Also known as an electroshock weapon, if you know what that is.’
She slides the sheet across the table and turns it over, so they can see it. It is a close-up of the victim’s neck. Two rust-coloured, irregular burns can clearly be seen. Indrehaug picks up the photograph and studies it.
‘There are many different models, but a stun gun is used when you want to paralyse rather than injure your victim. Render them helpless. So that you can put them in a hole and bury them.’ Sandland looks at Marhoni, but he remains unimpressed and unaffected by her questions.
‘For someone whose girlfriend has just been killed in a very brutal way, you don’t seem terribly upset or sad,’ she carries on. It is a question rather than a statement. Marhoni shrugs again.
‘Didn’t you care about her?’
A tiny twitch flits across his face.
‘Didn’t you love her?’
Marhoni blushes faintly.
‘Did she meet with you yesterday to end it? Was that why you killed her?’
He is getting angry now.
‘Had she met someone else? Bored with you, was she?’
Marhoni moves to get up. Indrehaug places his hand on Marhoni’s arm.
‘Sergeant — ’
‘Was that why you killed her?’
Marhoni stares at Sandland as if he wants to tear her apart.
‘Did you look at Henriette like that when you picked up the rock and crushed her head?’
‘Sergeant, that’s enough.’
‘Tell your client to answer the question.’
Brogeland coughs and gestures to Sandland to calm down. The room falls silent. Brogeland can see the pulse beat on Marhoni’s throat. He decides to strike while the iron is hot.
‘Mr Marhoni, preliminary examinations carried out at the crime scene and on the victim show she had very rough sex not long before she was killed. Would you know anything about that? What can you tell us about it?’
Marhoni is still glaring at Sandland with the same thunder in his eyes, then he quietly turns to Brogeland. He says nothing.
‘Even though you don’t watch cop shows, you probably know that semen is one of the best things a killer can leave behind? For the police, that is. DNA. You’ve heard of that?’
Still no reply. Cold-blooded bastard, Brogeland thinks.
‘Last night, at 21.17, you received a text message from Henriette Hagerup.’
Marhoni’s pupils contract slightly. Brogeland notices this.
‘Do you recall what it said?’
Brogeland can see that Marhoni is thinking about it. Brogeland looks at a sheet, which Sandland has passed to him. He raises a fist to his mouth and coughs again.
‘Sorry. It means nothing. HE means nothing. You’re the one I love. Can we talk about it? Please?’
Brogeland looks at Marhoni and at Indrehaug, in turn. He lets the implications of the text message sink in, before he continues.
‘Do you want me to read the next text she sent you?’
Marhoni looks at his lawyer. For the first time during the interview, the rock-hard surface is starting to crack.
‘It would appear that Henriette was killed sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., that’s only a few hours after sending you three text messages. If I were you, I would start talking about what happened between the two of you last night.’
Marhoni shows no signs of wanting to talk. Brogeland sighs and looks at his sheet again.
‘I promise to make it up to you. Give me another chance, please?’
Marhoni is shaking his head now.
‘Inspector, I think — ’
‘You called her after the second text, but you got no reply. Is that right?’
Brogeland is getting annoyed with the silent bastard.
‘Please respond? Please? I’ll never do it again. I promise.’ That was the third text, sent ten minutes later.’
Marhoni stares at the floor.
‘What was it she promised never to do again, Mr Marhoni? What had she done that was so bad that you can’t look me in the eye and tell me?’
No change.
‘Who is “he”?’
Marhoni looks up, but not at Brogeland.
‘Who is “he” who means nothing to her?’
Marhoni’s lips are pursed. Brogeland sighs.
‘Okay. It’s not up to me, but I guarantee that you’ll go before a judge and be remanded in custody later today. If I were your lawyer, I would start preparing you to spend the next fifteen to twenty years indoors.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
His voice is faint, but Brogeland has already got up from his chair. He leans across the table and presses a button.
‘Interview terminated at 15.21.’
Chapter 14
It starts to rain gently. Henning likes the rain. He likes getting wet when he is outdoors, likes looking up at the sky, closing his eyes and feeling the raindrops fall on his face. Too many people ruin a good shower by putting up their umbrellas.
A little rain is appropriate now. It provides a golden opportunity for the bystanders to show that they don’t care about personal comfort in their hour of grief; they might be within range of a camera, they could even be on the news later today, so they cluster together. The rain is like tears from above, as if God himself grieves at the
