Henning is prepared for that. He is surrounded by open spaces, the River Aker flows quickly down the hill, and it would be easy to point the mouth of a gun out of a car window and start firing.
No. That’s enough. He has to stop looking for assassins. He has only been back at work for a few days, and already he has managed to convince himself that hardened criminals are trying to kill him. Enough. I don’t want to live like this, he tells himself.
He decides to stroll along, take his time and enjoy the afternoon sun, which has broken through the dense layer of clouds over Oslo Plaza. He approaches Grunerlokka with a growing sense of composure. And when he lets himself into his flat, he decides to take no notice of the smoke alarms. He is about to go into the kitchen, when he stops in his tracks.
Damn, he thinks. There is no way I can ignore them.
Chapter 50
I’m so looking forward to this, Brogeland tells himself, when he knocks on Gjerstad’s door. Gjerstad’s deep voice shouts out ‘come in.’ Brogeland enters. Gjerstad has his telephone pressed against his ear, but he gestures towards the chair in front of his desk. Brogeland sits down. If only Sandland could be here now, he thinks, then maybe -
Gjerstad is listening and making ‘hm’ noises. He listens for a long time, before he finally nods and says:
‘Okay. Then that’s how we’ll do it. Keep me posted.’
He hangs up and looks at Brogeland.
‘Yes,’ he says with a sigh. There is a hint of weariness in his voice, but Brogeland pays no attention to it. This is his moment. He places Hagerup’s script on the desk and looks expectantly at Gjerstad, who picks it up and starts flicking through it.
Brogeland spends the next few minutes summarising. When he has finished, Gjerstad isn’t looking at him with satisfaction. Quite the opposite.
‘And you got this from Henning Juul?’
‘Yes. Juul is — ’
‘Let me tell you something about Henning Juul,’ Gjerstad snarls and stands up. He starts pacing to and fro.
‘Some years ago, a man was killing prostitutes in Oslo. He was no Jack the Ripper, far from it, but he murdered some girls from Nigeria and threatened to kill some more unless we took them off the streets. He contacted us directly to announce his intentions.’
‘I remember the case. If — ’
‘There was obviously no way we could do that, even if we wanted to. Firstly, we never give in to threats of that type, and secondly, the girls move around all the time and their pimps protect them.’
Gjerstad strokes his moustache and stops right in front of Brogeland.
‘Henning Juul found out that the killer was talking to us and had warned of further attacks. When the next Nigerian girl turned up with forty-seven stab wounds to her back, stomach, chest and face, Juul launched a major campaign. Hung us out to dry as the Big Bad Wolf because we hadn’t responded to the killer’s threats. To top it all, Juul tracked down the killer himself and interviewed him — without letting us know, so we could arrest him. Bottom line, Juul cared more about making us look like idiots than catching a killer. What does that tell you about Henning Juul?’
Brogeland stares at the floor, looking for an answer, but finding none.
‘Why do you think he came to you with this?’ Gjerstad says, pointing to the script. ‘Do you think he did it because he wanted to help the police or because he wanted to help himself?’
Brogeland remembers that Gjerstad is well known for his rhetorical powers. And he can think of nothing to say by way of reply.
‘Juul may very well have stumbled across something important, but don’t think for a minute that he’s doing this to benefit society. He’s using you, Bjarne. I think that what happened to him, however tragic it was, it did something to him. Given what I know of Henning Juul, my guess is it has only served to make him more cynical and manipulative.’
Brogeland doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing.
‘Have you done anything about it yet?’ Gjerstad asks, referring to the script.
‘I’ve tried to get hold of Anette Skoppum, but no luck so far. She doesn’t answer her mobile and she isn’t in her flat, either. I sent Emil to talk to her, but when she wasn’t there, I placed a unit outside.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Bislett.’
‘Okay.’
‘She also withdrew 5,000 kroner from a cashpoint in Akersgate, a couple of hours ago.’
‘Five grand? That’s a lot. Well, at least she is still alive.’
‘Most probably. But it also suggests she isn’t planning on withdrawing cash for a while. I’ve sent Emil to Westerdal to look for her and to talk to her friends, but I haven’t heard anything from him.’
Gjerstad nods and waits, but Brogeland has nothing more for him. He has a feeling of emptiness. Just as well that Sandland didn’t come with him, after all.
Could Henning Juul really have been that ruthless? Let a killer go free in return for a good story? Of course he could. And might Juul screw him, too, one day? But they know each other. A little.
Brogeland looks at Gjerstad, who has sat down behind his desk again and started to leaf through some documents. If Brogeland has learned anything during the seventeen months he has been working for Gjerstad, it is that once his boss has formed an opinion about someone, it takes a lot to change it. Perhaps that’s why he is such a good police officer, Brogeland thinks. Or perhaps that’s why he’ll never be a great one.
Brogeland gets up; he waits for Gjerstad to say something. But he doesn’t. Brogeland closes the door behind him on his way out.
Chapter 51
Jonas’s burning eyes rip Henning out of his sleep. He curses, sits up, finds himself on the sofa in front of the television and realises he must have dozed off during an episode of That 70s Show.
The television is still on. The screen is filled by a man with blond hair who is eating cheese while a multitude of women of different colours and shapes and one man swap seats. Henning leans back and imagines himself riding a wave. Keep breathing, he says to himself. Keep breathing.
He is reminded of Finding Nemo, the animated film, where Nemo’s father searches for his missing son and meets Dory, a fish who can barely remember her own name, but who loves to sing. Henning can hear her voice in his head: ‘Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.’
They must have watched Finding Nemo at least thirty times, most of them the summer they visited an idyllic Danish island called Tuno. It rained the whole time. They hardly left the charming cottage they had rented on the car-free island. But Jonas loved Nemo. He wonders what that holiday would have been like without Nemo.
His mobile vibrates on the coffee table. The noise startles him. He looks at the display: caller unknown.
‘Henning Juul,’ he says and clears his voice of sleep.
‘Hi, it’s Truls Leirvag. I hear you’ve been trying to get hold of me?’
The voice is dark and coarse. As he gets up, Henning places Truls’s dialect somewhere near Bergen. Perhaps even in Bergen.
‘Oh, hi. Yes. Great. Thanks for calling.’
No response.
‘Er, yes. I wanted to ask you about this screenplay you’ve taken out an option on. Henriette Hagerup’s script.’
