same time. She is about to say something else.
‘It’s his day off today.’
They turn around and look at Dreadlocks.
‘Yngve and his wife have both taken today off,’ he says and holds up his hands. ‘Sorry, I overheard you. I didn’t mean to. Yngve called in this morning, he wanted to speak to the Principal, but he wasn’t in, so I took a message. He said that neither he nor his wife would be coming to work.’
‘That’s weird,’ Anette says. ‘I was due to meet him today. Did he say why?’
Henning is on the verge of saying that their son has died, but remembers at the last moment that the death isn’t public knowledge yet.
‘He said something about going on a trip,’ Dreadlocks replies.
‘A trip?’
‘Yes. A camping trip, I think he said.’
‘Camping?’
Henning is aware that he is nearly shouting.
‘Yes.’
His stomach lurches. The usual thing would be to tell the truth, that their son has died and they are taking some time off. Everyone would understand. So why say they are going camping?
‘Why did he tell you that?’
‘I just thought he wanted me to know. In case someone asked after him or them. I don’t know. He sounded — how can I put it — a bit agitated. Or manic, I’m not really sure.’
‘How? What do you mean?’
‘If I didn’t know him, I would have said that he was high. He spoke faster than he normally does.’
‘Did he say where they were going?’
‘No. Only that they were going camping. I did think it sounded weird, I’ve never really seen Yngve as one of those, you know, the outdoor type. But I thought — why not — camping is cool, so — ’
He holds up his hands.
‘When was this?’
‘Just after eight o’clock this morning, I think. I can’t be sure. I hadn’t had my first coffee yet.’
‘Sod it,’ Henning mutters to himself, but Anette hears him.
‘What is it?’
He shakes his head and whispers to her so that Dreadlocks can’t hear.
‘The police are looking for them, but no one knows where they are.’
‘Why? Do you think that they — ’
He gives her a sharp look. She understands him instantly, moves closer and whispers:
‘Are you saying that they know that Stefan killed Henriette?’
He knows what he wants to say, but he shakes his head.
‘I don’t know.’
‘And now they’ve gone? Disappeared?’
‘It looks like it.’
They stand for a while without saying anything. Then it dawns on him. He turns to Dreadlocks again.
‘Do you know if the tent on Ekeberg Common is still there?’
‘The tent for the filming? Yes. The police finished with it yesterday, they said they had taken all the pictures and gathered all the evidence they needed. They called to say we could pick it up.’
That’s where they must be. Henning looks out of the window. The rain will soak him. And a minicab is out of the question. He lifts up his helmet.
‘Do you want me to drive?’
He looks at Anette, surprised. ‘You have a car?’
‘Yes. Why shouldn’t I have?’
He thinks no, why shouldn’t she?
‘Don’t you have a lecture or something?’
‘Like I said, I was due to meet with Yngve, but as he’s not here, then — ’
She throws up her hands. ‘And if he’s somewhere else, and you know where and why, I’m happy to provide transport. It’s no big deal. I can give you a lift up there.’
The prospect is too tantalising for him to resist it.
‘Is your car close by?’
‘It’s just over there,’ she says, pointing over his head.
‘Okay. Let’s go.’
Chapter 63
They manage to get soaked to the skin in the short distance from the lobby to the car park. Anette opens the door on the driver’s side first, gets in, and unlocks the passenger door for him. He climbs inside a small dark blue Polo, which appears to be in good nick, even though it must be at least fifteen years old. The car is remarkably free from smells, given that it is a woman’s car, but something tells him that Anette doesn’t care much for perfume.
She starts the car, turns the wipers to maximum speed and reverses out. She is about to put the car in gear, when she stops and looks at him. The sound of the wipers brushing back and forth mixes with protests from the engine that has yet to warm up.
‘What’s going on?’ she says. Henning groans. I can’t tell her about Stefan, he thinks. It’s not up to him to give out that sort of information.
‘I need to speak to the Foldviks.’
‘Both of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Does it have anything to do with Stefan? Or Henriette?’
He nods. ‘But I don’t know what. Or how.’
Suitably enigmatic, he thinks. It also happens to be true. He has no idea what is going on or what to say to them, if and when he finds them. But his instinct tells him he needs to find them, and he needs to find them fast.
‘Please, Anette, just drive. Okay? I’ll explain everything later. But right now, we haven’t got time to talk.’
Anette looks at him, lets a few seconds go by. Then she puts the car into first and drives off. Henning says a silent prayer.
They go down Fredensborgvei. I ought to ring Brogeland, he thinks, tell him what I know, but I can’t. Not yet.
They drive on in silence. That suits Henning fine, it gives him a chance to think. Anette drives cautiously, not nervously, but with care and without excessive stomping on the accelerator or the brakes. She forces the Polo up a long, winding road, past the old business school and Ekeberg Restaurant which nestles further up the hill. Henning can see Oslo Fjord stretch out between the islands, ferries in the port; a few private boats have gone out, despite the dreadful weather. They also pass some poor cyclist, who no longer cares about getting wet when Anette splashes him.
While the rain cascades down, he thinks about Stefan, he visualises him in the tent, holding the rock over his head, the rage which took over, so he couldn’t stop until Henriette’s body was lifeless, before he had flogged her and chopped off one of her hands. Where does such rage come from? And how do the hudud punishments fit in?
He is reminded of the photograph of Stefan and the newspaper cutting about him in Yngve Foldvik’s office. And once he has compared recent events to the information in the article, everything falls into place.
Well, I’ll be damned.
