Chapter 20
‘Your turn, Henning.’
He looks up and meets the sharp eyes of national news editor Heidi Kjus. Henning hasn’t noticed it until now, but Heidi has had a haircut. Short and modern, though he doesn’t really know why he thinks it looks modern — how would he know? And for once her make-up doesn’t look like war paint.
‘Eh?’
‘What about you? What’s in your notebook today? We have been through Iver, Rita and Jorgen. You were paying attention, weren’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘What have you got for us today?’
Henning looks down at the notebook which he brought with him to the meeting mainly for show. The top sheet is blank. He considered writing down Tore Pulli’s name but decided it wasn’t an obvious story. Not yet.
‘Well, I’m not really sure,’ he begins.
There is silence all around him. The eyes of everyone in the meeting room make the skin on his forehead tingle.
‘There’s not much happening at the moment.’
‘So nothing for us today either, Henning?’ Heidi Kjus asks.
‘It’s very quiet out there. It has been an uneventful summer.’
Kjus looks at him over the rim of her glasses and pushes them further up her nose. He hasn’t noticed the glasses until now either.
‘I’m aware of it,’ she says. ‘But then you have to go out and find the news. We can’t just sit here hoping for stories to drop into our laps. We need to chase them. Talk to people. Our number of hits have been disappointing this summer.’
‘They always are.’
‘Yes, but-’
‘I have an appointment later today,’ he continues, and takes a sip of his coffee. ‘I’m meeting a source.’
It’s the oldest reporter excuse in the book, but it usually works.
‘Which story is this?’
‘I can’t tell you anything at this stage.’
Heidi is about to say something, but stops herself. ‘What did you just say?’
‘If I get what I’m hoping for from my source, it could turn into a story. But until then I’m keeping my mouth shut.’
‘Just so,’ Heidi says, offended, and shakes her head almost imperceptibly, but enough for everyone around the table to register it. She draws a long hard line under Henning’s name on her sheet. ‘Then you’re on cuttings duty until further notice.’
Henning’s jaw drops. ‘Cuttings duty?’
‘Yes. You know what cuttings duty is, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Of course I do.’
‘There’s no one from the cuttings team here today. Ill health, holiday and blah blah blah. Plus Egil is taking time off in lieu. I’ll send you NTB’s news list shortly, Henning, and the list of today’s stories to everyone else.’
Henning sees that Iver is grinning from ear to ear.
‘Quick, quick,’ Heidi says, making get-out-of-here gestures with her hands. ‘I’m off to an editors’ meeting and half the day has gone already.’
Chairs are pushed back, and they stand up. Henning is the last to leave. ‘Cuttings,’ he mutters to himself. ‘Lucky me.’ Another time he might have kicked up a fuss or spent a minute or two before the meeting inventing a story, a follow-up — anything — to give Heidi the impression he was busy. But cuttings duty is practically a no- brainer. He can spend the time between cutting and pasting stories doing further research on Tore Pulli and the people around him. Henning knows he has barely scratched the surface.
Chapter 21
The secretary’s friendly smile reaches all the way down the handset. Henning thanks her and waits for her to route the call through the switchboard at the offices of Johnsen, Urne amp; Olsvik. Henning has been there before, but now that Heidi has put him on cuttings duty he doesn’t have the time to visit Frode Olsvik, Pulli’s solicitor, in person.
He produces two stories during the first two hours of his day at the office, one about bad weather hampering the search for survivors after a plane crash in Pakistan which has so far claimed the lives of 158 people and a brief eight-liner about four men charged with the gang rape of a woman in a basement flat in Nordstrand last weekend. News-agency stories both of them. Henning forgets all about them when Olsvik’s well-upholstered voice winds its way down his mobile. Henning introduces himself.
‘Good morning, Juul.’
‘Hi. Do you remember me?’
‘I do,’ the lawyer says, and clears his throat. Frode Olsvik is a defence lawyer who would have fitted right into an episode of LA Law in the late eighties. He wears tailor-made suits, braces and treats his guests to a large selection of single-malt whiskies from crystal carafes in his drawing room. But despite working long hours he appears to have both a happy wife and well-adjusted children, something Henning has picked up from other crime reporters who are Facebook friends of Olsvik.
‘My condolences,’ he says. ‘I heard about your son. How are you?’
‘Thank you, I’m not too bad.’
‘I saw that you had returned to work.’
‘Where did you see that?’
Olsvik laughs. ‘Even though I don’t have much time for your paper, I do occasionally socialise with your boss. It’s nothing personal, you understand.’
‘Perfectly. Can you spare a minute?’
‘One, yes, but no more. My next client is due shortly.’
‘Okay, I’ll try to be brief. It’s about Tore Pulli. How long is it until his appeal will be heard?’
‘Let me have a look-’
Fingers leaf through a diary.
‘We’re starting next week. Why? Are you planning a feature on him?’
‘I don’t know‚ to be honest. But could I ask you a question first, please? Off the record, did he do it?’
Olsvik laughs out loud. ‘You know very well I can’t answer that question, Juul.’
‘Haven’t you ever asked him?’
‘I never ask my clients that question. They are legally entitled to a good defence whether they’re guilty or not.’
‘But Pulli claims that he is innocent and that he was set up.’
‘He does.’
‘What do you think about that?’
‘What do I think about that?’
‘You must have met some villains in your time. Many of them must have sworn to you that they were innocent, and most of them would have been lying through their teeth. Given Pulli’s past, then-’
‘I can’t discuss that with you, Juul,’ Olsvik cuts him off.
‘Okay, fair enough,’ Henning replies. ‘What’s Pulli’s explanation as to why his fingerprints were found on the knuckle-duster?’
Olsvik delays his reply for a few seconds. ‘Haven’t you read the verdict?’
‘No, I… I haven’t got that far yet.’
