Another silence.
‘Well. It was Tore’s knuckle-duster. His old one.’
‘Which he used when he was an enforcer?’
‘Yes. He claims that someone must have stolen it.’
‘When?’
‘He doesn’t know.’
‘But it was his knuckle-duster that was used during the attack?’
‘Yes. Traces of Brolenius’s skin and beard were found on it.’
Henning thinks about this, and he grabs a pen by the notebook without quite knowing why. Heidi appears from around the corner. Henning lowers his voice.
‘The murder weapon was never found. What was Pulli’s explanation for that?’
‘Pulli thinks it’s inconceivable that the prosecutor would believe that he would hide the murder weapon elsewhere only to return to the crime scene later. That was one of the reasons why we appealed the verdict immediately.’
Henning ponders this. ‘Will you be introducing any new evidence for the appeal? Information that wasn’t available first time round?’
‘Not at the moment. Juul, I have to go-’
‘Just one last quick question if I may, Olsvik.’
Olsvik sighs theatrically before agreeing.
‘Has your client ever spoken to you about… about me?’
‘About you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. But has he ever done so?’
‘Eh, no. Not that I can remember.’
‘Has he ever mentioned my son?’
‘Your son? No,’ Olsvik says. ‘Why do you ask that, Juul?’
A clammy, lonely feeling overwhelms him. ‘Forget I asked. I was just curious.’
Chapter 22
Henning informs Heidi before he leaves for the police station. On his way he calls Pia Nokleby. She is by no means the only assistant commissioner at the police station, but he has had more contact with Nokleby than with anyone else there since his return to work.
‘Hi Pia, it’s Henning Juul.’
‘Hi Henning.’
‘Do you have a couple of minutes?’
It takes a while before she replies: ‘Yes, I think so. What’s it about?’
‘Would you come outside, please?’
‘Outside where?’
‘Out on the grass. I’m outside the station.’
This is a lie — he hasn’t got there yet — but it will take her some time to get down from the fifth floor.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, please. I’m bored standing here on my own even though the weather is nice.’
Another pause.
‘I’m due in a meeting very shortly, but-’
‘I’ve bought you an ice cream.’
Lie number two.
‘Have you now? But I’m on a diet.’
‘On a diet? You?’
‘Ha-ha.’
Henning laughs, even though he knows it sounds false.
‘Okay, give me a couple of minutes. I feel in need of a break.’
‘I’m on the bench to your left as you come out. Hurry up, your ice cream is melting.’
‘Yes, all right, I’m on my way.’
Nokleby walks briskly past a group of smokers occupying their usual spot a short distance from the main entrance. A blue cloud of cigarette smoke rises towards the sun. Henning waves when he sees her.
As always, the assistant commissioner is in uniform. Her sunglasses emphasise her bone structure. Henning hasn’t noticed it before, but she is actually rather attractive. Distinctive cheekbones, not too defined, just enough to endow her face with shape and character. When she comes closer, he sees that her skin is unblemished and lightly tanned. She has no bags under her eyes though he knows how hard she works. Her dark hair is cut short over her ears and neck and combed into a neat side parting to the left without a fringe to block her view. Her glossy hair has a touch of auburn. She fills out the uniform, not too much, but not too little either.
Nokleby sits down next to him.
‘Hi Henning.’
‘Hi.’
He hands her the ice cream: strawberry soft ice in a cup which he bought in a kiosk across the road.
‘I took a wild guess that you liked strawberry.’
‘All girls like strawberry,’ she smiles.
Henning watches her rip off the cellophane from the spoon that comes with the ice cream. She raises the cup to him.
‘Thank you very much.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘Are you trying to bribe me?’
‘Yes. Is it working?’
‘Let me taste the ice cream first and then I’ll tell you.’
Henning smiles again as he watches her scoop out the soft ice. She swallows a mouthful and closes her eyes.
‘Not bad. Not bad at all.’
Henning laughs. Nokleby raises her eyes towards the avenue that leads up to Oslo Prison.
‘I presume you haven’t just come here to eat ice cream.’
Henning takes a bite of his own ice cream. ‘I’ve started looking into the case of Tore Pulli,’ he says and swallows. Nokleby eats another spoonful and looks at him.
‘There was evidence at the crime scene that indicated that Pulli did it, while other clues pointed elsewhere. I’m just curious: did you consider other suspects?’
Nokleby smiles indulgently. ‘We didn’t just find one piece of evidence and build the case on that alone — if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘Not since I’ve been here.’ Nokleby licks her lips and puts down her ice cream.
‘Some of Tore’s friends wouldn’t agree with you. They go so far as to claim that the police have been hunting Tore for years.’
‘Hunting?’
‘Yes, trying to frame him.’
‘For God’s sake,’ she scoffs. ‘Anyone who says that has been watching too many American movies. The police in Norway don’t frame people, Henning.’
‘The press regularly run stories about substandard police work, inappropriate charges, evidence going missing — being planted even, in some cases. Do you really think it’s that strange that people in the street don’t
