out?’
‘Yes, I knew that.’
‘Vidar practically dragged them in off the street. At his funeral they were queuing all the way out to the cemetery. There wasn’t room enough in the church. Vidar had so many friends.’
Henning can hear how she grows with every word. ‘Did he have a lot of close friends too?’
‘Yes, he did.’
Linda Fjell reels off the names Henning was expecting to hear: Robert van Derksen, Geir Gronningen, Petter Holte, Kent Harry Hansen. But not Tore Pulli. Henning asks if Tore was one of Vidar’s close friends.
‘No.’
‘Pardon me for asking,’ he says after a short pause. ‘But how do you know that?’
‘Because real friends are there for each other.’
‘And Tore wasn’t?’
‘No.’
‘In what way was he not there for Vidar? After all, he was convicted of avenging your son’s killing.’
Linda Fjell snorts. ‘Is that how you prove what a good friend you are? By killing people? I’m talking about something completely different. Some years ago Vidar had problems at the gym, money trouble. The rent shot up, and the grant the council gave him through the Inner City Project wasn’t enough to cover it. Tore had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it. Vidar went to see Tore to ask for his help. And you know what he said? He said no, that’s what he said.’
‘Are we talking about a lot of money?’
‘I don’t know. I never knew the actual sum involved, but it was definitely not more than Tore could have managed. And do you know what Tore did next? He bought himself a brand-new motorbike. He already had three or four or whatever! Dear God.’
Henning notes down the word ‘mean’ on the pad in front of him.
‘How did Vidar take it?’
‘How do you think? He was upset, obviously.’
‘Hm.’
An uncomfortable silence ensues. A few minutes later, when Henning ends the call, he is left with the feeling that Pulli might not have been all that popular — even before Vidar Fjell was killed.
Chapter 24
The first time the Brenden-Haaland family marked the start of a new school year by eating out, Julie had just been born and they were forced to abandon their celebration before the waiter had even brought the menus. Little Julie screamed her head off and refused to be consoled. At home they could cope with a crying baby, but in public was another matter.
The following year was more successful. Thorleif managed to eat almost half his food before they had to leave. The third year was even better when Julie insisted on having her own meal and swallowed four or five mouthfuls before declaring she had had enough. Today, as Pal proudly announces that he is now in Year Four, Thorleif is actually starting to think that his family can behave like civilised people in a restaurant and enjoy a meal without ruining the experience for the other diners.
They follow a petite young woman with short hair down the stairs at Pizza Di Mimmo, who seats them in the furthest possible corner. Once they have ordered, a sort of calm descends upon their table.
‘Do you know what happened to me today?’ Elisabeth says with an animated expression.
‘No?’ Thorleif replies.
‘I was interviewed.’
‘Who by?’
‘ Aftenposten, I think it was. It was one of those “Your Say” features.’
‘I didn’t know Aftenposten still did that.’
‘Neither did I.’
Elisabeth beams. ‘The topic was crime and immigration, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Or it might have been organised crime, I don’t know. Anyway, I was asked if I or anyone in my family has ever felt threatened. I answered no — of course.’
‘Did they ask you anything else?’
‘I can’t really remember.’
Thorleif looks at her while she thinks about it.
‘Yes, now I can. The question was, “How far are you willing to go to protect your family?”’
Thorleif looks at her. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No.’
‘And what did you reply?’
‘What do you think? I would do whatever it takes, of course. Wouldn’t you?’
Thorleif nods slowly. He used to laugh at people who claimed they would do whatever it took to protect their girlfriend or children — or both. He seriously doubted that they meant what they said or had any idea what it might involve. So he never used the expression himself.
Not until he had children of his own.
‘When are they running it?’ he asks.
‘Tomorrow, I think.’
‘Then we had better get up early,’ he says and smiles. In the mirror the short-haired waitress approaches with bouncy steps. He straightens up a little and looks at Julie’s expectant face. She makes only sporadic contact with the seat underneath her. Pal licks his lips. Thorleif gazes at his children. Until the moment when something deep inside him starts to melt.
Chapter 25
The knife-sharpening business, Skjerpings, is located in Kurveien in Kjelsas, a northern suburb of Oslo. Kurveien is a street where yellow concrete blocks press against the mountainsides. White and blue terraces stick out like open drawers. Outside the ground-floor flats, privet hedges struggle to conceal tiny gardens where barbecues and tricycles occupy most of the grass.
At the end of the street, a Nissan Micra with Skjerpings logo and web address on a sticker on the left rear window is parked on the drive in front of a garage. At the top of a small hill to the left Henning can see a large, black log cabin.
He takes a deep breath and starts walking up the steps. When he reaches the cabin, he can see the blue water of Oslo Fjord on the horizon. The whole city lies at his feet. It strikes him what an incredibly beautiful city Oslo is — as long as you look at it from afar.
At the front of the cabin he finds a doorbell labelled skjerpings. no. Soon he hears footsteps coming down a staircase. The door is opened.
‘Hi,’ a woman with long red hair says. Pretty dimples. Lots of attractive freckles. She doesn’t look like someone who could have taken out a man like Brolenius. But if somebody kills your boyfriend, Henning thinks, there are no limits to what you can do. Especially if you earn your living by making murder weapons even sharper than they already are.
‘Are you Irene Otnes?’
‘Yes, that’s me. Can I help you? Do you have some tools you need sharpened?’
‘No. I was wondering if I could have a chat to you about Vidar Fjell?’
Her warm smile vanishes instantly.
‘My name is Henning Juul, and I work for the internet newspaper, 123news.’
