‘No, I-’ He looks at Heidi. ‘I don’t mind being on cuttings duty today as well, if the cuttings team is still short-staffed.’
‘Cuttings duty?’ Hjeltland exclaims. ‘Why on earth would you want to be on cuttings duty? You’re going out, Juul. To work. Chasing scoops.’
Heidi’s cheeks redden. ‘All right, I’ll do that then-’
‘Okay. Great,’ Hjeltland says and checks his watch. ‘I’ve another meeting, MEETING,’ he hollers. Henning struggles for a second or two to suppress an involuntary laugh and sees that Iver Gundersen is doing likewise. Hjeltland storms out of the door, closely followed by Heidi. Henning is the last to leave, with Iver right in front of him.
‘He ought to be called Holler,’ Iver jokes. ‘Holler and the Eagle. They would make a great team.’
‘Good film title.’
‘Yes. Starsky and Hutch. Thelma and Louise. Holler and the Eagle.’
They walk back up to the second floor and return to their desks. Henning looks at Iver, who loses himself in the screen. Perhaps Iver can help me, Henning thinks. He’s smart enough. He contemplates asking him for a moment. Then he shakes his head.
*
Thorleif simultaneously loves and hates dropping off Julie at nursery in the morning. He hates it because sometimes she starts to cry when he leaves. And he loves it for the very same reason. At home, Elisabeth is always her favourite. Julie wants Mummy to put her to bed, to read to her. But at nursery she only wants him.
Today, fortunately, she is all smiles. He hugs her for a long time and whispers in her ear that Mummy will pick her up at four o’clock as usual. Then they go through their goodbye ritual.
‘I love you,’ he says. ‘All the way to the moon.’
‘I love you all the way to the sun. No, to Morocco!’
‘Ah,’ Thorleif says. ‘That’s very far away.’
She nods and squeezes him hard until he has to free himself. He waves to her again and again and again. Even when he is back at the car park outside the Ladybird Nursery he has to wave and wave and wave towards the window where she always stands. As usual he blows her kisses as well. And he gets one back. As he always does.
Kids, Thorleif thinks and opens the car door. The only thing they ever care about is the next treat or the next game. The dangers that lurk out there in the real world never cross their minds. All that matters is getting sweets on Saturdays.
He checks the time and sees that he is running late. He is just about to start the engine when the door on the passenger side is pulled open and a man sits down next to him. Thorleif turns in his seat and is about to protest when he realises who the man is.
The BMW man.
Furio.
Thorleif nearly has a heart attack. The man looks unperturbed.
‘Drive,’ he orders him.
‘But-’
‘In’, the man checks his watch, ‘three minutes a friend of mine will enter a school not very far from here. He will sit down in the canteen. At regular intervals he will go to classrooms 38 and 39 where Elisabeth Haaland is teaching today — with the exception of period four when she has a free period. Your behaviour today will determine whether or not she makes it home from work. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? Are you listening?’
Thorleif nods feverishly and swallows hard.
‘Drive.’
Thorleif turns the key in the ignition with trembling fingers. The car starts. Nearly. He makes a second attempt, and this time the engine roars. Thorleif’s cheeks are flushed. He tries to breathe, but it is difficult.
‘Drive,’ the man says for the third time. Thorleif puts the car into first gear. The car jumps when he releases the clutch. He manoeuvres out between the other parked cars and parents with children, spare clothes and lunchboxes in their hands. Thorleif lets the car roll down the hill towards a junction.
‘W-which way?’ he stammers.
‘That’s what’s so great about this,’ the man says. ‘You can choose.’
‘Choose?’
‘Yes.’
‘I–I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a simple choice. If you turn left, your girlfriend will die. If you turn right, the four of you will still be eating tacos on Friday.’
Thorleif is speechless. Your girlfriend. He indicates right. The man smiles.
‘Good,’ the man says. ‘Wise choice. Now you’ll call work and tell them that you’re ill today.’
‘Ill?’
Thorleif changes from first to second gear.
‘Yes. Ill. But that you’ll be well enough to return to work tomorrow.’
‘But-’
‘If you can’t remember the number, then I’ve got it on my mobile.’
Thorleif stares at the man, who smiles again. As cold as ice. Thorleif eases out the mobile from his inside pocket. He scrolls down to the number for TV2 with shaking fingers and presses call. He wedges his mobile against his left shoulder as he steers the car into the central lane. He can feel his pulse throb in his neck. He stops at another junction and looks at the car next to him. A woman in the passenger seat meets his eyes. In a manic moment he wonders if he can alert her but realises immediately how hopeless it would be. What would he signal? How? With what?
Guri Palme picks up at the first ring.
‘Hi, Guri, it’s me, Toffe.’
‘Oh, hi, Toffe.’
‘Hi. Listen — I’m… I’m not feeling very well today.’
‘Aren’t you?’ she says, sounding concerned. ‘I’m sorry.’
Thorleif squeezes his eyes shut.
‘Nothing serious, I hope?’ she continues.
‘I threw up this morning, but I’m absolutely sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.’
‘Are you really? I can probably get Trude to find someone else for tomorrow.’
‘No, no, I’ll be all right.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay. Good. I hope you feel better soon.’
‘Thank you.’
He ends the call and hyperventilates. The man next to him claps his hands.
‘Bravo,’ he says. ‘I liked the bit about throwing up. I’m starting to think this is going to work out just fine, Toffe. You’re good at improvising. That’s very promising. Take a right up there.’
The man points towards the upcoming roundabout. The emerging autumn colours of Frogner Park glow in the morning sun.
‘I’ve got another very important question for you,’ the man says and turns to Thorleif. ‘Which do you prefer: pedestrian or cyclist?’
Chapter 35
Henning is working his way through a pile of papers on his desk. It takes him only minutes to establish that none of the printouts or notes that have been lying there since Jonas died can be linked to a story that relates even remotely to Tore Pulli. He simply can’t recall who he interviewed around that time. Nor are any of the notes
