‘What did you mean when you said that they made Thorleif do it? Are you referring to what happened in Oslo Prison yesterday?’
She gives him a quick look, but says nothing. She doesn’t have to.
‘Who made him?’
‘I–I don’t know who they are.’
‘Has anyone threatened him?’
Henning can’t decide if she is shaking her head because she doesn’t know or if fear has taken control of her body. ‘What’s happened?’ he says again, in an even softer voice.
Another shake of the head.
‘Has Thorleif been behaving strangely recently?’
Henning can see that she thinks about it before she nods.
‘In what way?’
She composes herself and dries her wet cheeks. ‘He has been very distant. He spent a couple of days in bed this week because of a stomach bug, and he kept calling to ask me to do the things I already do every day.’ Again she wipes the tears from her face.
‘Has he done anything else unusual?’
‘He drew a picture of a car.’
Henning lets her have all the time she needs.
‘And he put the picture under my pillow.’
‘Why do you think he did that?’
She shakes her head again while she opens her handbag and takes out the drawing. Henning’s eyes widen as he sees it. He reads the words Thorleif Brenden wrote at the bottom.
If anything should happen to me, go to the police and tell them to look for Furio. I don’t know what he will make me do or why, but I have to do what they want in order to protect you.
‘Who is Furio?’ Henning asks as he feels his heart beat faster. He used to live for moments like this.
‘I’m not sure,’ Haaland says. ‘But I’ve met him, I think. He interviewed me a couple of days ago.’
‘Is he a reporter?’
‘He said he was, but now I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the interview he did with me was never published.’
Henning studies her. ‘Which newspaper was it?’
‘ Aftenposten. ’
‘And this man was called Furio?’
‘No,’ she says, looking down. ‘But he looked like Furio, the character in The Sopranos, if you’ve seen that.’
Henning nods. ‘Do you mean the type, or did he specifically resemble Furio?’
‘Both.’
Henning ponders this. ‘Do you remember anything else about him?’
‘No.’
‘What kind of questions did he ask you?’
‘He wanted to know how far I would go to protect my family. It was supposed to be for a survey in the newspaper, but-’
Again she shakes her head.
‘And you told Thorleif about the interview?’
Haaland nods tearfully.
‘But this Furio guy appears to have been in contact with Thorleif after you were interviewed?’
‘Yes, wouldn’t you think so when you look at this?’
Henning examines the drawing. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Did he speak Norwegian?’
She looks up at him at once. ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Thorleif has asked me the same question several times in the past few days, if the people I had come into contact with spoke Norwegian. I thought he had gone mad. Why do you want to know?’
‘Because Tore Pulli was convicted of killing a Swedish enforcer,’ Henning says, gravely.
‘And you think his friends used Thorleif to take revenge on Pulli?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says.
There is no reason why they would want to do that. Pulli was already in jail, and, according to his lawyer, there was no new evidence in the appeal which might lead to him being acquitted. And even if there had been, all that would mean is that Jocke Brolenius’s real killer is still out there. So why kill Pulli? Pulli must have had other enemies, Henning thinks. ‘Has anyone else around you been acting strangely?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And no other unusual events have occurred?’
‘No.’
Henning nods slowly to himself. There is silence for a few seconds. The cab slows down on Henrik Ibsensgate as they drive towards the National Theatre.
‘Our burglar alarm,’ Haaland exclaims and looks up.
‘Eh?’
‘A few days ago our burglar alarm stopped working.’
‘When was this?’
‘I don’t remember. Last Sunday, I think.’
‘What happened? How did you discover that it had stopped working?’
‘We had been out on a day trip — we tend to do this on Sundays — and we set the burglar alarm and locked the flat before we left. But when we came back, the alarm wasn’t working. Its power had been cut. Thorleif promised to fix it, but-’
She starts to cry again. Something occurs to Henning. The media has free access to prison inmates. The only item reporters are asked to hand over when they arrive is their mobile. No one is searched. Someone must have known about the interview, must have known which TV2 staff would be visiting the prison. It follows that the people who wanted Pulli dead must have identified and coerced whoever would be best placed to carry out the killing for them. The question is what they intend to do with Brenden afterwards, something which, now that he thinks about it, might explain why Brenden has gone missing.
It doesn’t bode well for Brenden; Henning shudders, and he looks at Haaland again. She dries her face. ‘Can you remember when Thorleif’s behaviour started to change?’
‘A couple of days later, I think. I’m not really sure.’
There is silence for a few more seconds as the cab approaches the police station.
‘This is a very important lead,’ Henning says, pointing at the drawing. ‘You need to tell the police everything you know, tell them about the burglar alarm, everything you remember about this Furio character. They will probably ask you to help them make an E-fit.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ she says and starts to cry again.
‘They’ll help you,’ Henning assures her and puts his hand on her shoulder. ‘They’re very good at these things. Ask to speak to DI Brogeland.’
Haaland nods and tries to pull herself together as the cab stops outside the police station.
‘Will you be writing about this?’ she asks him.
‘It’s my job.’
‘No matter what you write then, please don’t say anything that makes Thorleif sound guilty. I know what people think when they read the papers. I don’t want my children to hear what their father might have done at their school or in nursery. Will you promise me that?’
‘If you like I can give you a call and read the article to you before it’s uploaded.’
‘I don’t know if I have the energy,’ she says, weakly. ‘Besides, you look — you look… decent.’
Henning grins. ‘Can I have that in writing, please?’
Her tearful smile fills him with compassion. ‘I have to go,’ she says. ‘They’re waiting for me.’
