Chapter 83
They ought to rename this dump Hole, Orjan Mjones thinks, as he gets back on the train after spending three hours wandering around the centre and vicinity of Gol. He is fed up with hotels and motels and bars and cafes, especially since none of the people inside them have seen anything of Thorleif Brenden. Durim might be right when he said it would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Nor have the other two got anywhere in Fla and Nesbyen. They are on their way to Al and Geilo now. Mjones remembers what Langbein said. The clock is ticking.
He finds an empty seat by the window and updates Durim and Jeton before he rests his head against the wall and weighs up the situation. Brenden might have sat in this very seat. What did he think? What plans did he make?
Mjones rings Flurim Ahmetaj, taking care to speak quietly into the mobile. ‘Have you found out if Number One has friends or relatives or any other links to the area between Fla and Finse?’
‘I haven’t discovered any.’
‘He wasn’t stationed here when he was in the army?’
‘No. He did his military service in Jorstadmoen.’
‘Do a wider search on the guy, check his Facebook profile, see if any of his friends live around here.’
Ahmetaj sighs. ‘We should have wrapped this up two days ago. I have other things to do. If you need my services after today you’ll have to stump up some more dosh.’
‘You’ll carry on working until the job is done. That was the deal.’
‘Yes, and the job you wanted done finished on Thursday. Today is Saturday. So how much extra are you going to pay me?’
Mjones sighs as he shakes his head. ‘Let’s discuss your fee when I’m back. In the meantime I want you to-’
‘No.’
‘What did you say?’
‘“Discuss your fee”? What the hell do you think this is?’
Mjones takes a deep breath. ‘What will it take for you or the three of you to stick with this job until it’s done?’
‘Twenty a day.’
Mjones shakes his head. ‘I’ll give you ten.’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Agreed. But then you had better come up with something useful.’
‘Now, now old man. I’ve got some news for you. I’ve lost the feed at Number Two’s flat. The cops turned up and searched the place. They found the cameras and took them away.’
Mjones ends the call and feels like hurling the mobile against the wall. Soon afterwards they pass Al.
Al. Gol. Where the hell do they get those names from?
Chapter 84
Henning walks under the ruby-red canopy and stops in front of the two doormen outside Asgard. He looks at them in turn.
‘Which one of you is Petter Holte?’ he asks.
The doormen exchange glances before the bigger one pushes his chest up and out.
‘You don’t seem to be answering your phone,’ Henning says.
Holte makes no reply, he merely stares at him blankly. The light above the entrance shines on the bald patch on Holte’s head. There is a dense crescent of stubble around his pate.
‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ Henning continues.
‘And you are?’
‘My name is Henning Juul.’
Holte looks at him, but shows no signs of recognition. ‘I don’t know you.’
‘No, but I know you. You’re Tore Pulli’s cousin.’
Holte doesn’t reply.
‘Are you going in or what?’ the other doorman says.
‘In a moment. I just need to have a quick word with Petter first. I’m a reporter.’
‘I don’t talk to reporters,’ Holte says, far from impressed.
‘Oh, you don’t? But perhaps you beat them up?’
Henning watches Holte closely as his muscles tense and his face darkens. Henning reacts by straightening up.
‘A colleague of mine was beaten up last night. Before that he had been here.’
Henning has to narrow his eyes in order to see Holte’s pupils in the dim light.
‘We don’t know anything about that,’ the other doorman says.
Henning focuses exclusively on Holte. ‘Why are you wearing gloves?’
Holte looks down at his hands before he steps forwards. His tanned face has taken on a flushed undertone. ‘What do you want?’
In the past, the heavies in front of Henning would have intimidated him. ‘I want to know if you beat up my colleague last night.’
Holte snorts. The light from the lamp above the entrance bounces off his right earring. The voice of the other doorman is softer.
‘Petter has made it clear that he doesn’t want to be interviewed. You need to respect that or we’ll have to ask you to leave.’
Henning looks at Holte for one more second before he holds up his hands and says, ‘Okay.’ Holte’s colleague steps aside and opens the door. It would have been fun, Henning thinks, to accidentally bump into Holte’s inflated shoulder, but it strikes him that he might have pushed his luck far enough as it is. In spite of everything, he would still like to leave in one piece.
Henning enters, and the Swedish bartender tells him to go upstairs to Even Nylund’s office. From the first floor Henning has a view of the small stage where a woman of East European appearance tries to tantalise the sparse audience with sensual movements.
It is like entering an attic. The corridor in front of him has an opening that reminds him of a vagina. The lighting is subdued. On the wall to the left he sees an illuminated picture of a woman having sex with a fallen warrior. It must be Freya, Henning thinks, and remembers from his schooldays how Vikings who died in battle would come to her. In Norse mythology this kind of death was depicted as an erotic encounter.
Henning walks down the corridor, stops in front of an open door and peers inside. A man sitting on a chair with his back to him turns around.
‘Ah, right. There you are.’
Four TV monitors are mounted on the wall above Even Nylund. Nylund gets up as Henning goes inside. They shake hands.
‘So you found me.’
Nylund gestures to a chair. Henning sits down.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’
Henning shakes his head even though his shirt sticks to his body and his throat is parched. He looks around. The walls are decorated with pictures of scantily clad women, advertising posters and press cuttings. The images on the TV screens are replaced every few seconds. They are live shots from the bar, the stage, the whole room seen from a bird’s-eye view plus pictures from outside. Petter Holte stands tall and tough with his thumbs hooked in his belt.
‘I know who you are,’ Nylund says.
‘Do you?’
