‘Just do the best you can, would you? And spare me the melodrama.’
‘There isn’t very much I can do. I presume the cut is more than eight hours old?’
Mjones nods reluctantly.
‘Then I can’t stitch it. All I can do is clean the wound and keep it open so the pus can drain out. And I’ll give you a course of antibiotics.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
The Doctor puts his suitcase flat on the floor and opens it. Mjones sways.
‘What about travelling with this thing?’ he says, pointing to his shoulder.
‘I wouldn’t recommend it for a couple of days, at least not until you have the infection under control.’
The thought of running away, of leaving Norway behind, makes him remember the safe in his flat where the ampoule is stored. You have to collect it first, he tells himself. Get rid of it and anything else that links you to the murder of Tore Pulli.
But first you have to get better.
Chapter 98
Henning sits down at his workstation and rubs his face with his hands. The chair opposite him is empty. Thank God Iver is going to be okay, he thinks, relieved. Even though he knows that Iver is entirely responsible for his own actions, he wouldn’t have been in hospital if it hadn’t been for Henning.
He stares into the air. Given the police now believe that Tore Pulli was murdered, they may already have requested the call logs from Oslo Prison to find out what kind of contact he had with the outside world. Or perhaps they haven’t. They think that Orjan Mjones is behind Pulli’s death. So why bother with the logs? They are going to be more interested in who Mjones was talking to.
On his way back to the office, Henning calls Knut Olav Nordbo at Oslo Prison and learns that an inmate’s telephone records are deleted if they die or when they are released and that this happens in a matter of days. In other words, it may already be too late. He will never be able to access the logs himself, but the police could if they obtained a court order.
So Henning rings Nokleby. From her tired, fed-up voice he realises that skipping the social niceties is a wise move. He also resists the temptation to ask if she still believes that Tore Pulli was guilty of the murder of Jocke Brolenius.
‘I’ll be quick,’ he begins. ‘As far as Tore Pulli is concerned, have you allocated all your resources to Orjan Mjones now or are you still pursuing other leads?’
‘Still pursuing other leads.’
Henning waits for more, but nothing comes. ‘Can you tell me anything about the leads you’re following up?’
‘Not at this moment in time, no,’ she says in a guarded tone.
‘Do you have any theory as to why Tore Pulli had to die?’
‘No comment.’
Henning hesitates. ‘What about Tore Pulli’s telephone records from prison, have you asked to see them?’
Nokleby doesn’t reply immediately. Then she says, ‘I can’t discuss specific details of the investigation with you, Henning.’
He sighs. ‘I think it might be a good idea if you were to look at those logs.’
‘Yes, I imagine you do.’
Henning lets the slightly ironic remark pass unchallenged. ‘I have nothing else. Oh, yes, are you going to the funeral tomorrow?’
‘We haven’t decided yet.’
‘I see. Well, I’m going.’
‘Okay. Do let us know if you see anything which you think might be a good idea for us to follow up.’
‘I’ll… ’ Henning breaks off and smiles wryly. And when Nokleby ends the call shortly afterwards without saying goodbye, his smile is even broader.
Chapter 99
The light that seeps through the windows of Solvang Church casts a cold, blue sheen across the floor. It matches the covers on the chairs, Henning thinks, as he stands at the entrance looking down the rectangular room. In the middle of the floor, in front of the pulpit, Tore Pulli’s coffin sits, white and beautifully decorated with flowers. Long white ribbons with golden letters express grief and final messages.
Henning knows that he ought to go inside to get a proper look, but he can’t bear being present during the actual ceremony. Afterwards, however, he mixes with the mourners at the graveside. Partly because he wants to see how Pulli’s friends will behave, but also because Heidi Kjus asked him to document the event with his camera. So he takes some close-ups, as discreetly as he can, without becoming intrusive. He wants to get some poignant pictures of big, hulking men struggling to keep their tears at bay. Petter Holte runs a hand over his shaven head and breathes heavily. The clothes he wears look as if they might burst at any moment. Geir Gronningen lets his long hair hang freely over his eyes. For once, his heavy torso has been defeated by gravity. The eyes of Kent Harry Hansen are also shiny. The sunlight makes his white, stubbly hair glow like a torch.
Henning shoots some group photos as more mourners arrive. A man Henning thinks he recognises from somewhere approaches the others. His muscles are tightly packed under his black suit jacket, and he moves lightly across the gravel, looking over his shoulder as if ready to lash out at any moment.
Suddenly there is movement in the crowd as Petter Holte pushes his way to the front and walks right up to the new arrival, who takes a step back. Holte jabs an agitated index finger against the man’s chest. Henning lifts his camera and lets it shoot.
‘You’ve got a bloody nerve showing your face here today,’ Holte hisses.
‘Tore was my mate too, you tosser,’ the man says.
Geir Gronningen and Kent Harry Hansen intervene. Gronningen locks his arms firmly around Holte, who resists.
‘Not here,’ Gronningen tells him. ‘Not at Tore’s funeral. Show some respect.’
Hansen deals with the newcomer, whose mood has also turned ugly. The man adjusts his jacket without taking his eyes off Holte. Eventually Holte backs away.
It takes several minutes before the crowd calms down again. Henning tries, unsuccessfully, to find the face of the man Holte took offence at, but the crowd closes up. The incident is over, but Henning is incapable of paying attention during the committal. Gronningen stands close to Holte, towering over him by a head at least. Nearby, Veronica Nansen clings to an older man with the same eyes and mouth as her. The butch girl from Fighting Fit is there too. Everyone seems to be here. At last Henning spots the man who incurred Holte’s anger, further back amongst the sea of people. His head is bowed. Where have I seen him before? Henning racks his brains.
Soon the first handful of earth falls on Pulli’s coffin. Henning hides behind the camera and takes some more pictures. He sees Holte reach up towards Gronningen’s ear and whisper something before clenching his fist as if he is ready to punch someone.
After the earth has been thrown, a line of people forms in front of Veronica Nansen. She shakes hands with everyone who has come to pay their respects. Henning joins the back of the queue and sees how Nansen grows more and more exhausted the closer he gets. But she carries on, smiling bravely. When it is Henning’s turn, he stops right in front of her.
‘My condolences,’ he says, holding out his hand. Nansen takes it and pulls him closer, almost as if she is on autopilot.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she says.
