Martin’s eyes narrowed, and his hands finally stopped moving.
‘But since you ask, the answer is yes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
Defiance shone from every inch of his tense body, and this time he was the one holding her gaze.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Silje.
If the boy had been ten kilos heavier, and if the sore on his face had healed, he might have been quite good- looking. Unfortunately his teeth were bad, which was rare for Norwegian children in 2009. When he spoke she could see a grey film of tartar, which still didn’t hide a couple of botched fillings in his front teeth. But his eyes were large and blue, and the long eyelashes curled upwards like a small child’s.
‘Can’t you get rid of them?’ he said.
‘Who?’
Martin pointed at the woman and Knut Bork.
‘I’m quite happy to leave,’ said Bork. ‘But the social worker has to stay. We’re not allowed to question you unless somebody from social services is present.’
Without any further discussion he got to his feet. He placed the file next to the report in front of Silje Sorensen, and pushed his chair under the table.
‘Ring me when you’ve finished,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in my office.’
As the door closed behind him, Martin stared nastily at Andrea Solli.
‘I don’t need any help from social services,’ he said. ‘You can go as well.’
Silje got in first.
‘Out of the question,’ she said firmly. ‘Forget it. Tell me about you and Hawre instead.’
Martin had started to lick the sore. The blood from his nose turned pink as it mixed with his saliva, and suddenly a piece of the scab came away.
‘Fuck,’ he yelled, grabbing at his mouth.
Blood was pouring down his face, and Andrea Solli dug out a bundle of Kleenex from her capacious handbag. Martin took three and pressed them against the sore.
‘Me and Hawre weren’t together,’ he said, sounding agitated and revealing that his voice hadn’t completely broken yet. ‘We were just mates.’
‘Mates usually have some idea where their mates are,’ said Silje.
The boy didn’t reply. His eyes were wet, but Silje didn’t know if it was because of the turn the conversation had taken or his sore lip. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. To gain time she opened a half-litre bottle of mineral water and poured three glasses without asking if anyone would like some.
‘Hawre’s dead,’ she said.
At that moment the magpies took off from the window ledge, shouting hoarsely as they disappeared into the darkness over the city. It had stopped snowing at last. It was quarter past four in the afternoon. From the corridor they could hear the rapid footsteps of people hurrying to get home.
‘That’s what I thought,’ whispered Martin.
He dropped the blood-stained tissues on the floor, put his arms on the table and hid his face.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he sobbed again.
‘When did you last see him, Martin?’
Silje Sorensen really wanted to put her arms around him. Hold him. Comfort him, as if there were any way of comforting a boy who wasn’t even sixteen years old and had lost any chance of a decent life long ago.
‘When did you last see him?’ she repeated.
‘I don’t remember,’ he wept.
‘This is really important, Martin. Hawre was murdered.’
The sobs broke off. ‘Murdered?’
His voice sounded half-suffocated as he lay slumped over the table.
‘Yes. And that’s why it’s really, really important that you try to remember.’
‘Do you think I murdered Hawre?’
He wasn’t even angry. Or accusing. Martin Setre simply took it for granted that everybody assumed he was guilty of everything.
‘No, absolutely not. I don’t believe for one moment that you murdered your friend.’
‘Good,’ he snivelled, slowly sitting up.
Andrea Solli pointed at the Kleenex. He didn’t touch them.
‘Because I wouldn’t do that!’
‘Can you try to remember when you last saw him? We can start from 21 November. When you were brought in together. It was a Friday. Can you remember anything about that day?’
He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
‘You were taken into care and driven to the residential unit, it says here. Hawre, on the other hand, managed to do a runner during the journey. Did you see him after that?’
‘Yes…’
He really looked as if he was thinking hard. A deep furrow appeared at the top of his nose.
‘I cleared off the following day. We met up… on the Sunday. And on…’
For the first time he picked up the glass of mineral water.
‘Can I have a Coke instead?’ he mumbled.
‘Of course. Here.’
Silje passed him a bottle. He opened it and drank, not bothering with a glass. A grimace of pain passed over his face as the neck of the bottle caught the sore, which was still bleeding.
‘We met on the Sunday. I’m quite sure about that, because…’
He suddenly stopped speaking.
‘Because…?’ said Silje.
‘I’m not saying.’
‘You have to understand that-’
‘I’m not saying anything about that night, OK? It’s not important, anyway, because I saw Hawre the following day.’
‘Right,’ said Silje, bringing up the calendar on her mobile. ‘So that would be… Monday 24 November?’
‘I don’t know what the fucking date was, but it was the Monday after we were brought in. We were going to…’
Finally he picked up a tissue and dabbed cautiously at his mouth. Tears still lingered on his eyelashes. He was no longer crying, but his whole body seemed more exhausted than ever, if that were possible.
‘We were just going to pick up a couple of blokes, turn a couple of tricks. Then we were going to go and see a film. We needed the money.’
Silje Sorensen had a pen and paper in front of her. So far she hadn’t written a single word. Now she cautiously picked up the pen, but didn’t touch the paper.
‘What film were you going to see?’ she asked, adding quickly: ‘Just so I can check the date.’
‘
She smiled.
‘Come on, Martin.
‘OK, OK. I don’t remember. It’s true. I don’t fucking remember what we were going to see, because we never went in the end.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘We decided to… we… we needed some cash. We went down to the central station.’
He caught her eye again, as if seeking confirmation that she understood what he meant. She gave a slight nod, which he interpreted as a yes.
‘There were loads of people there. It was packed.’
‘What time of day was this?’
‘Dunno – afternoon, maybe. Not very late, anyway. We were going to go to the pictures later. We hung out where we usually hang out…’
‘And where’s that?’
‘By the entrance from Jernbanetorget.’
