by Thomas Enger
‘You know you can’t even stand up.’
‘I can if I have to.’
Bjarne shook his head and said nothing. He knew how stubborn Henning could be.
He took a deep breath.
‘I’ll go and make some phone calls,’ he said. ‘But there’s someone else here who wants to speak to you.’
‘Oh right,’ Henning said. ‘Who is it?’
Bjarne walked over to the door, opened it and waved to someone. Opened the door a little wider.
When Henning saw her face in the doorway, drawn and pale, but beautiful, he immediately tried to push himself up in the bed, but didn’t manage. He sank back down onto the mattress.
Nora took a few hesitant steps into the room. She brushed the hair from her eyes, then came towards him.
There was so much Henning wanted to say – that was perhaps why no words came out. He followed her with his eyes as she sat down on the chair where Bjarne had been sitting, keeping her distance at first, but then moving the chair closer.
Neither of them said anything, they just looked at each other.
‘I’ll be back shortly,’ Bjarne said, and closed the door behind him. There was silence in the room. Tears streamed from Nora’s eyes, and she rummaged in her bag for a handkerchief.
‘I want to thump you,’ she said, and put her bag down on the floor.
Her voice was tense, quiet – as if there was something holding back the words.
‘Thump away,’ Henning said. ‘Just don’t hit me here.’
He pointed to his shoulder and attempted to smile, but his lips were split and dry, so he ran his tongue over them. But instead of carrying out her threat, Nora held a hand out to him.
He took it, held it.
Cold, sweaty. Small.
Once upon a time, they’d held hands everywhere, all the time. It had felt so strange to begin with; he didn’t like public displays of affection, and found weddings and kissing in front of other people awkward.
But after a while it became natural. As did the distance that gradually crept in later, the daily routines that never quite worked, not once Jonas had come into the world. Their hands never sought each other out, because they were always full of something else – food, a rucksack, nappies, a pram, post – everything became so trivial and they didn’t have time to see each other, to look after each other.
And they drifted apart.
Henning and Nora were separated when Jonas died. It was Nora’s week to have him, but because she wasn’t feeling well, she’d phoned Henning and asked if he could collect Jonas from school and have him for the night. She didn’t want him to catch anything. A decision that was so full of love had changed their lives forever, and he knew that Nora would carry it with her for as long as she lived.
‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘Awful. How about you?’
‘Me?’
She let go of his hand and wiped her nose. Gave a fleeting, albeit sad smile.
‘How am I? Well, actually…’ she said, as though she hadn’t thought about it for a while. ‘I don’t have the words to describe how I feel.’
Henning said nothing.
‘They’ll keep you in here for a few days, no doubt,’ she said, after a pause.
Henning was about to say ‘I can’t’, but gave a quick nod instead. He noticed her cheeks were slightly plumper than when they last met.
‘Iver was a good man,’ Henning said.
It felt odd to say it out loud.
‘However strange it sounds, well … we actually became quite good friends.’
Nora’s head sunk down to her chest.
‘He talked about you a lot,’ she said.
‘Did he?’
She nodded and dried a new tear.
‘He really looked up to you. As a journalist.’
Nora stood up and turned away. She sniffed and quickly put a hand to her face. Henning tried to push himself up in the bed again, and this time managed. He half sat up, holding his weight on his left elbow.
She turned back. Another Nora was standing in front of him now. She was angry, more determined.
‘I’ve tried to think if there was anything about Iver’s behaviour in those last few days that might explain what happened. If he said anything in passing. But…’
She shrugged and opened her hands.
‘I can’t think of anything. Iver’s dead, and you’re lying here half dead.’
She waved her hand at him.
Henning didn’t like what he saw in her eyes.
‘So,’ she said, coming towards him. ‘What can we do to stop all this?’
Henning shook his head.
‘You don’t need to do anything.’
‘I knew you’d say that.’
Her voice was hard and angry.
‘Yes, with good reason,’ Henning replied. ‘There’s no way you’re getting involved in all this as well.’
She stopped right by the bed.
‘So you don’t think I’m involved enough already?’
‘You know what I mean.’
Henning looked at her.
‘You’re pregnant, Nora,’ he said, trying to control the volume of his voice. ‘The risk is too high. These people don’t think twice about killing. And I can guarantee that they’re interested in you, as you were Iver’s girlfriend and my ex. So the best thing you can do, is to lie low, and wait and see if I manage to…’
‘Right, that’s so bloody typical,’ she snapped. ‘No one can sort this out except you.’
Henning took a deep breath.
‘I don’t want to argue with you, Nora. You and I can’t work together on this. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. It was enough with J—’
Henning looked away, but he could feel Nora’s eyes on him all the same. A moment later Bjarne came in through the door with a steaming cup in his hand.
‘Hi,’ he said.
Neither Nora nor Henning answered. Bjarne registered the loaded atmosphere and kept quiet.
‘It’s too dangerous, Nora,’ Henning said eventually. ‘Do me a favour. Stay away. Keep out of the way until this is over.’
Nora just stared at him, for a long time, then she picked up her bag from the floor and put it over her shoulder. She marched towards the door, and said to Bjarne as she passed: ‘I’ll be waiting outside.’
Bjarne and Henning said nothing until she’d banged the door closed behind her.
‘Make sure she stays out of this,’ Henning said.
Bjarne gave a faint smile.
Henning knew that Nora could be just as stubborn as he could when she wanted to be.
‘Just look after her,’ he said, and realised he was tired. ‘Now more than ever.’
Bjarne nodded.
‘We will.’
31
Their retreat had been long and time consuming, and only now that they were back at Flurim Ahmetaj’s place, did Durim Redzepi finally feel safe. But he was far from relaxed. He paced back and forth in the living room, still clutching a gun in his hand.
‘Brother, can’t you just sit down for a moment?’ Ahmetaj asked.
Redzepi shook her head.
‘You’re making me stressed as well,’ Ahmetaj added.
‘I can’t help it.’
Ahmetaj was sitting in front of two big computer screens. Redzepi had never really understood what he did and how he did it, but his good friend from Metrovica was invaluable when it came to data, cameras and surveillance. And that would definitely come in handy over the next few days.
His phone rang.
Redzepi didn’t recognise the number, but he guessed it might be Daddy Longlegs.
‘Hello?’ he said, with a kind of sigh.
‘Juul is in Ullevål Hospital,’ Daddy Longlegs said. ‘You’ll have to go there and…’
Redzepi closed his eyes and blocked out the rest of the sentence. He shook his head.
‘I can’t just walk in and…’
‘I don�
�t care how you do it, as long as you do it – and preferably before he talks to the police.’
‘Juul saw me,’ he protested. ‘He knows what I look like. I’m no good to anybody if they arrest me. And we’ve got the funeral tomorrow so I can’t…’
Redzepi was interrupted by an exasperated sigh at the other end.
‘We shouldn’t be talking about this on the phone,’ Daddy Longlegs said. ‘But you’ll just have to find a solution, and fast. You were given a job, and it’s not finished yet. Call me on this number from another phone when you’ve got something to tell me, and it better be good news.’
He hung up.
Redzepi swore again and threw the phone down onto Ahtmetaj’s sofa.
‘I can tell that went well,’ Ahmetaj remarked.
Redzepi didn’t answer. Carried on pacing back and forth.
What the fuck was he going to do?
He looked over Ahmetaj’s shoulder. There were live pictures on the screens from each of the cameras they’d set up in the graveyard. Each screen was divided into four squares. Eight cameras in total. He took a step closer.
‘Henning Juul’s got an ex-wife, hasn’t he?’
‘Yep.’
Redzepi thought it all through again. Neither he nor Jeton Pecoli should venture outdoors right now. He pointed to Ahmetaj’s screens.
‘Do you have any more of those?’
Ahmetaj understood that he was talking about cameras.
‘No, but I could get some. How many do you need?’
‘Two, three. And I need someone who’s good at getting into people’s houses. If you can do that for me, I’ll make you rich.’
Ahmetaj smiled.
‘Now you’re talking my language, brother.’
Trine wandered around the living room as she checked the newspapers on her mobile phone. None of them had anything new to report. Not even TV2 News Channel, which she had on in the background, could tell her anything she didn’t already know.
The journalist who had been shot had not been named yet, but Trine was terrified that it was Henning. They said on the news that the journalist would live, but how serious were the injuries?
Trine found the telephone number for Ullevål Hospital and dialled – asked to be put through to intensive care. After a long wait, she heard a woman breathing heavily into the phone, and then spit out: ‘Intensive care.’
‘Hi,’ Trine said, hesitantly. ‘I’m calling to … ask if my brother was admitted earlier on today?’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Henning Juul,’ Trine said.
There was a moment’s silence.
‘And you are…?’
‘Trine,’ she said, and wondered briefly if she should give her surname, that she might get help then, but she didn’t. ‘My name’s Trine,’ she repeated. ‘I’m his sister.’
There was another long silence.
‘He was admitted at 16:04,’ the woman at the other end said, finally.
So her fears had been right.
She closed her eyes and swallowed a sob.
‘Can you tell me … how he is?’ she asked, when she’d pulled herself together.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, ‘the patient has to name you as family before I can give you any information. And I’m afraid he hasn’t.’
No, Trine thought. Of course he hasn’t.
‘I can go and ask if he’d like to talk to you?’
‘No,’ was Trine’s prompt reply. ‘No need. I just…’
She stopped herself.
‘Sorry?’
The woman’s voice was softer now.
‘It’s nothing. Maybe you could say…’
Trine changed her mind.
‘Forget it. Thank you for your help.’
Trine hung up and sat down on the sofa, wrapped herself in the blanket, thought long and hard. Then she got up and started to walk around the room again.
Eventually she had an idea.
She wondered how much money she had in her account. It didn’t really matter – if she was short, she could always ask Pål Fredrik for help. She tapped on the speed dial for Katarina Hatlem, her former head of communications at the Ministry of Justice and Public Security.
‘Trine?’
Katarina’s voice rose as she said the name, as though she was surprised to get the phone call, but was also a bit wary.
‘Hi,’ Trine said.
There was a pregnant pause.
‘How are you?’ Katarina asked.
‘I’m fine,’ Trine said. ‘But I have a problem, and I wondered if you might be able to help me.’
32
Henning was not prepared for how unsteady he would be when he got out of bed and took his first few steps. It felt like the morphine and blood loss had knocked everything off balance. And his arm was also stiff and couldn’t be moved.
He put one foot in front of the other. The doctor who had come by only half an hour ago said it was a matter of time – he would soon be able to go to the toilet, eat, shower and dress on his own. The pain would also ease, the doctor assured him, even though that seemed unlikely to Henning at that moment.
Henning sat down again and took some deep breaths.
There was a knock on the door. Bjarne popped his head round.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Depends on how you look at it.’
Bjarne smiled.
Henning could see through the window that it was dark outside. He wondered if it was late afternoon, evening or night.
‘We’re the only ones that know about this, right?’
Bjarne chuckled softly.
‘What do you think – that I’d sacrifice my job to get you out of here, without clearing it with my bosses first?’
Henning looked at him.
‘There was no other way of doing it,’ Bjarne said. ‘And relax, hardly anyone knows where we’re going. Anything else you want to know before we go?’
Henning raised his good hand to his face to wipe away the sweat. Then he took a deep breath and said, ‘Right. I’m ready.’
He stood up again, took a step, stopped. The walls were dancing in front of him.
‘Do you want me to hold your arm or support you in any way?’
Henning scowled at him.
‘You look a little groggy, that’s all,’ Bjarne said. ‘It’s OK to ask for help, you know.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
‘A bit more help then,’ Bjarne said, and smiled.
Henning didn’t answer.
The policeman looked around.
‘Did you have a jacket with you?’
‘I did,’ Henning said, ‘but I think they had to cut it off, and must have thrown it way.’
‘Anything else we can wrap round you? A blanket or something? It’s pretty cold out.’
Henning shook his head.
‘I’m so warm that…’
‘Yes, yes, and it doesn’t hurt anywhere,’ Bjarne teased. ‘I’m sure it won’t matter if you get a cold as well.’
Henning ignored him and took another step. It was more control led, even though he felt like he was on board a tiny boat on a vast ocean.
‘You OK?’ Bjarne asked. ‘Should I get a wheelchair?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Henning said. ‘I need to take my keys.’
‘I’ve got them,’ Bjarne said.
Henning nodded and breathed steadily, trying to stop the images that undulated and spun in front of him.
‘Medicine?’
Henning hadn’t noticed that Bjarne was holding a plastic bag, which he lifted and shook. You could hear the pills rattle in their bottles. It sounded like it was coming from inside Henning’s head.
‘You’re going to turn into one hell of an addict.’
‘Mm,’ Henning responded.
Bjarne walked to the door and opened it for him.
‘Come on then, Rocky. Let’s get ready to rumble.’
They left the hospital via a spiral staircase at the back of the building. The effort made him sweat, so it was good to get out into the cold evening air.
‘Where are we going?’ Henning asked, when they were sitting in Bjarne’s car.
‘To a safe house we sometimes use when we need to look after someone. The owner is in Spain at this time of year. You’ll be safe there.’
‘Spain,’ Henning said. ‘That sounds nice.’
Bjarne drove carefully, making sure to avoid as many of the potholes in the road as he could. Henning tried to straighten up in the passenger seat. The movement made him grimace, so he tried to turn his mind to anything other than the pulsing pain in his shoulder.
When they’d been driving for a few minutes, Bjarne’s phone started to ring. He picked it up, checked the number, and then put it down again.
Henning glanced over at him.
‘Just work,’ Bjarne said. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
Henning must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, they were there. The street was called Tennisveien. There was a big hall nearby with cars parked outside.
Henning tried to get out by himself, but couldn’t do it. Bjarne hurried round to the other side of the car and helped him out.
‘Careful,’ Henning said.
His arm hit the door as he got out, and a sharp pain shot through him. He stood swaying for a while as he gritted his teeth. Took a few small steps, which made the world spin. The windows of the house were like mirrors, and he was glad he didn’t see himself. He wanted to have a bath, but it would probably be a while before he could do that.
Bjarne supported him up the small slope and then let him go when he was steady again. Fumbled for the keys and unlocked the door.
Bjarne went in, deactivated the alarm and turned on the lights. Henning managed to get in by supporting himself on the door. He kicked off his shoes in the hallway and looked around.
It was a fantastic house.
Clean, white surfaces. He could see into a large kitchen that led into the living room, with a fireplace in the corner, TV, dining table. Stairs up to the next floor.
‘The bedroom is upstairs,’ Bjarne said.
Henning nodded, and headed towards the stairs. He could manage as long as he held onto the banister. Upstairs there was a TV den with a door into another room. The room was small, but big enough for Henning and it had everything he needed – a window, a bed, a desk and a small TV mounted on the wall.
