Thomas Enger - Scarred

‘I want you to leave.’

Bjarne hears a chill in Remi’s voice that he doesn’t like the sound of. Bjarne says Remi’s full name, but gets no response.

‘Is Emilie there?’ Bjarne then asks.

Silence.

‘Emilie isn’t here,’ the voice replies eventually.

‘I know she’s in there, Remi. I want to talk to her.’

‘No.’

Pause.

Bjarne starts to feel hot.

‘Please could you just tell me if she’s okay?’

No reply.

Bjarne places his hand over the telephone and looks at the others for assistance, but all he gets in return are blank stares.

‘Remi,’ Bjarne begins.

‘Just drop it,’ Remi interrupts him. ‘And don’t try to come inside or I’ll shoot.’

It takes Bjarne a moment before he is able to respond.

‘What did you just say, Remi?’

‘I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it. Don’t – come – in.’

Then he hangs up.

Trine Juul-Osmundsen looks at her watch and sighs. In just a few hours she will be facing the pack of wolves. She has tried writing a statement, but her fingers just hovered over the keyboard. She has heard about writer’s block and believed that it was restricted only to writers, but now she understands its true meaning. Not being able to put down a single, coherent thought. Stare at the screen and get nothing but emptiness back. It’s like living in a vacuum.

She has gone through her emails and fortunately not found any more messages from biglie0910. It confirms the conclusion she reached earlier this morning. The sender knows that there is no point in sending her emails she can’t read or reply to.

There is a knock on the door and Katarina Hatlem peeks in.

‘You wanted a word with me?’ she says and enters Trine’s office. Her long red curls are coiled around her neck.

‘Yes. Close the door behind you,’ Trine says.

Katarina does as she is asked and approaches the desk. Her steps are normally brisk. Her face is usually alert. Now it looks haggard. As if she has been crying or not slept for several days.

‘How are you?’ Hatlem asks her cautiously.

‘Sit down.’

Katarina hesitates a second before she does as she is told.

‘I’ve been doing a bit of thinking recently,’ Trine begins. ‘Or more accurately, I wasn’t able to think very much until I came home last night. It has been a little – how can I put it – difficult to focus on anything other than negative thoughts.’

‘I understand,’ Katarina says, nodding vigorously.

‘But this morning I remembered something.’

Trine drums her fingers on the desk.

‘Whoever started this smear campaign against me must have known that I wouldn’t defend myself. He or she must have known why I couldn’t tell the public what I really did on the night of 9 October last year, or rather what I did the following day. It means that this person must have known that I was in Denmark and what it would do to me if the truth came out.’

Katarina Hatlem lowers her gaze.

‘I confided in one person,’ Trine says, locking her eyes on to Katarina. ‘One person who helped me with the arrangements. And that person, Katarina dear, was you.’

Katarina makes no reply. She just stares at the floor.

‘Either you’re behind all of this or you told someone what I did.’

Trine pre-empts Katarina’s potential protest.

‘I’m going to give you one chance – just one – to explain yourself. And spare me the outrage; don’t tell me it wasn’t you, because you must have had something to do with it. Because I certainly didn’t tell anyone else.’

Katarina can’t even look her in the eye, but Trine sees the colour flare up in her cheeks. It doesn’t take long before the corners of her mouth start twitching.

‘Please believe me,’ she whimpers. ‘I never thought that it would go this far.’

‘Didn’t you?’ Trine replies tartly. ‘Few people know the media better than you, Katarina. You knew exactly how to play it.’

Katarina shakes her head frantically.

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she says. ‘It was my fault, but I promise you, Trine, I had nothing to do with this.’

‘Then I suggest that you start talking. The press conference begins in less than two hours.’

Katarina breaks down and sobs. She cries for a long time until Trine orders her to pull herself together.

‘I’m sorry,’ Katarina stutters while she closes her eyes and lets the tears run free. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

Trine doesn’t reply, she just looks at someone who has been her closest colleague for several years. A colleague she regarded as her friend. And the tender feeling she gets inside surprises her. But she can’t make herself say that it’s okay. It’s very much not okay. The damage can never be undone.

‘I’m waiting,’ she says and juts out her chin.

Katarina Hatlem sniffs, puts a finger under each eye and lets the skin absorb some of the moisture, but to no avail. When she finally starts talking, her voice no longer trembles.

And Trine thought she knew how bad getting hurt could be. Dull pain punctured by tiny pulsating pricks, words driving splinters of pain into her heart and forcing all the air out of her lungs. She thought she knew how bad getting hurt could get.

She was wrong.

As soon as Bjarne has finished the call, he rings a new number. It takes only a moment before the call is answered. He quickly explains where he is and what has happened.

‘This is a hostage situation,’ he repeats to emphasise the gravity of the situation. As he ends the call, he looks up at the house.

‘Do you have any experience with hostage situations?’ he asks.

The local police officers exchange glances.

‘I mean, apart from what they taught you at the police academy?’

‘No,’ one of them says.

‘Would it be okay with you if I take charge until the armed response unit arrives?’

‘Yes,’ they reply in unison.

‘Okay,’ Bjarne begins. ‘We need to set up an inner cordon so that the hostage taker can’t escape if he decides to leave the house. Next we set up an outer cordon that will stop outsiders entering the area. We’re lucky, only one road leads in here and it starts around the bend over there.’ Bjarne points to a grey house with tall walls. ‘There’s a footpath over there. One of you, you for example,’ he says, pointing to the man on his left, ‘go over there and stop everyone from getting through. And I mean everyone.’

The police officer nods.

‘I noticed another footpath on my way here, over by the post boxes. You go over there,’ Bjarne says, pointing to the other officer. ‘You should still be able to see inside the house, but act discreetly. We mustn’t do anything to provoke the hostage taker. Take off your jacket, there’s always a chance he won’t realise you’re a police officer. See if you can get an idea of how many people are inside. We also have to assess whether we need to evacuate any of the neighbours, certainly anyone we see outdoors. We have to get them out of here.’

The officers nod.

‘I’ll stay here in front of the house. We’ll do what we can, and wait for backup.’

The officers nod again.

‘Okay,’ Bjarne says and waves them off. The officers quickly take up their positions. Bjarne watches the house closely, sees the curtain twitch again. A head pops up and then disappears.

Bjarne has been present at two previous hostage situations. The first took place in an asylum centre. A staff member at reception called the police himself to say that he was being held against his will by a resident threatening him with a knife and a can of petrol. An ambulance and armed police officers attended immediately, and initially there were fears that the resident might burn down the whole centre. But everything was over in thirty minutes. The resident was arrested without drama.