Thomas Enger - Burned

Marhoni doesn’t reply.

‘Would you like to change your statement, Mahmoud?’ Brogeland interjects. ‘Would you like me to ask you, once more, if you know Zaheerullah Hassan Mintroza? Or Yasser Shah?’

Marhoni doesn’t reply. Brogeland waits for him to crack.

‘They’re going to kill them,’ Marhoni whispers after a long pause.

‘Who are they, Mahmoud?’

‘Hassan and his men.’

‘Who are they going to kill?’

‘My family. If I give them up. I’ve been wanting to quit, I’ve been looking to get out for a long time, but they started threatening me.’

‘And you responded by taking photographs of the deals?’

Marhoni nods.

‘And they found out?’

He nods twice.

‘Answer the question.’

‘Yes.’

‘So the murder of your brother was a message? Keep your mouth shut or we’ll kill the rest of your family?’

He nods three times.

‘Answer the question, please.’

‘Yes.’

‘How long has this been going on, Mr Marhoni? When did it start?’

He sighs.

‘Some time after I got my minicab licence. I started driving for Omar, we already knew each other and after a while he asked me if I wanted to earn some extra cash. I said yes, because my father was ill and, to begin with, all I had to do was a bit of driving and a few deliveries. But then they wanted more. In the end, I wanted out.’

‘But you knew too much, so they couldn’t risk it?’

‘No.’

Brogeland looks at Indrehaug, who runs his fingers through his hair. He tries to sweep it away from his eyes, but it keeps flopping into them.

‘What do you want?’ Indrehaug says.

‘What do we want? We want the big fish, we want to know who your client’s supplier is and how the drugs get into this country. And that’s just for starters. I’m sure you can imagine the rest.’

Indrehaug nods.

‘You’re presuming that my client will testify against BBB?’

‘Of course.’

‘Despite his family situation back in Pakistan?’

Brogeland looks at the lawyer and sighs. Then he fixes his gaze on Marhoni.

‘We know that you didn’t kill Henriette Hagerup.’

Marhoni looks up at Brogeland.

‘There’s a good chance that you can walk out of here very soon, if you co-operate.’

Marhoni looks more alert now. He turns to Indrehaug who turns to Brogeland.

‘Are you offering my client a deal?’

Brogeland looks at Sandland, smiles, and looks back at Indrehaug.

‘You bet we are.’

Henning is so shocked at seeing Anette at the college that he is lost for words. He just stands there, gawping at her. He was convinced she had gone into hiding. Then he wonders whether Anette is like him. Perhaps she has also had enough of looking over her shoulder and prefers to confront her fears rather than give in to them.

She makes no attempt to get past him.

‘Hi,’ he says, at last.

‘Hi.’

They look at each other, both waiting for the other to say something.

‘I’ve read the script,’ he says, even though he knows that she knows. She nods.

‘I’ve also shown it to the police.’

‘Yes, I imagined you would.’

‘Have they spoken to you yet?’

‘No. They’ve tried, but I haven’t returned their calls.’

He frowns.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t feel like it.’

She says it without blushing and seemingly without a hint of guilt. He studies her.

‘But I’m thinking of doing it now.’

‘Aha? Why? Why now?’

‘Because I think I know who killed Henriette.’

He can barely hear her. Intrigued, he takes a step closer.

‘Who?’

He can hear the trembling in his own voice. Anette glances around to make sure they are alone. They aren’t. But no one is close enough to hear what she says.

‘Stefan Foldvik,’ she whispers. Henning gasps. Anette watches his reaction.

‘Why?’

‘Haven’t you read the script?’ she asks.

‘Yes.’

‘Then it should be obvious.’

She offers no further explanation. Henning thinks about it.

‘The Foldvik family is the Gaarder family. In the script.’

He is half asking, half stating it. Anette nods.

‘Did Yngve have an affair with Henriette?’

Anette takes a quick look around again before she nods. Her eyes are grave.

‘Stefan must have found out.’

‘How?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps he found a copy of the script at home or on his father’s PC? I don’t know.’

‘Yngve hadn’t seen the script,’ Henning says.

Anette frowns. ‘He told you that?’

‘Yes,’ he admits, guiltily, as it strikes him that something doesn’t add up. ‘Has anyone else from college read the script?’

‘No.’

‘No actors or extras?’

‘We were the actors and we had only got as far as shooting the first scenes. We were going to film the rest later in the autumn, so we haven’t shown the script to anyone else. Not yet.’

He nods, thinking Yngve must have been lying. He had the script, after all. It is the only logical explanation Henning can think of, since Stefan had a copy of it. Perhaps Yngve realised that the truth about his affair would come out eventually and chose to tell his family first? Later, Stefan finds the script among his father’s things, or asks to see it.

Anette could be right about Stefan: he killed Henriette because she had destroyed his family and was about to compound the damage by making a film about it. But now Stefan is dead, either by his own hand or because someone killed him. And that changes everything, in Henning’s view. But who would benefit from Stefan’s death? Calm down, Henning, there might be other reasons why a young man chooses to end his life, reasons which have nothing to do with ‘A Sharia Caste’ or Henriette or Yngve. Besides, there is one option he hasn’t allowed for: Stefan’s death could be due to natural causes.

He is starting to feel a little dizzy. He knows he shouldn’t be discussing this with Anette, but he has no one else, and he needs to test his theory on someone while the ideas are coming at him from all angles.

‘Did you ever discuss the script with Yngve?’

‘I imagine Henriette did, but I never went to any meetings about it, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Do you think they discussed the Gaarder storyline?’

‘No idea.’

‘It’s pretty rich to expose your own lover like that.’

Again he utters it like something halfway between a question and a statement.

Anette sniffs. ‘Are you saying that Yngve did it?’

‘No, not necessarily.’

‘You don’t know Yngve. He’s a pussycat.’

‘A pussycat who helped Henriette sell an option on her film.’

Anette smiles. It is the first time he has seen her smile.

‘Yes, I imagine that’s why Henriette slept with him.’

‘So it only happened once? It wasn’t a full-blown affair?’

She shakes her head and suppresses a laugh. ‘Oh, no.’

She doesn’t elaborate. He lets it lie. He isn’t writing a gossip column.

‘Did her boyfriend know about this?’

‘Mahmoud? I don’t think so.’

‘How do you think he would have reacted to the film? Wouldn’t he have assumed that Mona, Henriette that is, might have been unfaithful in real life? Given that most of the plot mirrored reality?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anette responds. ‘And anyway, it doesn’t matter now.’

‘But didn’t Henriette consider this when she wrote the script? Wasn’t it something you discussed?’

‘Well, we — ’

She ponders this, but doesn’t expand on her reply.

‘So Henriette had no problem using her boyfriend as the basis of a character who is set up? How would you like it, if your boyfriend did that to you?’