Thomas Enger - Pierced

‘Are we talking about a lot of money?’

‘I don’t know. I never knew the actual sum involved, but it was definitely not more than Tore could have managed. And do you know what Tore did next? He bought himself a brand-new motorbike. He already had three or four or whatever! Dear God.’

Henning notes down the word ‘mean’ on the pad in front of him.

‘How did Vidar take it?’

‘How do you think? He was upset, obviously.’

‘Hm.’

An uncomfortable silence ensues. A few minutes later, when Henning ends the call, he is left with the feeling that Pulli might not have been all that popular — even before Vidar Fjell was killed.

The first time the Brenden-Haaland family marked the start of a new school year by eating out, Julie had just been born and they were forced to abandon their celebration before the waiter had even brought the menus. Little Julie screamed her head off and refused to be consoled. At home they could cope with a crying baby, but in public was another matter.

The following year was more successful. Thorleif managed to eat almost half his food before they had to leave. The third year was even better when Julie insisted on having her own meal and swallowed four or five mouthfuls before declaring she had had enough. Today, as Pal proudly announces that he is now in Year Four, Thorleif is actually starting to think that his family can behave like civilised people in a restaurant and enjoy a meal without ruining the experience for the other diners.

They follow a petite young woman with short hair down the stairs at Pizza Di Mimmo, who seats them in the furthest possible corner. Once they have ordered, a sort of calm descends upon their table.

‘Do you know what happened to me today?’ Elisabeth says with an animated expression.

‘No?’ Thorleif replies.

‘I was interviewed.’

‘Who by?’

‘ Aftenposten, I think it was. It was one of those “Your Say” features.’

‘I didn’t know Aftenposten still did that.’

‘Neither did I.’

Elisabeth beams. ‘The topic was crime and immigration, I think. Or maybe it was the other way around. Or it might have been organised crime, I don’t know. Anyway, I was asked if I or anyone in my family has ever felt threatened. I answered no — of course.’

‘Did they ask you anything else?’

‘I can’t really remember.’

Thorleif looks at her while she thinks about it.

‘Yes, now I can. The question was, “How far are you willing to go to protect your family?”’

Thorleif looks at her. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘No.’

‘And what did you reply?’

‘What do you think? I would do whatever it takes, of course. Wouldn’t you?’

Thorleif nods slowly. He used to laugh at people who claimed they would do whatever it took to protect their girlfriend or children — or both. He seriously doubted that they meant what they said or had any idea what it might involve. So he never used the expression himself.

Not until he had children of his own.

‘When are they running it?’ he asks.

‘Tomorrow, I think.’

‘Then we had better get up early,’ he says and smiles. In the mirror the short-haired waitress approaches with bouncy steps. He straightens up a little and looks at Julie’s expectant face. She makes only sporadic contact with the seat underneath her. Pal licks his lips. Thorleif gazes at his children. Until the moment when something deep inside him starts to melt.

The knife-sharpening business, Skjerpings, is located in Kurveien in Kjelsas, a northern suburb of Oslo. Kurveien is a street where yellow concrete blocks press against the mountainsides. White and blue terraces stick out like open drawers. Outside the ground-floor flats, privet hedges struggle to conceal tiny gardens where barbecues and tricycles occupy most of the grass.

At the end of the street, a Nissan Micra with Skjerpings logo and web address on a sticker on the left rear window is parked on the drive in front of a garage. At the top of a small hill to the left Henning can see a large, black log cabin.

He takes a deep breath and starts walking up the steps. When he reaches the cabin, he can see the blue water of Oslo Fjord on the horizon. The whole city lies at his feet. It strikes him what an incredibly beautiful city Oslo is — as long as you look at it from afar.

At the front of the cabin he finds a doorbell labelled skjerpings. no. Soon he hears footsteps coming down a staircase. The door is opened.

‘Hi,’ a woman with long red hair says. Pretty dimples. Lots of attractive freckles. She doesn’t look like someone who could have taken out a man like Brolenius. But if somebody kills your boyfriend, Henning thinks, there are no limits to what you can do. Especially if you earn your living by making murder weapons even sharper than they already are.

‘Are you Irene Otnes?’

‘Yes, that’s me. Can I help you? Do you have some tools you need sharpened?’

‘No. I was wondering if I could have a chat to you about Vidar Fjell?’

Her warm smile vanishes instantly.

‘My name is Henning Juul, and I work for the internet newspaper, 123news.’

Otnes frowns. ‘Why do you want to talk about Vidar now?’

‘I’m working on a story about Tore Pulli. His appeal is coming up, and much of the evidence against him is circumstantial. It is based on his relationship to Vidar. I was… working on other things when he was killed, but now I’m back, and I’m trying to get an idea of what happened.’

She looks at him. A cat rubs itself against her legs before it darts out on the flagstones.

‘If it’s convenient? I really need your help.’

Otnes hesitates before she nods. ‘We can sit over there,’ she says, pointing to an arrangement of plastic chairs. A parasol casts a dark shadow over the grey flagstones.

‘Thank you so much.’

Otnes goes back inside to get a jacket and comes out again. Henning smiles as they sit down.

‘Lovely house,’ he remarks.

Otnes beams with pride. ‘Thank you.’

‘And very unusual for Oslo. A proper old-fashioned log cabin. Do you live in this enormous house all on your own?’

‘I have my cat,’ she replies and smiles quickly as a gust of wind takes hold of her hair. An awkward silence passes between them.

‘So you run a knife-sharpening business?’ Henning continues.

‘Yes, I do. It’s not very common, especially if you’re a woman. And these days people just buy new knives when their old ones get dull. The throwaway society. We have it too good in this country.’

Henning nods in agreement. ‘Is it mainly knives you sharpen?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about axes?’

‘No, hardly ever. If someone had brought in an axe, I think I would have remembered.’

‘And you don’t remember an axe?’

‘No. Why do you want to know about that? I thought you were here to talk about Vidar?’

Henning pauses briefly before starting in again. ‘I have to be honest with you, Irene, I didn’t just come here to talk about Vidar. The circumstances surrounding his death seem quite clear. I’m more interested in what happened afterwards. With Jocke Brolenius and Tore Pulli.’

‘Yes, that’s when it all fell apart,’ she says and shakes her head softly.

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’m thinking of the discussions we had in the weeks that followed.’ She shakes her head again.

‘You were very outspoken, I understand, seeking to avenge Vidar’s murder?’

‘Yes, I was angry and upset. But I look at it from another viewpoint now. After Brolenius was killed, I realised it made absolutely no difference. I was still upset.’