Thomas Enger: Pierced

‘Why not?’

‘Probably because he knew that he couldn’t have handled it. Robert may not have been as strong as Petter, but he was much better technically. In close combat, for example, there is no doubt who would have had the upper hand.’

‘Perhaps that was why Petter chose to shoot him.’

‘Yes, but he could have done that any time. Why yesterday, when the whole bloody congregation had just seen him argue with Robert? It’s — it’s like asking to be caught.’

Henning nods in agreement. ‘Did he know the Pulli punch?’ Henning lifts up his elbow to demonstrate. Gronningen hesitates.

‘I think he might have practised it, but, like I said, Petter was no technical genius. He was just muscle.’

Exactly, Henning says to himself. And if Petter was too scared to take on a guy like Robert van Derksen, he was unlikely to have tried it on with Jocke Brolenius in the first place.

Something here isn’t right, Henning thinks.

Again his thoughts return to Tore Pulli. ‘Did you work out with Tore on the night that Jocke was killed?’

‘Yes, we always worked out together.’

Henning looks at him closely. ‘Did you have separate lockers?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you would lock them while you worked out, obviously?’

‘Yes, of course we would, we’re not idiots.’

‘Where did you keep your locker keys?’

‘That depended. People who had been members a long time were allowed to leave them behind the reception or in Kent Harry’s office. What Tore did depended on who was on duty. Tore put his trust in people rather than locks. Why do you ask?’

Henning ignores the question and mulls over the information he has just been given. ‘So, when you worked out, how would you know what time it was?’

‘We would check the clock on the wall.’

Henning looks up at him. ‘The clock behind the reception counter?’

Gronningen nods. ‘None of us wear wristwatches these days. We check our mobiles instead.’

Pulli probably did exactly that when he had finished his workout, Henning thinks, excited, to see if he had any messages or missed calls. That’s the first thing Henning does when he has been asleep or has had a shower. So it can’t just be the time on Pulli’s mobile that was wrong, he surmises.

The clock at Fighting Fit must have been wrong too.

Henning thanks Gronningen for his time and heads straight to the gym. He expects the place to be packed given everything that has happened, but it is practically deserted. He assumes the group must be in shock.

Henning takes a step on to the purple carpet. The tall woman behind the counter looks even more surly than usual when she sees who it is. Henning ignores her attitude and asks if Kent Harry Hansen is around.

‘Didn’t he make it clear that you’re not welcome here?’

‘Yes,’ Henning replies. ‘But I still need to talk to him. Where is he?’

‘Dunno.’

Henning nods, but his attention is drawn to the wall behind her. He takes out his mobile and compares the two clocks. They show practically the same time. No wonder, he thinks. If someone deliberately changed the clock the night Pulli was meeting Jocke Brolenius, then that person would have had to change it back again either later the same evening or the following morning at the latest. Anything else would have been a giveaway.

But who could have done it?

‘That clock up there,’ he begins. ‘Has it… do you know if it-’

Henning hesitates, unsure as to how to phrase the question.

‘Is it always precise?’ he asks, and realises instantly that his question is blatantly obvious.

‘I think so,’ she says without taking her eyes off the magazine in front of her.

‘Do you know if it has been too slow… in the past?’

Henning groans inwardly at his atrocious questioning. Behind him the weights clang against each other.

‘No idea,’ she says, sounding bored.

‘I’m only asking because I was wondering if it was very slow on the 26th of October nearly two years ago.’

She lifts her head, slightly less bored now.

‘That was the night Jocke Brolenius was killed,’ Henning informs her. ‘Were you working here that night?’

She snorts. ‘Do you think I can remember that?’

‘No, but please could you check who was? There is probably a list on your computer. A duty roster, possibly. Timesheets. Payroll. How many people work here?’

‘You need to talk to Kent Harry,’ she says and looks down again. ‘Though I very much doubt that he’ll be willing to help you.’

Henning stares at the clock behind her again, at the wall surrounding it, before he looks back at her. His eyes stop at the T-shirt she is wearing. At chest height three monkeys appear to be having a whale of a time.

‘Is that yours?’ he says, pointing to the monkeys.

She looks up and follows his finger. ‘Jesus, of course it’s mine. What kind of stupid question is that?’

Henning nods slowly while he studies her. Her mouth is downturned, exasperated. She eyeballs him back.

‘Don’t you have an Axe T-shirt as well?’

She searches his face for a reason for this question.

‘What’s it to you?’

Henning doesn’t reply. They lock eyes.

‘No reason,’ he says, eventually. ‘Nice talking to you.’

Bjarne Brogeland sits down on his own in the canteen with a cup of coffee in front of him. The light still streams strongly through the large windows. He massages his face, trying to rub away the tiredness in his eyes. The past few days have been full on. Tore Pulli, Thorleif Brenden, Orjan Mjones, Robert van Derksen. Even so, he shouldn’t be feeling this exhausted. It should all be in a day’s work for him. So what the hell is going on? The first signs of old age? Is his body telling him to start to slow down?

No, he says to himself. He will never show signs of weakness. For him it’s all or nothing. Until the day he drops.

Brogeland picks up his mobile just as a text message from Anita arrives.

Hi, honey. Please would you get dinner tonight? Oda Marie is coming home with Alisha after nursery. Get something healthy and tasty.

xxx

Brogeland quickly replies OK.

He switched his mobile to silent while he was interviewing Petter Holte, and now he sees that seven unanswered calls were received in the meantime. He checks the list of callers. Reporters. Henning Juul, twice. It appears he has also left a message on Brogeland’s voicemail.

Brogeland sighs as he recalls the rebuke in Gjerstad’s voice at the meeting they have just had. As usual it was about leaks. And Gjerstad’s eyes more than hinted that he was blaming Brogeland since he had referred to his conversation with Juul at the joint meeting earlier. His boss warned all of them against further contact with the press and threatened repercussions if anyone were to disregard this order.

Brogeland stares at the letters in Juul’s name. Then he shakes his head and puts down the mobile. Time to call it a day.

Henning tries to call Kent Harry Hansen on his way home to Grunerlokka, but there is no reply, even after numerous rings. Henning thinks about Petter Holte remanded in custody while the evidence against him stacks up. Just like Tore Pulli. And, just like his cousin, Holte insists that he didn’t do it. History is repeating itself, Henning thinks. But if Holte really should turn out to be innocent, then it means that someone else had a reason for killing Robert van Derksen. Why did he have to die? And why did Petter Holte have to take the blame?

Henning is reminded of something Irene Otnes said the last time they spoke. He rings her up and asks her to explain what she meant when she said that Petter Holte wasn’t much of a challenge for women.