killer can leave behind? For the police, that is. DNA. You’ve heard of that?’
Still no reply. Cold-blooded bastard, Brogeland thinks.
‘Last night, at 21.17, you received a text message from Henriette Hagerup.’
Marhoni’s pupils contract slightly. Brogeland notices this.
‘Do you recall what it said?’
Brogeland can see that Marhoni is thinking about it. Brogeland looks at a sheet, which Sandland has passed to him. He raises a fist to his mouth and coughs again.
‘Sorry. It means nothing. HE means nothing. You’re the one I love. Can we talk about it? Please?’
Brogeland looks at Marhoni and at Indrehaug, in turn. He lets the implications of the text message sink in, before he continues.
‘Do you want me to read the next text she sent you?’
Marhoni looks at his lawyer. For the first time during the interview, the rock-hard surface is starting to crack.
‘It would appear that Henriette was killed sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., that’s only a few hours after sending you three text messages. If I were you, I would start talking about what happened between the two of you last night.’
Marhoni shows no signs of wanting to talk. Brogeland sighs and looks at his sheet again.
‘I promise to make it up to you. Give me another chance, please?’
Marhoni is shaking his head now.
‘Inspector, I think –’
‘You called her after the second text, but you got no reply. Is that right?’
Brogeland is getting annoyed with the silent bastard.
‘Please respond? Please? I’ll never do it again. I promise.’ That was the third text, sent ten minutes later.’
Marhoni stares at the floor.
‘What was it she promised never to do again, Mr Marhoni? What had she done that was so bad that you can’t look me in the eye and tell me?’
No change.
‘Who is “he”?’
Marhoni looks up, but not at Brogeland.
‘Who is “he” who means nothing to her?’
Marhoni’s lips are pursed. Brogeland sighs.
‘Okay. It’s not up to me, but I guarantee that you’ll go before a judge and be remanded in custody later today. If I were your lawyer, I would start preparing you to spend the next fifteen to twenty years indoors.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
His voice is faint, but Brogeland has already got up from his chair. He leans across the table and presses a button.
‘Interview terminated at 15.21.’
Chapter 14
It starts to rain gently. Henning likes the rain. He likes getting wet when he is outdoors, likes looking up at the sky, closing his eyes and feeling the raindrops fall on his face. Too many people ruin a good shower by putting up their umbrellas.
A little rain is appropriate now. It provides a golden opportunity for the bystanders to show that they don’t care about personal comfort in their hour of grief; they might be within range of a camera, they could even be on the news later today, so they cluster together. The rain is like tears from above, as if God himself grieves at the loss of one of his children.
Henning snaps away. His Canon takes three pictures per second. He imagines a fine photo montage in the paper later. But he isn’t looking for people who are crying. He is looking for anyone standing quietly, alone, reflecting.
He approaches a lad with short hair, no sign of a beard yet, with the Björn Borg logo on his underpants showing above the waistband of his trousers. He is being interviewed by Petter Stanghelle from VG. VG loves a good sob story.
The tearful boy talks about Henriette Hagerup, how clever she was, what a huge loss it is to the Norwegian film industry etc. Henning carries on walking, making sure he keeps well away from the camera lenses, as he takes in the hysteria that surrounds him.
And that’s when he sees her. Quickly, he takes her picture. She stands in front of the tree, she wasn’t there a few minutes ago; she alternates between reading the messages and staring at the ground, shaking her head imperceptibly before looking up again. More
Still no reply. Cold-blooded bastard, Brogeland thinks.
‘Last night, at 21.17, you received a text message from Henriette Hagerup.’
Marhoni’s pupils contract slightly. Brogeland notices this.
‘Do you recall what it said?’
Brogeland can see that Marhoni is thinking about it. Brogeland looks at a sheet, which Sandland has passed to him. He raises a fist to his mouth and coughs again.
‘Sorry. It means nothing. HE means nothing. You’re the one I love. Can we talk about it? Please?’
Brogeland looks at Marhoni and at Indrehaug, in turn. He lets the implications of the text message sink in, before he continues.
‘Do you want me to read the next text she sent you?’
Marhoni looks at his lawyer. For the first time during the interview, the rock-hard surface is starting to crack.
‘It would appear that Henriette was killed sometime between midnight and 2 a.m., that’s only a few hours after sending you three text messages. If I were you, I would start talking about what happened between the two of you last night.’
Marhoni shows no signs of wanting to talk. Brogeland sighs and looks at his sheet again.
‘I promise to make it up to you. Give me another chance, please?’
Marhoni is shaking his head now.
‘Inspector, I think –’
‘You called her after the second text, but you got no reply. Is that right?’
Brogeland is getting annoyed with the silent bastard.
‘Please respond? Please? I’ll never do it again. I promise.’ That was the third text, sent ten minutes later.’
Marhoni stares at the floor.
‘What was it she promised never to do again, Mr Marhoni? What had she done that was so bad that you can’t look me in the eye and tell me?’
No change.
‘Who is “he”?’
Marhoni looks up, but not at Brogeland.
‘Who is “he” who means nothing to her?’
Marhoni’s lips are pursed. Brogeland sighs.
‘Okay. It’s not up to me, but I guarantee that you’ll go before a judge and be remanded in custody later today. If I were your lawyer, I would start preparing you to spend the next fifteen to twenty years indoors.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’
His voice is faint, but Brogeland has already got up from his chair. He leans across the table and presses a button.
‘Interview terminated at 15.21.’
Chapter 14
It starts to rain gently. Henning likes the rain. He likes getting wet when he is outdoors, likes looking up at the sky, closing his eyes and feeling the raindrops fall on his face. Too many people ruin a good shower by putting up their umbrellas.
A little rain is appropriate now. It provides a golden opportunity for the bystanders to show that they don’t care about personal comfort in their hour of grief; they might be within range of a camera, they could even be on the news later today, so they cluster together. The rain is like tears from above, as if God himself grieves at the loss of one of his children.
Henning snaps away. His Canon takes three pictures per second. He imagines a fine photo montage in the paper later. But he isn’t looking for people who are crying. He is looking for anyone standing quietly, alone, reflecting.
He approaches a lad with short hair, no sign of a beard yet, with the Björn Borg logo on his underpants showing above the waistband of his trousers. He is being interviewed by Petter Stanghelle from VG. VG loves a good sob story.
The tearful boy talks about Henriette Hagerup, how clever she was, what a huge loss it is to the Norwegian film industry etc. Henning carries on walking, making sure he keeps well away from the camera lenses, as he takes in the hysteria that surrounds him.
And that’s when he sees her. Quickly, he takes her picture. She stands in front of the tree, she wasn’t there a few minutes ago; she alternates between reading the messages and staring at the ground, shaking her head imperceptibly before looking up again. More
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