Burned (32 page)

‘No, you’re right about that,’ Brogeland replies, smiling. ‘But how would you explain this?’

He slides another sheet towards Indrehaug and Marhoni.

‘This photograph was also found on your client’s computer. In fact, we found several very interesting pictures.’

Indrehaug pulls the sheet towards him. Marhoni doesn’t look at the print-out which shows him with a man in a black leather jacket. The jacket has an emblem of flames on its back. The man’s face is clearly visible.

‘This is your client in the company of a man called Abdul Sebrani. If you check the list we’ve just shown you, you’ll see that his name appears on it. The photograph was taken during the delivery of a batch of cocaine from BBB – Bad Boys Burning – to your client earlier this spring. It was taken down at Vippetangen. Can you see the water in the background?’

Indrehaug studies the photograph. The image is sharp and shot with a telephoto lens from some distance.

‘Do you remember where you were supposed to take the drugs, Mr Marhoni?’ Brogeland asks. There is no reply.

‘We have more pictures like this. Your client – and I’m only guessing here – wanted some sort of insurance against his business associates, just in case they started to play hardball. Or perhaps they had already started threatening you, Mr Marhoni?’

Marhoni ignores Brogeland’s hard stare.

‘Your client kept his head down. But when his girlfriend was killed and we came knocking on his door, he realised that his laptop might incriminate him. And BBB. That’s why he tried to burn it, to destroy the evidence.’

Brogeland looks at both Marhoni and Indrehaug. Indrehaug blanks him and leans towards Marhoni instead. Whisper, whisper.

Slam-dunk, Brogeland thinks. He looks at Sandland, hoping that she is thinking the same, but she is always difficult to read.

‘Your brother was a photographer, wasn’t he?’ she asks. Marhoni turns to her, but doesn’t reply.

‘He took these pictures, didn’t he? He uploaded them to your laptop.’

Marhoni still doesn’t reply, but there is no need for him to say anything.

‘Where’s the rest of your family, Mahmoud?’

Marhoni keeps his eyes fixed on Sandland, before he averts them and whispers:

‘Pakistan.’

‘What will happen to them?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who is going to send them money now?’

Marhoni looks down.

‘We know that you send them a lot of money every month. Your father has brain disease. The money buys the treatment he needs. The amounts vary slightly, but I presume that’s to do with the exchange rate. You live on what you earn from minicabbing, while the money you’re paid for transporting drugs and driving gang members around ends up in Pakistan. That’s how it works, isn’t it?’

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.’

Chapter 62

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?’

‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

‘No, no. But you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Of course. Maybe Henriette had talked to Mahmoud about it, what do I know? Explained to him that we didn’t mean it literally, that we don’t believe he’s an idiot who should be taken off our streets. I’ve no idea.’

She shrugs.

‘Does he support sharia and hudud punishments? Do you know?’

‘I can’t imagine that he does.’

‘So the Yashid character wasn’t a fanatical, fundamentalist Muslim?’

‘No.’

‘Then why was Mona stoned to death? Don’t you have to be a Muslim to be stoned to death in accordance with sharia and hudud?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, you still haven’t got it, have you?’

‘Then explain it to me. From the start.’

Anette sighs.

‘The point of the film is to highlight what’s going on in the world, something that might, one day, be commonplace in Norway, if extreme Islamic beliefs gain a foothold and are allowed to flourish. Soon it won’t matter whether we are Norwegians or Muslims. What do you think Oslo will look like in thirty or forty years? We’ll probably all be Muslims, indoctrinated and well behaved. That’s why Yashid is an ordinary Muslim and Mona is an ordinary Norwegian woman. To make people think.’

‘Right.’

‘Was that so difficult?’

She looks at him as if he is slow on the uptake.

‘No. But there’s nothing to suggest that might happen, Anette. Very few people believe that Norwegian law should give way to sharia.’

‘And?’

He frowns.

‘And? The premise for your film is wrong. It has no roots in reality. You’re not about to tell me that you also have a sick wish to be killed by eight gunshots?’

Anette looks up at the dark grey, ominous clouds.

‘I’m sure Henriette is up there with Theo van Gogh, as we speak. I didn’t know you were on their side.’

Henning sighs and forces the air through his nostrils. He looks frustrated.

‘There are aspects of Islam and sharia which I personally don’t care very much for, but what you’re doing only contributes to making matters worse. What about integration, multiculturalism and all that?’

‘Save it for the speeches. Besides, this has nothing to do with Stefan.’

He presses his lips together. He wants to carry on the discussion, but now is not the time. Instead, he thinks about Stefan and Romance. He remembers, from his own teenage years, how the boys doused themselves with excessive quantities of aftershave to impress the girls. Some even applied it to their clothes. It stank, in the changing rooms, in the classrooms, even in the school playground. That might have been why the smell was still in the tent when Thorbjørn Skagestad discovered the body.

He becomes aware that Anette is looking at him. She coughs anxiously.

‘I tried getting Henriette to drop the Gaarder storyline. I didn’t think it was relevant to the film’s message. But she wouldn’t listen to me. I also thought it was a bit weird, surely everyone would know who it was based on? The Foldvik family had suffered enough.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Stefan told me about his mother. That she had been raped and …’

‘Stefan
told you about that?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did
you
know Stefan?’

‘Stefan won a script competition last year. I wanted to film his script for one of my projects. It was a good story.’

‘Didn’t he get a prize?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, didn’t the organisers of the competition promise to film his script? That’s the usual prize in such competitions, isn’t it?’