Burned

Anette averts her eyes. He can tell from looking at her that it is true, though she hides it well. He is convinced she has been to the Foldviks’ flat more than once. That’s why she closed the curtains. She knew how it was overlooked from the street, from the flats opposite, and she also knew that the Foldviks had nosy neighbours. Every time a front door was opened, Mrs Steen’s curtains would twitch. That was why the front door was almost closed, but not shut. So no one would see or hear her.

Anette scratches her cheek and flicks aside strands of hair that have flopped into her eyes. Henning continues:

‘After killing Henriette, you tried to implicate her boyfriend, a man who had won Henriette’s heart. You tried to set him up, just like in the script, so you could go free. It didn’t quite go according to plan, but with Stefan out of the picture, after his confession, all the loose ends were tidied up, as far as you were concerned. You thought you had remembered everything, Anette, but you missed a couple of things,’ he says and pauses for dramatic effect again. It appears to be lost on her. She looks at him with expressionless eyes.

‘Stefan,’ he says and waits a little longer. ‘How did Stefan know that Henriette would be in the tent that night?’

He lets the question linger for a long time. Anette doesn’t reply.

‘No texts were sent from Stefan’s mobile to Henriette that day or night. Or from her mobile to his. I know, because I checked.’

She doesn’t stir, she simply looks at him. Her face is blank and her breathing indifferent. He straightens up.

‘However, a call was made from his telephone to yours on the afternoon he died. It lasted thirty-seven seconds. Was that when he told you he had confessed to his parents? Is that why you drove over? To carry out a little damage limitation?’

Still no reply. He remembers what Anette said to him, outside the college, that Henriette had said she was going to email ‘A Sharia Caste’ to Foldvik. 6tiermes7, or someone else from the police, went through Henriette’s e-mails and established that she never did. Yngve wasn’t lying. Stefan couldn’t have found the script at home. There was only one way it could have happened: Anette must have shown, or given, it to him.

Henning watches her. There are no chinks in her armour.

‘I’m asking you again: how did Stefan know that Henriette would be in the tent that evening?’

This time, he doesn’t wait for a reply.

‘Because you told him. Henriette and you had already agreed to meet there. Otherwise, why would she leave her boyfriend’s flat? It had to be because of something important, something previously arranged. And you were going to start filming the following day.’

Anette doesn’t react.

‘What did you say to Stefan that evening?’ he continues, unaffected by her stonewalling. ‘That you were just going to scare her little? Was that how you made him bring his mother’s stun gun?’

Even though Anette doesn’t say anything, Henning is convinced that Henriette must have been surprised when Stefan appeared in the tent with Anette. That hadn’t been part of her agreement with Anette. But Stefan still thought that Henriette was the woman his father had had an affair with. Perfect for Anette. And the hole had already been dug, because it was needed for the filming the morning after.

‘Did you throw the first stone, or did you provoke him into killing her?’

He looks for sounds of acquiescence or admission, but finds neither. Even so he can’t stop now.

‘You planned the killing well. And to implicate Marhoni even more deeply, you e-mail Henriette the very day you intend to kill her. You e-mail a photo. Henriette with her arms around an older man. I’m willing to bet that the man in the photo was Yngve.’

‘I never sent Henriette a picture of Yngve,’ Anette snorts.

‘No. You didn’t press the ‘ send ’ button. You got someone else to do that.’

He points to her backpack.

‘Inhambane.’

She turns her head, but realises she can’t see which sticker Henning is pointing to. It says Inhambane in black print against a white background surrounded by a red heart.

‘Inhambane is a town in southern Mozambique, on the Inhambane Bay. Great beaches. The day Henriette was killed, she received an e-mail from an Internet cafe in Inhambane. A text message was also sent to her from a free e-mail account from the same cafe shortly afterwards, telling her to check her e-mail. This happened while she was with Mahmoud Marhoni.’

‘And then?’

‘And then? You’re telling me it’s pure coincidence that you happen to have a Inhambane sticker on your backpack? You’ve been there, Anette. You’ve probably got friends there. Inhambane isn’t exactly one of Star Tours’ top-ten travel destinations.’

Anette doesn’t reply.