Burned

‘Henriette was remarkably talented. She was highly intelligent and she wrote exceptionally well. I’ve taught many students here in my time, but I can’t honestly remember anyone with greater potential than her.’

‘In what way?’

‘She was utterly fearless. She wanted to provoke and she did, but her provocations had substance, if you know what I mean.’

Henning nods.

‘Was she well liked among the other students?’

‘Henriette, yes. She was very popular.’

‘Social, extroverted?’

‘Very much so. I don’t think she ever said no to a party.’

‘What’s the atmosphere like at the college?’

‘Good. Very good, I think. Henriette’s year had bonded particularly well. It’s a part of our teaching philosophy that everything is permitted in the creative process. Let go, drop your inhibitions, give it your all. If you’re scared of being judged by those around you, you can’t do that. That’s alpha and omega, if you’re to create anything. At first, you must overcome your shyness.’

Henning is close to applying for a place himself, but he snaps out of it and gets back to reality.

‘So no jealousy here, in other words?’

‘Not that I know of. Though teachers don’t know everything,’ he says and laughs. Then the implication in Henning’s question dawns on Foldvik.

‘Do you think that’s why she was killed?’ Foldvik asks. ‘Jealousy, I mean?’

‘At the moment I think nothing.’

I sound like a copper, Henning thinks. Again.

‘I thought they had already arrested her boyfriend for the murder?’

‘He’s only a suspect.’

‘Yes, but surely he did it? Who else could it be?’

Henning feels like saying ‘why do you think I’m here?’ but he drops it. He wants to have a nice time for as long as possible. But he is aware that Foldvik has become defensive.

‘I won’t deny that there might be friction among the students, but that’s not unusual among creative people who have different visions of the same projects.’

‘Do some of your students have sharper elbows than others?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say that.’

‘You don’t want to say it or you don’t know?’

‘I don’t know. And I’m not sure that I would tell you if I knew.’

Henning smiles to himself. He isn’t ruffled by the slightly less nice atmosphere that has developed in the last few minutes.

‘A film company had bought an option on a screenplay she had written, is that right?’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘Which company was it?’

‘They call themselves Spot the Difference Productions. A good company. Serious.’

Henning makes a note of it.

‘Do students normally sell projects to serious film companies before they graduate?’

‘It happens. There are many desperate producers out there looking for new exciting voices. But, to be honest, many of those scripts have been rather poor.’

‘You’re saying some of your students try to learn the profession and practise it at the same time?’

‘That’s right. And I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that several of them don’t believe they should be here at all, they should be out in the real world, making films, producing, writing.’

‘So we’re talking about people with big egos?’

‘Ambitious people often have. It’s funny, but the most talented usually have the biggest egos.’

Henning nods. A pause ensues. A framed newspaper article on the wall catches Henning’s attention. It’s a story from Dagsavisen. There is a photograph of a young lad. Foldvik’s son, it has to be, he thinks. Same mouth, same nose. The boy looks to be in his teens. Da Vinci Code Lite, is the headline. The article explains that Stefan Foldvik has recently won a scriptwriting competition.

‘The interest in films runs in the family, I see,’ Henning says, pointing to the article. He often does this during an interview, introduces an unrelated subject, preferably something personal, an object he sees, for example, as a quick way in. It’s hard to get a good interview if you only talk shop. It can be done, of course, but it’s easier if you can break through people’s defences, find something they can discuss freely, preferably something you can relate to. And it’s always a good idea to volunteer information from your own life, it makes the conversation feel like a chat. It’s about getting the subject to forget that he or she is being interviewed. Often, the best information comes from what is said spontaneously.

And that’s what he hopes will happen to Foldvik. Foldvik looks at the article and smiles.

‘Yes, that’s often the case. Stefan won the competition when he was sixteen years old.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yes, he’s not untalented.’

‘Like Henriette Hagerup?’

Foldvik contemplates this.

‘No, Henriette’s talent was greater. Or, so it would seem.’

‘What do you mean?’

Foldvik looks uncomfortable.

‘Well, Stefan doesn’t seem so committed to his writing now. You know. Teenagers.’

‘Girls, beers and student life.’

‘Precisely. I hardly ever see him these days. Do you have kids?’

Henning is taken aback by the question. Because he has and he hasn’t. And he has failed to prepare a suitable reply, never thought about one, even though he knew that the question would be asked sooner or later.

He gives the simplest answer he can.

‘No.’