Burned

But his heart aches as he says it.

‘Children can be a real pain sometimes.’

‘Mm.’

Henning’s gaze stops at a 4? 6 photograph, also framed, sitting on Foldvik’s desk. It is a photo of a woman. Long, black hair that has started to go grey. She isn’t smiling. He estimates her to be in her mid-forties. Foldvik’s wife.

And that’s when Henning remembers where he first saw Yngve Foldvik.

Yngve Foldvik’s wife is called Ingvild. Henning remembers everything now. Ingvild Foldvik was brutally raped, not far from Cuba Bro some years ago. He knows this because he was at the trial, reporting on the story. Yngve Foldvik sat in the courtroom day in day out, listening to every grotesque detail as it was laid bare.

Henning remembers Ingvild Foldvik in the witness stand, how she shook, how she had been traumatised by the man who beat her up and raped her. Had it not been for a brave and very strong man out walking his dog that night, she would probably have been killed. She was horribly mutilated with a knife. All over. Her rapist got five years. Ingvild got life. And Henning can see it now, that the wounds have yet to heal. The nightmares. And possibly the screams, too.

He shelves the memory after the fleeting satisfaction of finally putting a name to a face.

‘What did Henriette write?’

‘Short films, mostly.’

‘About what? You said that she liked being provocative?’

‘Henriette managed to make two short films while she… while she was here. One was called When the Devil Knocks — it was about incest; the other one was called Snow White. The story of a girl who gets hooked on cocaine. Rather clever films. She was about to make a third.’

‘The one they were going to shoot on Ekeberg Common?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why now? So close to the summer holidays?’

‘I believe it takes place in early summer. It’s important that every detail is as authentic as possible; it adds to the film’s credibility.’

‘What was it about?’

‘The third film?’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t know the details, we only discussed it briefly.’

‘But what do you remember?’

Foldvik heaves a sigh.

‘I think she wanted to do something about sharia.’

Henning stops in his tracks.

‘Sharia?’

‘Yes.’

He clears his throat, tries to organise the thoughts which are bombarding him. The first to become clear is the message Anette wrote to Henriette.

‘Did Anette Skoppum work with Henriette Hagerup on this film?’

Foldvik nods.

‘Henriette wrote the script and Anette was meant to direct it. But, knowing Anette, she probably had a lot of say in the script, too.’

Anette, Henning thinks. I have to find you. And if there is one thing he is 100 per cent sure about, it’s that the film they were going to make has something to do with the murder.

‘Do you know if she’s still here or if she has gone home for the summer?’

‘I think she’s still here. I saw her yesterday. And I’m meeting with her in a couple of days, if I remember rightly, so she’s unlikely to have left.’

‘You wouldn’t happen to have a telephone number I can reach her on?’

‘I do, but I’m not allowed to give it to you. And I’m not sure that I want you pestering my students. Everyone’s really upset.’

Yes, I know, Henning thinks. He lets it pass.

‘The script for the short film, do you have a copy of it?’

Foldvik sighs.

‘Like I said, Henriette and I only ever talked about it. She told me she would e-mail it to me once it was finished, but I never saw it.’

‘What happens to the film now?’

‘We haven’t decided yet. Is there anything else? I have another appointment.’

Foldvik gets up.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Henning replies.

Chapter 37

Dreadlocks is still at it when Henning returns to the ground floor. Good God, he thinks, the guy is trying to resuscitate that poor girl. Henning clears his throat. Dreadlocks looks up. The bashfulness of youth, which Yngve Foldvik eulogised, has definitely gone out of the window.

‘Thank you very much for your help,’ Henning begins. ‘It was really easy to find Foldvik’s office.’

‘No problem.’

Dreadlocks licks his lips.

‘I was wondering if I could ask you for another favour. I’m a reporter and I’m working on a story about Henriette Hagerup and students in her year, how they manage to carry on after the dreadful thing that has happened. It’s not going to be an intrusive article, a more abstract one based on the silence which follows, how a trauma like this affects a group of students.’

If there is an award for laying it on thick, Henning’s nomination is in no doubt. Dreadlocks nods sympathetically.

‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like a list of her fellow students. You wouldn’t happen to have that on your computer, would you?’

‘Yes, I think I might. Hang on,’ he says and grabs the mouse. He clicks and presses a few keys. The glare from the screen reflects in his eyes.

‘Would you like a print-out?’ Dreadlocks asks.

Henning smiles.

‘Yes, please. I’d like that very much.’

Clicking, typing. Next to them, a printer warms up. A sheet slides out. Dreadlocks picks it up and hands it to Henning with a service-minded smile.