scratched the surface.
21
The secretary’s friendly smile reaches all the way down the handset. Henning thanks her and waits for her to route the call through the switchboard at the offices of Johnsen, Urne & Olsvik. Henning has been there before, but now that Heidi has put him on cuttings duty, he doesn’t have the time to visit Frode Olsvik, Pulli’s solicitor, in person.
He produces two stories during the first two hours of his day at the office, one about bad weather hampering the search for survivors after a plane crash in Pakistan, which has so far claimed the lives of one hundred fifty-eight people, and a brief eight-liner about four men charged with the gang rape of a woman in a basement flat in Nordstrand last weekend. News agency stories all of them. Henning forgets all about them when Olsvik’s well-upholstered voice winds its way down his mobile. Henning introduces himself.
“Good morning, Juul.”
“Hi. Do you remember me?”
“I do,” the lawyer says and clears his throat. Frode Olsvik is a defense lawyer who would have fit right into an episode of LA Law in the late eighties. He wears tailor-made suits, suspenders, and treats his guests to a large selection of single malt whiskeys from crystal carafes in his drawing room. But despite working long hours he appears to have both a happy wife and well-adjusted children. The latter is something Henning snapped up from other crime reporters who are Facebook friends of Olsvik.
“My condolences,” he says. “I heard about your son. How are you?”
“Thank you, I’m not too bad.”
“I saw that you had returned to work.”
“Where did you see that?”
Olsvik laughs.
“Even though I don’t have much time for your paper, I do occasionally socialize with your boss. It’s nothing personal, you understand.”
“Perfectly. Can you spare a minute?”
“One, yes, but no more. My next client is due shortly.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be brief. It’s about Tore Pulli. How long is it until his appeal will be heard?”
“Let me have a look—”
Fingers leaf through a diary.
“We’re starting next week. Why? Are you planning a feature on him?”
“I don’t know to be honest. But could I ask you a question first, please? Off the record, did he do it?”
Olsvik laughs out loud.
“You know very well I can’t answer that question, Juul.”
“Haven’t you ever asked him?”
“I never ask my clients that question. They are legally entitled to a good defense whether they’re guilty or not.”
“But Pulli claims that he is innocent and that he was set up?”
“He does.”
“What do you think about that?”
“What do I think about that?”
“You must have met some villains in your time. Many of them must have assured you that they were innocent and most of them would have been lying through their teeth. Given Pulli’s past, then—”
“I can’t discuss that with you, Juul,” Olsvik cuts him off.
“Okay, fair enough,” Henning replies. “What’s Pulli’s explanation as to why his fingerprints were found on the knuckle-duster?”
Olsvik delays his reply for a few seconds.
“Haven’t you read the verdict?”
“No, I . . . I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Another silence.
“Well. It was Tore’s knuckle-duster. His old one.”
“Which he used when he was an enforcer?”
“Yes. He claims that someone must have stolen it.”
“When?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“But it was his knuckle-duster that was used during the attack?”
“Yes. Traces of Brolenius’s skin and beard were found on it.”
Henning thinks about this and he grabs a pen by the notebook without quite knowing why. Heidi appears from around the corner. Henning lowers his voice.
“The murder weapon was never found. What was Pulli’s explanation for that?”
“Pulli thinks it’s inconceivable that the prosecutor would believe that he would hide the murder weapon elsewhere only to return to the crime scene later. That was one of
21
The secretary’s friendly smile reaches all the way down the handset. Henning thanks her and waits for her to route the call through the switchboard at the offices of Johnsen, Urne & Olsvik. Henning has been there before, but now that Heidi has put him on cuttings duty, he doesn’t have the time to visit Frode Olsvik, Pulli’s solicitor, in person.
He produces two stories during the first two hours of his day at the office, one about bad weather hampering the search for survivors after a plane crash in Pakistan, which has so far claimed the lives of one hundred fifty-eight people, and a brief eight-liner about four men charged with the gang rape of a woman in a basement flat in Nordstrand last weekend. News agency stories all of them. Henning forgets all about them when Olsvik’s well-upholstered voice winds its way down his mobile. Henning introduces himself.
“Good morning, Juul.”
“Hi. Do you remember me?”
“I do,” the lawyer says and clears his throat. Frode Olsvik is a defense lawyer who would have fit right into an episode of LA Law in the late eighties. He wears tailor-made suits, suspenders, and treats his guests to a large selection of single malt whiskeys from crystal carafes in his drawing room. But despite working long hours he appears to have both a happy wife and well-adjusted children. The latter is something Henning snapped up from other crime reporters who are Facebook friends of Olsvik.
“My condolences,” he says. “I heard about your son. How are you?”
“Thank you, I’m not too bad.”
“I saw that you had returned to work.”
“Where did you see that?”
Olsvik laughs.
“Even though I don’t have much time for your paper, I do occasionally socialize with your boss. It’s nothing personal, you understand.”
“Perfectly. Can you spare a minute?”
“One, yes, but no more. My next client is due shortly.”
“Okay, I’ll try to be brief. It’s about Tore Pulli. How long is it until his appeal will be heard?”
“Let me have a look—”
Fingers leaf through a diary.
“We’re starting next week. Why? Are you planning a feature on him?”
“I don’t know to be honest. But could I ask you a question first, please? Off the record, did he do it?”
Olsvik laughs out loud.
“You know very well I can’t answer that question, Juul.”
“Haven’t you ever asked him?”
“I never ask my clients that question. They are legally entitled to a good defense whether they’re guilty or not.”
“But Pulli claims that he is innocent and that he was set up?”
“He does.”
“What do you think about that?”
“What do I think about that?”
“You must have met some villains in your time. Many of them must have assured you that they were innocent and most of them would have been lying through their teeth. Given Pulli’s past, then—”
“I can’t discuss that with you, Juul,” Olsvik cuts him off.
“Okay, fair enough,” Henning replies. “What’s Pulli’s explanation as to why his fingerprints were found on the knuckle-duster?”
Olsvik delays his reply for a few seconds.
“Haven’t you read the verdict?”
“No, I . . . I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
Another silence.
“Well. It was Tore’s knuckle-duster. His old one.”
“Which he used when he was an enforcer?”
“Yes. He claims that someone must have stolen it.”
“When?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“But it was his knuckle-duster that was used during the attack?”
“Yes. Traces of Brolenius’s skin and beard were found on it.”
Henning thinks about this and he grabs a pen by the notebook without quite knowing why. Heidi appears from around the corner. Henning lowers his voice.
“The murder weapon was never found. What was Pulli’s explanation for that?”
“Pulli thinks it’s inconceivable that the prosecutor would believe that he would hide the murder weapon elsewhere only to return to the crime scene later. That was one of
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