the reasons why we appealed the verdict immediately.”
Henning ponders this.
“Will you be introducing any new evidence for the appeal? Information that wasn’t available the first time around?”
“Not at the moment. Juul—I have to go—”
“Just one last quick question if I may, Olsvik.”
Olsvik sighs theatrically before agreeing.
“Has your client ever spoken to you about . . . about me?”
“About you?”
“Yes?”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. But has he ever done so?”
“Eh, no. Not that I can remember.”
“Has he ever mentioned my son?”
“Your son? No,” Olsvik says. “Why do you ask that, Juul?”
A clammy, lonely feeling overwhelms him.
“Forget I asked. I was just curious.”
22
Henning informs Heidi before he leaves for the police station. On his way he calls Pia Nøkleby. She is by no means the only assistant commissioner at the police station, but he has had more contact with Nøkleby than anyone else there since his return to work.
“Hi, Pia, it’s Henning Juul.”
“Hi, Henning.”
“Do you have a couple of minutes?”
It takes a while before she replies: “Yes, I think so. What’s it about?”
“Would you come outside, please?”
“Outside where?”
“Out on the grass. I’m outside the station.”
This is a lie, he hasn’t gotten there yet, but it will take her some time to get down from the fifth floor.
“Now?”
“Yes, please. I’m bored standing here on my own even though the weather is nice.”
Another pause.
“I’m due in a meeting very shortly, but—”
“I’ve bought you an ice cream.”
Lie number two.
“Have you now? But I’m on a diet.”
“On a diet? You?”
“Ha-ha.”
Henning laughs even though he knows it sounds false.
“Okay, give me a couple of minutes. I feel in need of a break.”
“I’m on the bench to your left as you come out. Hurry up, your ice cream is melting.”
“Yes, all right, I’m on my way.”
Nøkleby walks briskly past a group of smokers occupying their usual spot a short distance from the main entrance. A blue cloud of cigarette smoke rises toward the sun. Henning waves when he sees her.
As always the assistant commissioner is in uniform and her sunglasses emphasize her bone structure. Henning hasn’t noticed it before, but she is actually rather attractive. Distinctive cheekbones, not too defined, just enough to endow her face with shape and character. When she comes closer, he sees that her skin is unblemished and lightly tanned. She has no bags under her eyes though he knows how hard she works. Her dark hair is cut short over her ears and neck and combed into a neat side parting to the left without a fringe to block her view. Her glossy hair has a touch of auburn. She fills out the uniform, not too much, but not too little, either.
Nøkleby sits down next to him.
“Hi, Henning.”
“Hi.”
He hands her the ice cream, strawberry soft ice in a cup he bought in a kiosk across the road.
“I took a wild guess that you liked strawberry.”
“All girls like strawberry,” she says and smiles.
Henning watches her rip off the cellophane from the spoon that comes with it. She raises the cup to him.
“Thank you very much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Let me taste the ice cream first and then I’ll tell you.”
Henning smiles again as he watches her scoop out the soft ice. She swallows a mouthful and closes her eyes.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Henning laughs. Nøkleby raises her eyes toward the avenue that leads up to Oslo Prison.
“I presume you haven’t come here just to eat ice cream?”
Henning takes a bite of his own ice cream.
“I’ve started looking into the case of Tore Pulli,” he says and swallows. Nøkleby eats another spoonful and looks at him.
“There was evidence at the crime scene indicating that Pulli did it while other clues pointed elsewhere. I’m just curious:
Henning ponders this.
“Will you be introducing any new evidence for the appeal? Information that wasn’t available the first time around?”
“Not at the moment. Juul—I have to go—”
“Just one last quick question if I may, Olsvik.”
Olsvik sighs theatrically before agreeing.
“Has your client ever spoken to you about . . . about me?”
“About you?”
“Yes?”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. But has he ever done so?”
“Eh, no. Not that I can remember.”
“Has he ever mentioned my son?”
“Your son? No,” Olsvik says. “Why do you ask that, Juul?”
A clammy, lonely feeling overwhelms him.
“Forget I asked. I was just curious.”
22
Henning informs Heidi before he leaves for the police station. On his way he calls Pia Nøkleby. She is by no means the only assistant commissioner at the police station, but he has had more contact with Nøkleby than anyone else there since his return to work.
“Hi, Pia, it’s Henning Juul.”
“Hi, Henning.”
“Do you have a couple of minutes?”
It takes a while before she replies: “Yes, I think so. What’s it about?”
“Would you come outside, please?”
“Outside where?”
“Out on the grass. I’m outside the station.”
This is a lie, he hasn’t gotten there yet, but it will take her some time to get down from the fifth floor.
“Now?”
“Yes, please. I’m bored standing here on my own even though the weather is nice.”
Another pause.
“I’m due in a meeting very shortly, but—”
“I’ve bought you an ice cream.”
Lie number two.
“Have you now? But I’m on a diet.”
“On a diet? You?”
“Ha-ha.”
Henning laughs even though he knows it sounds false.
“Okay, give me a couple of minutes. I feel in need of a break.”
“I’m on the bench to your left as you come out. Hurry up, your ice cream is melting.”
“Yes, all right, I’m on my way.”
Nøkleby walks briskly past a group of smokers occupying their usual spot a short distance from the main entrance. A blue cloud of cigarette smoke rises toward the sun. Henning waves when he sees her.
As always the assistant commissioner is in uniform and her sunglasses emphasize her bone structure. Henning hasn’t noticed it before, but she is actually rather attractive. Distinctive cheekbones, not too defined, just enough to endow her face with shape and character. When she comes closer, he sees that her skin is unblemished and lightly tanned. She has no bags under her eyes though he knows how hard she works. Her dark hair is cut short over her ears and neck and combed into a neat side parting to the left without a fringe to block her view. Her glossy hair has a touch of auburn. She fills out the uniform, not too much, but not too little, either.
Nøkleby sits down next to him.
“Hi, Henning.”
“Hi.”
He hands her the ice cream, strawberry soft ice in a cup he bought in a kiosk across the road.
“I took a wild guess that you liked strawberry.”
“All girls like strawberry,” she says and smiles.
Henning watches her rip off the cellophane from the spoon that comes with it. She raises the cup to him.
“Thank you very much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Let me taste the ice cream first and then I’ll tell you.”
Henning smiles again as he watches her scoop out the soft ice. She swallows a mouthful and closes her eyes.
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Henning laughs. Nøkleby raises her eyes toward the avenue that leads up to Oslo Prison.
“I presume you haven’t come here just to eat ice cream?”
Henning takes a bite of his own ice cream.
“I’ve started looking into the case of Tore Pulli,” he says and swallows. Nøkleby eats another spoonful and looks at him.
“There was evidence at the crime scene indicating that Pulli did it while other clues pointed elsewhere. I’m just curious:
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