by Thomas Enger
‘In the nineties,’ Henning told her. ‘It wasn’t a huge number of jobs, but Tore was a brutal bastard at the time.’
Nora thought about Ellen. Killed and dumped in a well by someone strong enough to lift a cover that must weigh at least a hundred kilos.
‘I have to talk to him,’ Henning said.
‘Huh?’ Nora said, distracted.
‘I have to talk to William Hellberg.’
Nora was at the car. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Because he knew Tore and because he’s worked in the property business for years. Whereabouts are you in Tønsberg? I need to get a bit more info on him first.’
Nora hesitated and then suggested they should meet at the hotel where she was staying.
‘OK, I’ll be there in an hour or two.’
They hung up.
Nora got into the car and thought about what to do in the meantime. She tried to ring Cato Løken, but only got his voicemail.
She sent a text instead: Is there anywhere we could meet? Have something I want to talk to you about.
While she waited for an answer, she went online to check what Løken had said at the press conference. He’d confirmed that the body was Ellen Hellberg’s. A necklace with her name on it had been found among the bones and had helped to identify her. The police were now treating it as a criminal case, but he did not want to speculate about possible motives or perpetrators, or whether the discovery had anything to do with Hedda’s disappearance.
Her phone beeped. Løken’s reply: Can meet you briefly in twenty minutes. Park in a side street by the police station. I’ll find you.
‘Weren’t you going to lie low for a while?’ the detective inspector asked, as he got into Nora’s car half an hour later.
‘I’m not very tall,’ Nora said.
He laughed, briefly. ‘How are things?’
She shrugged and said, ‘I’d rather ask you the same question.’
Løken’s smile withered and he was serious again. ‘Well, I have to say that the whole thing with Ellen Hellberg was a bit of a surprise. And it certainly puts the fact that Hedda is missing in a new light.’
Nora nodded. ‘And there’s no doubt that Ellen Hellberg was murdered?’
Løken didn’t answer straightaway.
‘After all, she was found in a well with the cover in place.’
‘Yes and no. She was killed, yes. Strangled.’
Nora wrinkled her nose. ‘How do you know that already?’
Løken looked over at her. ‘The lingual bone was broken, which is quite normal with strangulation,’ he said.
‘Falling into a well couldn’t have caused it?’
He shook his head.
‘Someone had thrown some twigs and branches into the bottom of the well first, so she would have landed quite softly. And no other bones were broken.’
Nora considered the significance of this. Perhaps her killer regretted the murder?
‘Has Georg said any more since hearing that his mother’s body has been found?’
Løken took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His lungs rattled.
‘We only had time for a brief interview after the press conference,’ he said. ‘He was pretty emotional. This sort of thing sometimes loosens the tongues of people who are about to be locked away. But he didn’t say much. Claims he has no idea what’s happened to Hedda since he picked her up at the train station.’
Nora arched an eyebrow. ‘Did he not drive her out to the summer house, then?’
Løken hesitated before answering.
‘He says that he lent her his car.’
‘And that she drove herself out there?’
Løken nodded. ‘That was where she was going, according to Georg.’
Nora thought about Georg’s car, and the fact that it had passed through the tolls.
‘So that means it was Hedda who drove to Sweden the day that Daniel Schyman was killed?’
‘According to Georg, yes.’
Nora followed a passing car with her eyes. The windscreen wipers were on even though it wasn’t raining.
‘What was she doing there?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Hedda didn’t tell him why she needed his car?’
Løken shook his head. ‘He seemed genuinely surprised when he heard that the car had been in Sweden.’
Nora’s brain was racing. Then she said: ‘He’s had plenty of time to think up a cover story. Maybe Hedda and Georg had some kind of relationship at one level or another, then something happened between them – something that meant he killed her. And then, when the fact that she was missing was reported in the paper, he panicked – which was why he went out to Hulebakk to remove any traces of her. And, because he knew I was working on the story, he followed me and fired a few warning shots out at the summer house to scare me off.’
Løken didn’t correct her.
‘But Hedda isn’t there, not in the house or the woods,’ he said. ‘Otherwise we would have found her by now.’
‘What about the water?’
‘We’re naturally checking out that possibility, too.’
‘So you’re searching in the water as well?’
He dithered, then nodded.
‘Have you found anything?’
He shook his head.
The two things could be unrelated, Nora thought. Maybe William contracted Tore Pulli to kill the woman who was destroying his parents’ marriage, and then his cousin killed Hedda sixteen years later.
But, if what Georg had said was true – that he lent Hedda his car but didn’t know that she was going to Sweden – that must mean that Hedda had reason to trust Georg, but no one else in the family.
Perhaps she’d found out that William was responsible for killing Georg’s mother, and that there was something at the summer house that could prove it. Ellen herself, for example.
But why did Hedda lie to her husband? Was she scared that Hugo Refsdal would tell someone or try to stop her from going through with whatever she’d planned? And how did Sweden and Daniel Schyman fit into it all?
Nora asked if the investigation in Sweden had come up with any more answers.
‘Nothing tangible or conclusive,’ Løken told her. ‘And Georg is adamant that he hasn’t been to Sweden for a long time.’
‘Hmm,’ Nora said, thinking. ‘But let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Georg is telling the truth; that Hedda borrowed his car, and she was the one who went to Sweden. Where did she go afterwards? Is she on the run?’
Løken scratched the side of his head.
‘Georg has his car again,’ she continued, ‘so she must have come back here at some point. Has he said anything about when and where he got the car back?’
Løken shook his head. ‘No. But the car came back to Vestfold the day that Daniel Schyman was murdered – we know that from the data on the toll tag. Georg said he’d tried to contact Hedda over the next few days, without any luck. So he took the bus out to Hulebakk to see what was going on. He says he found nothing, other than his car. According to Georg, Hedda was not there.’
‘There’s a considerable chance that he’s lying,’ said Nora. ‘Or that someone else is involved; William, for example.’
Løken looked at her. ‘William?’
Nora straightened up. ‘I’ve got a theory I’d like to run by you.’
She told him about Tore Pulli and the fact that William Hellberg had given him several jobs in Vestfold in the nineties, around the time that Ellen Hellberg was killed. Løken listened and nodded to himself as Nora talked. He narrowed his eyes when she mentioned the concrete cover over the well where Ellen had been found and described Pulli’s strength and reputation for brutality.
When Nora had finished, Løken nodded a few more times. ‘The problem with that sequence of events,’ he stated, ‘is that it’s hard to prove it unless anyone confesses. They don’t write contracts for that kind of thing, and Tore Pulli is dead. The only chance we have is that William a
dmits it, or that we find indisputable proof in the well that shows he had something to do with it. And what, after sixteen years, would still be intact enough to be used in court…?’ Løken sighed and shrugged. ‘You don’t have anything to confirm any of this, I presume?’
Nora thought about Henning, and wondered how he’d found out about William’s relationship with Pulli.
‘It would be my word against William’s, whatever the case,’ she said, stroking her stomach.
Løken looked at his watch and took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to have to go,’ he said.
‘OK,’ she said.
The inspector opened the car door and got out. Then he put his head back inside. ‘And next time,’ he said, with an impish smile, ‘bring some coffee with you.’
39
Henning was leaning against the back of his yellow car, playing with his Zippo, when Nora pulled up beside him. She smiled, but his only response was a short nod.
Nora took a deep breath before she got out, uncertain about how to greet him. Recently they’d started to give each other longer hugs than before, but it didn’t feel natural now.
‘Hi,’ she said, and walked slowly towards him. It was only then that she saw the injuries on his face.
‘What’s happened?’ she cried.
As she approached, she reached out a hand to touch his cheek, but he pulled back.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ he said.
‘Nothing to worry about? Who did this to you?’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘Really, don’t even think about it,’ he said in the end.
Nora felt like she was about to explode, but she controlled herself. She’d never known how to deal with Henning when he was in this mood.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want to talk here?’
She looked at his bloodshot eyes. His drawn cheeks.
‘Here? In the car park?’ She tried to smile.
Henning looked over her head. A car caught his attention. Then a bird. Then a person crossing the street.
Nora tried to catch his eye, but it was impossible. ‘Are you hungry?’
Henning squeezed his nose between his thumb and finger.
‘They’ve got Caesar salad in the restaurant here. And they’re pretty generous with the Parmesan, which I’ve heard you like a lot.’ Nora smiled again. Felt that he was relaxing. ‘Come on,’ she said, and indicated with her head. ‘I’m hungry.’
They went into the restaurant, found a table and ordered one Caesar salad, one tomato soup and two glasses of water, then sat in silence, surveying their surroundings while they waited for the waiter to bring the food.
Nora looked down. ‘Henning, I…’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he said.
Nora lifted her head. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want to.’
She sighed. ‘Henning, we’re going to have to talk about it at some point.’
He looked up, and for the first time since she told him she was pregnant, he looked her straight in the eye.
‘You live your life, Nora, and I live mine. We don’t need to talk about it.’
Stubborn as a five-year-old, Nora thought. She felt the anger boiling up again, and wondered if she’d be able keep it in.
‘Henning, no matter what happens to you and me, we’ll always be connected in some way. You know that as well as I do.’
Henning lowered his eyes. Didn’t say anything.
‘And not even a baby is going to change that,’ she added.
Henning put his hands on the table. Drank some water from his glass.
‘So, what’s he like, this William?’ he asked. His focus shifted to the side.
Nora didn’t answer. She waited until he was looking at her again.
‘So you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
An elderly couple came into the restaurant and sat down a couple of tables away. A slow song drifted in from the lobby, making Nora think about dance floors, clammy hands round her waist, a whispered question, could he maybe come home with her?
‘He’s big,’ she said, finally. ‘Tall, that is. Dark. Longish hair.’
‘I don’t mean what he looks like. What sort of person is he?’
She opened out her hands in a shrug. ‘Typical salesman. Typical male who’s used to getting what he wants, I reckon. I don’t really know; I’ve only met him twice.’
‘But do you think he could have paid Tore Pulli to kill Ellen Hellberg?’
‘Shh,’ Nora urged him, and looked around.
‘They’re not going to hear anything,’ Henning said, and nodded at the elderly couple.
‘Yes, but all the same,’ she said through gritted teeth.
Henning waited for her to continue. The song, ‘Lady in Red’, was reaching a climax.
‘Was William angry with his aunt? Hard to say, even if Ellen did ruin his parents’ relationship.’
Henning put his hand on the table smoothed out a crease in the white tablecloth. ‘OK,’ he said, and looked up at her. ‘Tell me more about the story you’re working on. And William’s role, in particular.’
Nora took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. There was so much. At the same time, it was always a good idea to talk through the complexities of a story with someone, especially someone as sharp as Henning. So she told him everything she knew, down to the smallest detail, even things she had told him before. Henning didn’t say a word the whole time that she talked.
‘Seems like you’ve won the trust of this Cato Løken guy,’ Henning said, when she’d finished. ‘How did you manage that in such a short time? You didn’t know him before, did you?’
Nora shook her head. ‘I’ve opened the whole case up for them,’ she said, and looked at Henning. His eyes were intense. He was studying her.
‘But there’s something else,’ he said.
Nora didn’t answer straightaway.
‘What do you mean?’ She looked down; she’d been in this position many times before, and knew there was no point in trying to hide anything from him.
After a moment, she lifted her head again. ‘Someone shot at me the other day,’ she said.
Just then, the waiter came with their food. Henning stopped with his mouth open, his eyes fixed firmly on Nora as their food was put on the table. He didn’t even register when the waiter asked if they needed anything else, just waited for him to leave.
‘What the fuck did you just say?’ he asked, as soon as they were alone again.
Nora told him about the two shots, that she had called the emergency services, and the police had arrived within minutes, with Cato Løken at the helm.
‘And he’s realised that I can help them, too,’ she said. ‘He’s not like some of the other policemen that I’ve dealt with. Isn’t it great when you get sources like that?’
She tried to smile again, but Henning didn’t respond. He was still staring at her with big eyes.
‘The person who shot at me hadn’t planned to kill me, Henning. It was a warning. Someone didn’t like the fact that I was snooping around.’
‘Clearly. And how do you think they’ll react when they realise the warning shots didn’t work? You’re still here.’
Nora started to laugh. ‘Look who’s talking!’
Nora picked up her spoon, stirred the soup a little, pulled off a piece of bread. Henning didn’t touch his food, just sat with his hands on the table.
Eventually he picked up his fork and said, ‘It’s not just yourself you have to look after now.’
40
After he’d finished his food, Henning drove to the Hellberg Property offices in the centre of town, primarily to see if there was any sign of life. There was, even though it was past seven in the evening. Henning parked the car and settled down to wait, in the hope that William Hellberg was still there. He spotted several journalist colleagues who were clearly there for the same reason.<
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Just after eight o’clock, William stepped out into the cold autumn wind. It didn’t take more than a few seconds before the first journalist was on him. Henning got out of the car, and watched the spectacle. William shook his head, making his longish hair flutter in the wind, waved them off, one by one, and walked as quickly as he could to the black Lexus that was parked nearby, barking out a few aggressive comments before opening the door.
‘And please,’ he said, before he got in. ‘Don’t follow me.’
Some of the journalists pulled back. Henning was standing a few metres away, and for a brief second, their eyes locked. William paused momentarily, before getting into the car and driving off.
Henning went back to this own car and started it up; he knew that its yellow paintwork made it easy to spot in a rear-view mirror, and even though he had to jump several traffic lights on the way from Tønsberg out to Nøtterøy, he made sure he was never more than four cars behind William, who he reckoned was on his way home to Kalvetangen, where he lived a stone’s throw away from his mother.
After they’d passed Føynland School and turned off into a quiet road, the black Lexus braked suddenly, the rear lights shining straight into Henning’s eyes. William got out. Henning turned off the engine and did the same.
‘I thought I told you not to follow me?’
‘Yes, you did,’ Henning conceded. ‘But I’m not here to talk about your aunt or your sister.’
He paused before continuing, to see if he’d roused William’s curiosity.
‘Well, then, it can wait until another time,’ William said, and turned on his heel. He was halfway back to his car when Henning said: ‘Tore Jørn Pulli.’ He spoke loudly and clearly. ‘You knew him well, didn’t you?’
William stopped, appeared to think for a moment or two, and then turned back.
‘You were friends growing up, and you were one of his first clients when he started out as an enforcer here in Vestfold in the nineties,’ Henning went on.
William moved closer, his eyes fixed on Henning. Henning pushed back his shoulders and lifted his chin.
‘And who says so?’ said William as he approached.