Scarred Read Online Free Page B

finding them. Working on them.
    Not so easy on a Sunday night.
    A woman in a hijab comes out. Again Henning smiles, but she ignores him. A little later he tries a man with dark stubble, but learns only that he has been to visit his mother and is annoyed that he missed the Brann versus Vålerenga match on TV.
    Henning is about to call it a day and crosses his fingers that 6tiermes7 – his secret Internet source in the police – can give him some information when a man in a black leather jacket and trousers comes out. His hair, long and blond, swings rhythmically from side to side as he quickly crosses the car park. Henning thinks he recognises him from somewhere and goes up to him.
    ‘Hi, my name is Henning Juul. I work for 123news . Could I have a word with you?’
    The man glances at Henning.
    ‘I’m busy,’ he says.
    ‘I can walk with you if that’s more convenient?’
    The man still doesn’t say anything, but Henning can see there are signs of recognition in his face too.
    ‘What’s going on up there?’ Henning asks.
    The man looks at him quickly.
    ‘I won’t quote you. I’m just trying to find out what happened. I hear someone killed a demented old lady?’
    The man glances at him again.
    ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘But I have to get home. My son—’
    The man breaks off halfway through the sentence and his eyes flicker. Henning continues to follow him.
    ‘Okay, fine,’ Henning says. ‘But here’s . . . ’
    He starts to jog as he produces a business card from his pocket. ‘If there’s anything you want to tell me, on or off the record, then just give me a call. Any time. Okay?’
    Reluctantly the man takes the card Henning is holding out.
    ‘Thank you. Then I won’t keep you any longer. I hope your son isn’t asleep yet.’
    He smiles after the man who looks over his shoulder several times before he disappears in the night. There, Henning thinks, was an interesting person, someone who stands out from the crowd. A staff member who didn’t look exhausted after working, but upset. Or possibly frightened.
    For the next hour Henning tries to speak to more people, then he goes home. He sits down in front of his laptop hoping to chat to 6tiermes7 , a hope that gradually diminishes as the clock approaches midnight. A little desperate now, Henning sends Bjarne Brogeland a few more text messages. He doesn’t give up before his police contact rings him back.
    ‘You’re a pest,’ Brogeland says.
    ‘You said you’d call when you had two minutes.’
    The roar of traffic mingles with the sound of Brogeland’s exasperation.
    ‘Are you on your way home?’
    ‘Wow, you should’ve been a detective, Henning. It’s five to one in the morning.’
    ‘Then let’s make it quick. Demented old woman found killed. What happened?’
    ‘Your version is fine.’
    ‘Mm. But she wasn’t shot or someone would have heard it. And it would’ve been messy. So, for the same reason, I don’t think she was stabbed, either, because then you would already have arrested the killer.’
    ‘Who says we haven’t?’
    ‘You do. I can tell from your voice. You’re exhausted. You sound defeated. You wouldn’t if the case had been solved.’
    Brogeland sighs.
    ‘I can’t give you much, Henning. Tactical considerations, you know.’
    ‘Mm. What if I were to tell you that I spoke to a staff member tonight, a man with long, blond hair who looked like he’d seen the grim reaper—’
    ‘Did he talk to you?’ Brogeland interrupts him.
    Henning makes no reply.
    ‘I hope he didn’t say anything?’
    Henning doesn’t reply immediately.
    ‘He said he had to hurry home to his son.’
    ‘Damn,’ Brogeland hisses softly down the phone. Seconds pass. Henning knows better than to ruin a moment like this with more questions.
    Finally Brogeland heaves a sigh. And when he pulls over at a bus stop and starts talking, Henning fills a whole A4 sheet with a story that, back in the old days when he was a cynical and less sensitive