The fan on the windowsill whooshes noisily but still loses its battle with the quivering heat. The heat moistens Henning’s face as he leans over the kitchen table and scrolls through a Google search. Hundreds of articles about Rasmus Bjelland. More irrelevant hits than useful ones.
The vibrating of his mobile makes him turn his head. It’s Iver. Henning decides to ignore the call, but the mobile keeps twitching and buzzing. Finally, Henning hits the green answer button with irritation. A couple of seconds pass.
‘Hello?’
‘Mm.’
‘Is that you, Henning?’
‘Yes.’
‘Really…? It doesn’t sound like you. Never mind… listen, have you heard the news?’
‘No?’
‘You won’t believe it. You know Tore Pulli? The ex-enforcer?’
Henning sits up in his seat. ‘Yes, what about him?’
‘He’s dead.’
The noise from the street disappears. The heat gives way to an icy blast. The space Henning is staring at narrows and contracts. His heart beats faster and faster until he swallows and inhales sharply. ‘W-what did you say?’
‘Tore Pulli is dead.’
Henning puts his elbow on the table and runs his hand across his face, letting it come to a rest on his forehead. His eyelids slide shut. He hears Iver say something, but the words refuse to sink in. All he can think about is Jonas. And his faint hope. That, too, has been extinguished.
‘Dead how?’
‘Jesus Christ, what kind of question is that?’
‘How did he die?’
‘I don’t have all the details yet. He appears to have just dropped dead, I believe, completely out of the blue. But you haven’t heard the worst. Or best, depending how you look at it. He died while he was being interviewed by TV2.’ The table moves in on him. ‘Unfortunately it wasn’t a live broadcast, otherwise we could have had a ball with it.’
Henning stares at the dents and scratches in the table top. The grain in the wood expands, it grows darker and deeper.
Who on earth will help him now?
‘When did it happen?’
‘About an hour ago. It’s completely-’
Henning plugs in the mobile’s headset and puts it down. He holds up his hands in front of his mouth and nose so they form a closed triangle.
‘Are you still there?’ Iver asks.
‘I’m here,’ Henning mumbles into his hands.
‘Are you coming in or what? I could do with some help here.’
‘No.’
‘But you’re supposed to be working today and-’
‘I’m taking a day’s leave.’
‘But I-’
Henning presses the red off button and buries his face in his hands.