Though it is late in the evening, the weather is still warm. Orjan Mjones lights a cigarette, blows smoke out through his nose. He is just about to take a second drag when the public telephone on the street corner starts to ring. Mjones squashes the embers with the tips of his fingers and puts the cigarette back in the packet. He goes inside the telephone booth and lifts the handset.
‘Hello?’
‘Congratulations.’ Langbein’s voice is flat.
‘Thank you.’
‘Have you tied up all the loose ends?’
Mjones hesitates. ‘Not all of them, but-’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s not a problem. I’m in control, there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I’m paid to worry.’
‘Yes, but you can trust me.’
‘I’ve made that mistake once before.’
‘Okay, I understand why you say that, but it’s never going to point back to you or the deal that we have.’
‘I don’t like loose ends.’
‘Neither do I. That’s why I’m going to fix it.’
‘I’ll call you in seventy-two hours. If your problem has gone away, you’ll get the rest of your money.’
‘But-’
‘Same number. Same time.’
Mjones doesn’t have time to protest before the line goes dead. He hangs up the handset hard, shakes his head and walks out into the night.
A big part of him is tempted to let Brenden run, let him play his own game, since he evidently doesn’t understand how this works. Brenden has ruined everything for himself. Brenden killed Tore Pulli. If the police should ever manage to discover how Pulli died, and if they suspect that he might have been murdered, they will be looking for Brenden precisely because he is missing. They will probably want to interview him anyway, for the same reason. It doesn’t look good to disappear on the day that you were in a room with a convicted killer who collapses and dies. And if the police find him, Brenden will be too scared to talk. He knows that his family will be harmed if he reveals anything about the duress he was under.
The best solution, Mjones thinks, would be to give Brenden enough time to start yearning for his family and his old life. He has no experience of lying low. Sooner or later he will have to come out or someone will find him. The cash Brenden withdrew won’t last for ever, regardless of how careful he is. And when the media starts running their missing-cameraman stories or the police decide to issue a warrant for him, the chances that someone will recognise him are high.
But seventy-two hours, Mjones thinks, that’s not a lot. And Brenden showed initiative when he got rid of his clothes and left his mobile on a train to Eidsvoll without getting on himself. Brenden is keeping his cool. And that’s why he has to die. Preferably within the next seventy-two hours.
Mjones takes another drag and stubs out the cigarette on a nearby bin before he turns his attention to the cab rank and gets into a white Toyota Prius. It’s time to stir things up.