‘It’s beyond me how you can live like this.’
Orjan Mjones marches into the inner sanctum of Flurim Ahmetaj, a room that serves as his centre of operations, living room and also bedroom — or so it would appear. A duvet is scrunched up on a mattress under the window, which is covered with a black blind. The only source of light in the room is coming from three computer monitors lined up next to each other.
‘That’s how I like it,’ Ahmetaj says in Swedish.
Plates with crumbs and cold pizza crusts are piled high on his desk. The floor space by the computer tower is covered with Coke bottles, empty as well as half-full ones.
Mjones finds an office chair and rolls over to the desk. He looks for somewhere to put down his mobile but gives up.
‘You wanted to show me something?’
Ahmetaj slurps from a 1.5-litre Coke bottle and lets out an unashamed burp.
‘Check this out,’ he says and plays a video on the screen. From a bird’s-eye perspective they see people walk quickly in and out of a Burger King restaurant. Mjones looks at Ahmetaj.
‘I know a guy who knows a guy who does security for Burger King,’ Ahmetaj says in broken Swedish. ‘You wouldn’t believe what people will do in exchange for a couple of grand — which you now owe me, by the way.’
‘I’m sure we can sort that out,’ Mjones smiles.
The camera is mounted under the ceiling with the lens overlooking the tills and the entrance. At the bottom-right corner a counter shows the time as being 12:38:04.
‘Look at him,’ Ahmetaj says, pointing to a man who walks quickly into the restaurant. In his hand he holds a bulging white plastic bag.
‘That’s Brenden,’ Mjones says.
‘Okay. And now look, a few minutes later.’
Ahmetaj fast-forwards the recording until the counter shows 12:43:26. A man in a white T-shirt is standing with his back to the camera, glancing nervously around and carrying an identical but slightly less bulging plastic bag.
‘Brenden again,’ Mjones says, getting excited now.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. It’s the same hairstyle and posture.’
Brenden leaves Burger King, making sure he is looking at the ground and shielding his face with his hand as he does so.
‘Okay,’ Mjones says. ‘From his bank statement we know that he went into JeanTV in Arkaden Mall and bought something that cost 399 kroner.’
‘A hat, maybe.’
‘Yes, that was my first thought. Or a baseball cap. And since he ditched his mobile on a train leaving Oslo Central Station, it’s highly probable that he himself travelled in another direction around the same time. Can you find out which other trains left then?’
‘Okay.’ Ahmetaj’s fingers fly across the keyboard.
‘Wait a moment. I’ve got a better idea. Can you give me a printout of the best picture you have of Brenden?’
Ahmetaj clicks again and replays the video. He waits for Brenden to turn his head. His face appears in profile. Ahmetaj freezes the picture, takes a screen dump and opens the file in Photoshop where he adjusts the colours and the contrasts. Then he hits Crtl + P. The sound of a printer warming up comes from somewhere under the desk. Mjones bends down and kicks away an empty Coke bottle, which in turn knocks over several other empty bottles. He pulls a face as the dust rises.
‘What are you going to do?’ Ahmetaj asks when Mjones reappears with a sheet of paper in his hand.
‘I’m going to play cops and robbers,’ Mjones replies and grins.