Burned

Chapter 38

He sits on the bench for a while after Tore has gone. He spends a lot of time hanging around, wearing benches out these days. And that’s fine. Very nice. No deadly nightshade here. He can’t see Anette. People come and go. Every time, Henning’s eyes seek out the red entrance steps. And every time, he is disappointed.

He decides to call her. Before he types in the number, he registers that the time is 1.30 p.m. already. He wonders what reprisals might await him if he fails to show for the fabled staff meeting, but he bets that Sture, for old times’ sake, will give him the abbreviated version later. Besides, Henning has a pretty good idea of what his boss is going to say:

Due to unforeseen fluctuations in the advertising market, we are forced to reduce costs. In the short term, this won’t impact on staff, but it might well do in the long term, if we don’t produce more pages. The more pages are read, the faster we can re-sell the space to new advertisers. However, as we have sold all available advertising space, we need to generate more pages. This means we need to make decisions about the stories we write. We need to be more critical in our selection of material. And blah blah blah -

Some people are bound to make noises about integrity, and ‘how about importance and relevance’, and Henning knows that Sture will declare that he agrees with most of it, and yet demand a tighter ship. And a tighter ship for on-line newspapers that want to survive means more sex, more tits and more porn. That’s what most people want. They may say that they don’t, but they still click on it when they have a minute or two to spare, wanting to get a closer look at the tits or the arse used as bait. On-line newspapers know this, they have the figures and statistics which prove that such stories generate hits and based on that criterion, the choice is simple.

It’ll probably vex Heidi, Henning thinks, but she is middle management and has no choice other than to carry out executive orders. And she will never say anything negative in public about the top management or the mindless decisions they take. She learnt that at her middle management course.

Henning rings Anette and waits for her to reply. Her mobile rings eleven times before she picks up.

‘Hello?’

Anette’s voice is frail and guarded.

‘Anette, my name’s Henning Juul. I work for 123news. We met briefly last Monday.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘Wait, don’t hang — ’

The phone goes dead. He swears to himself, looks around. A man in a boiler suit arrives. He is carrying a bucket.

I’m going to do it, Henning tells himself. I’ll call her again, even though it’s a high-risk strategy. I might alienate her even further. Pestering people rarely pays off, but she hasn’t given me anything yet.

At first, he gets a ring tone, but is then invited to leave a message. Damn, she is blocking my call, he thinks, and sees another man in a boiler suit. He decides to send her a text instead:

I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I’m not looking for an interview. I think Henriette was killed because of the film you were making. I would like to talk to you about it. Can we meet?

He presses ‘send’ and waits. He waits. And he waits. No reply. He swears again. Now what?

No, he thinks. No bloody way. He writes her another text message:

I know you’re scared, Anette. I can tell. But I think I can help you. Please let me help you?

‘Send’ again. He knows that he is starting to sound desperate and it isn’t far from the truth. He jumps when his mobile bleeps a few seconds later. He opens the text.

No one can help me.

His blood tingles. Things are getting seriously interesting. He replies:

You don’t know that, Anette. If you let me see the script, perhaps we can take it from there? I promise to be discreet. If you don’t want to meet — perhaps you can e-mail it to me? My e-mail address is hjuul@123news. no.

‘Send.’

Eternity compressed in seconds. He hears them tick.

No, he thinks. It’s no use. Anette is gone. She doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to be a source, not even a confidential one. He derives some consolation from the fact that he made a serious attempt. But he has no room for cold comfort. He gets up and starts to walk.

His mobile bleeps again. Four quick beeps.

The Gode Cafe. In an hour.