Burned

Chapter 61

Bjarne Brogeland is pacing up and down his office. The tired, Lapp face of Ann-Mari Sara, the crime scene technician, has just popped up on his screen again, to report on the most recent findings from Marhoni’s laptop. Interrogating Marhoni will be more interesting now. But that’s not where I want to be, Brogeland groans. What the hell is going on with Yngve and Ingvild Foldvik? Why can’t anyone find them?

Brogeland is swearing silently when Sandland knocks on his door and asks him if he is ready. I’m ready, Brogeland thinks, I’ve never been more ready in my life.

As usual, Lars Indrehaug is indignant on his client’s behalf when Sandland and Brogeland welcome them back to the interview room and go through the formalities.

‘So what’s today’s theme?’ Indrehaug snarls when Brogeland has finished. ‘My client’s favourite colour? Favourite car?’

Indrehaug nods to Marhoni. Brogeland smiles. He is anything but tired now, and the sight of the slimy lawyer makes his blood boil. He slides a sheet across the table, placing it halfway between them, so both can study it. Marhoni leans forward and glances at the sheet before looking away. He shakes his head, faintly. Brogeland registers it.

‘What’s this?’ Indrehaug asks.

‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ Brogeland says. ‘But perhaps you could explain it to us all the same, Mr Marhoni?’

Marhoni stares at the wall.

‘Okay, then I’ll do it for you,’ Brogeland says, addressing Indrehaug. ‘Your client has, believe it or not, a highly developed sense of order. He likes to know where everything is. Perhaps you’ve been to his flat? Neat and tidy. The document in front of you is a print-out of an Excel spreadsheet we found on your client’s laptop, the one he tried to burn. Perhaps you can see why?’

Indrehaug studies the document closely. He sees names, telephone numbers and e-mail addresses.

‘A quick check, not that you need to look very hard, will tell you that these are very bad people. Very bad indeed. People who make sure that our streets are flooded with drugs, which our children take, and which turn them into very bad people, too.’

Indrehaug shoves the document back to Brogeland and snorts.

‘This proves nothing. There could be any number of legitimate reasons why my client might choose to keep this information on his computer. Just because you bookmark the homepage of Rema 1000, it doesn’t follow that you shop there. The names you have found on my client’s computer certainly don’t prove that he killed someone.’

‘No, you’re right about that,’ Brogeland replies, smiling. ‘But how would you explain this?’

He slides another sheet towards Indrehaug and Marhoni.

‘This photograph was also found on your client’s computer. In fact, we found several very interesting pictures.’

Indrehaug pulls the sheet towards him. Marhoni doesn’t look at the print-out which shows him with a man in a black leather jacket. The jacket has an emblem of flames on its back. The man’s face is clearly visible.

‘This is your client in the company of a man called Abdul Sebrani. If you check the list we’ve just shown you, you’ll see that his name appears on it. The photograph was taken during the delivery of a batch of cocaine from BBB — Bad Boys Burning — to your client earlier this spring. It was taken down at Vippetangen. Can you see the water in the background?’

Indrehaug studies the photograph. The image is sharp and shot with a telephoto lens from some distance.

‘Do you remember where you were supposed to take the drugs, Mr Marhoni?’ Brogeland asks. There is no reply.

‘We have more pictures like this. Your client — and I’m only guessing here — wanted some sort of insurance against his business associates, just in case they started to play hardball. Or perhaps they had already started threatening you, Mr Marhoni?’

Marhoni ignores Brogeland’s hard stare.

‘Your client kept his head down. But when his girlfriend was killed and we came knocking on his door, he realised that his laptop might incriminate him. And BBB. That’s why he tried to burn it, to destroy the evidence.’

Brogeland looks at both Marhoni and Indrehaug. Indrehaug blanks him and leans towards Marhoni instead. Whisper, whisper.

Slam-dunk, Brogeland thinks. He looks at Sandland, hoping that she is thinking the same, but she is always difficult to read.

‘Your brother was a photographer, wasn’t he?’ she asks. Marhoni turns to her, but doesn’t reply.

‘He took these pictures, didn’t he? He uploaded them to your laptop.’

Marhoni still doesn’t reply, but there is no need for him to say anything.

‘Where’s the rest of your family, Mahmoud?’

Marhoni keeps his eyes fixed on Sandland, before he averts them and whispers:

‘Pakistan.’

‘What will happen to them?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who is going to send them money now?’

Marhoni looks down.

‘We know that you send them a lot of money every month. Your father has brain disease. The money buys the treatment he needs. The amounts vary slightly, but I presume that’s to do with the exchange rate. You live on what you earn from minicabbing, while the money you’re paid for transporting drugs and driving gang members around ends up in Pakistan. That’s how it works, isn’t it?’

Marhoni doesn’t reply.

‘Would you like to change your statement, Mahmoud?’ Brogeland interjects. ‘Would you like me to ask you, once more, if you know Zaheerullah Hassan Mintroza? Or Yasser Shah?’

Marhoni doesn’t reply. Brogeland waits for him to crack.

‘They’re going to kill them,’ Marhoni whispers after a long pause.

‘Who are they, Mahmoud?’

‘Hassan and his men.’

‘Who are they going to kill?’

‘My family. If I give them up. I’ve been wanting to quit, I’ve been looking to get out for a long time, but they started threatening me.’

‘And you responded by taking photographs of the deals?’

Marhoni nods.

‘And they found out?’

He nods twice.

‘Answer the question.’

‘Yes.’

‘So the murder of your brother was a message? Keep your mouth shut or we’ll kill the rest of your family?’

He nods three times.

‘Answer the question, please.’

‘Yes.’

‘How long has this been going on, Mr Marhoni? When did it start?’

He sighs.

‘Some time after I got my minicab licence. I started driving for Omar, we already knew each other and after a while he asked me if I wanted to earn some extra cash. I said yes, because my father was ill and, to begin with, all I had to do was a bit of driving and a few deliveries. But then they wanted more. In the end, I wanted out.’

‘But you knew too much, so they couldn’t risk it?’

‘No.’

Brogeland looks at Indrehaug, who runs his fingers through his hair. He tries to sweep it away from his eyes, but it keeps flopping into them.

‘What do you want?’ Indrehaug says.

‘What do we want? We want the big fish, we want to know who your client’s supplier is and how the drugs get into this country. And that’s just for starters. I’m sure you can imagine the rest.’

Indrehaug nods.

‘You’re presuming that my client will testify against BBB?’

‘Of course.’

‘Despite his family situation back in Pakistan?’

Brogeland looks at the lawyer and sighs. Then he fixes his gaze on Marhoni.

‘We know that you didn’t kill Henriette Hagerup.’

Marhoni looks up at Brogeland.

‘There’s a good chance that you can walk out of here very soon, if you co-operate.’

Marhoni looks more alert now. He turns to Indrehaug who turns to Brogeland.

‘Are you offering my client a deal?’

Brogeland looks at Sandland, smiles, and looks back at Indrehaug.

‘You bet we are.’