Scarred (28 page)

Though Henning has been told to stay in the car, he can see that something is brewing. He has already called
123news
to alert them when Bjarne comes over and wrenches open the door.

‘You can’t stay here,’ he says, his voice laden with police gravity while he summons him outside with his index finger.

‘Okay,’ Henning says, getting out. ‘So where can I be?’

‘Anywhere,’ Bjarne says. ‘Just not here.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Much too much,’ Bjarne replies, but offers no further explanation.

Henning retreats discreetly while he watches Bjarne and the two other officers. Their faces are grim, their footsteps purposeful. If you put two and two together, you usually get four. Their presence must indicate that Remi is inside Emilie Blomvik’s house. And that he has no plans to come quietly.

Henning finds a spot further away where he still has a view of the house. He takes out his mobile and rings
123news
again.

The armed response unit is in place thirty minutes later. A tall, dark-haired man called Simen Krogh is in charge of the operation. He has long sideburns, a strong jaw and a thick bull’s neck.

‘Right, people, listen up,’ Krogh says, summoning the officers closer to him. He allocates some of them to a detention group tasked with catching Remi if he comes out or tries to escape. Krogh tells them that he has requested a trained hostage negotiator who will be with them in fifteen minutes.

‘We have one objective right now,’ Krogh says earnestly. ‘And that is to get the hostage taker to come out with the hostages alive. And remember, we have all the time in the world. We can drag out events to try to wear him down. Unless there’s an emergency and the hostages’ lives are in danger, then we don’t take action. We don’t storm the house unless we absolutely have to. But we’ll still prepare as if that was exactly what we were going to do.’

Krogh turns.

‘That hedge there,’ he says, pointing to one side of the house. ‘It’s dense. It’ll provide cover. There is also a veranda close to the hedge. I want two men up on that veranda, but do it quietly. I don’t want him to hear your footsteps and panic.’

The officers Krogh is pointing at nod.

‘On the other side, to the right of the garage, you can get across the fence and access the back garden. There are no windows on that side, something that will help us get closer. But the house has several windows on its long sides. So stay out of sight. See, but don’t be seen.’

Krogh then goes over to two men who are assembling rifles.

‘If you see the hostage taker aim his gun at the hostage and declare an intention to shoot, then you must await orders from me before you can take him out. No heroics. Understand?’

The marksmen nod.

The rest of the officers take up positions, both outside and inside the white picket fence.

‘Okay,’ Krogh says, walking towards Bjarne. ‘What do you make of the hostage taker’s demand?’

Bjarne shakes his head.

‘Difficult to know. Even the lunatic in there must know that you can’t just pick up the phone and, hey presto, the Justice Secretary comes running.’

‘Well, I think we should alert her,’ Krogh says. ‘So that at least she’s aware of the situation.’

‘I’ve tried getting hold of some of her aides, but it’s chaos at the Ministry right now. As far as I can understand the Minister is about to hold a press conference.’

Krogh nods.

‘The hostage taker wants to talk to her. He has a gun, which he says he’s not afraid to use. I think that a call to a Minister is a small price to pay to save someone’s life.’

Bjarne takes a deep breath.

‘I’ll get my boss to put some pressure on the Justice Secretary’s staff.’

The words from Katarina’s mouth were like a punch to the stomach. Trine had never thought that the sound of a name could cause her so much pain. The years they have spent together. The plans they have made. Their dreams. The foundations underpinning everything they had done – blown away. And she understands it now; she sees how the traps were set for her and how she walked into each one without even thinking about it. Just because he told her to.

It was fiendishly clever. And now it’s too late. He has won.

Or has he?

Trine looks at the clock on the wall, gets up and rolls her shoulders. She goes to the cloakroom and looks at herself in the mirror. Tiny needles of anger prick her at the thought of what she is about to do. In the last half hour alone she has been to the lavatory three times. An hour’s run would be welcome now, she thinks, to drain the stress from her body. She is still suffering the after-effects of the liqueur she drank too much of in the cabin.

Trine removes a strand of hair from her forehead, adjusts her jacket and turns around in the full-length mirror. She looks okay, doesn’t she?

Yes
, she assures herself.
You look fine
.

She inhales, stares into her own eyes and then closes them. She knows she is going to hate every second of this press conference. She returns to her desk, picks up the pages she printed out, though she is not sure if she really needs them. She has always been comfortable giving speeches and lectures without notes. Nevertheless it’s good to have something to look at, just in case. Something to do with her hands.

She is about to step outside when Katarina Hatlem rushes in. After she had made a clean breast of everything to Trine, Katarina said without prompting that she would obviously clear her desk immediately and not come back. Now she is waving her arm in the air and holding a mobile in her hand.

‘Trine, wait,’ she calls out.

It is as if the confrontation they had only a couple of hours ago has been wiped from her face. There is a sense of urgency to her movements that Trine has seen many times before. It means that something has happened.

Katarina stops right in front of Trine and puts her hand over the microphone on the mobile.

‘I’ve got a policeman on the line,’ she says. ‘There’s a hostage situation in Jessheim.’

Trine gives her a look of exasperation.

‘I’m just about to give a press conference, Katarina, I can’t—’

‘Two seconds,’ Katarina implores her. ‘Just listen to what he has to say for two seconds.’

Trine looks at her ex-friend for a moment before she takes the mobile and says ‘yes’. A man introduces himself as Arild Gjerstad.

Trine says nothing while she listens to his briefing. Her thoughts are racing. When Gjerstad has finished, she says: ‘Tell the hostage taker I’m on my way. Tell him that he will get to talk to me, but that I want something in return. Such as a hostage.’

Trine hands back the mobile to Katarina without ending the call.

‘I want you to go to the press room,’ Trine says as she walks past her. ‘Tell the reporters that the press conference has been postponed until further notice.’

Trine asks her secretary to inform her driver that she will be downstairs in two minutes. She doesn’t even put on a coat before she goes over to the lift and hits the down button several times. Four minutes later, after having fought her way through a throng of noisy reporters who can’t understand why she is leaving without talking to them, she is on her way to Jessheim in her ministerial car, a perk she thought she had enjoyed for the last time. The driver asks if he should request assistance from the police to get out of the capital as quickly as possible, but Trine doesn’t think that will be necessary. She regrets her decision once they get stuck in the Trafikkmaskinen interchange roundabout, but the traffic eases up as they approach the Vålerenga Tunnel. Then it slows down again near Furuset, and again at the exit to Olavsgård. Trine looks at her watch. The call came in thirty minutes ago. She hopes she won’t be too late.

The drive to Jessheim takes almost fifty minutes, but the location proves easy to find. Crowds of curious neighbours and news-hungry journalists have gathered behind the police cordons. A reporter from TV2 is holding a microphone in her hand while talking to a camera; her face is solemn as if she were about to announce a death. Then her gaze is drawn to the car in which Trine is travelling. It takes only a few seconds before the blonde reporter recognises the ministerial car and realises who has arrived.

Trine tries to find something to focus on while her driver looks for a place to park. She gets out of the car and instantly feels everyone’s eyes on her so she picks a spot above them and concentrates on that, ignores the murmur of voices and makes her way through the crowd and over to police cordons. The TV reporter calls out to her.

‘Minister, what are you doing here?’

Trine doesn’t reply, but identifies herself to the uniformed officer standing guard and is let through immediately.

Her heels make a steady clicking sound against the damp tarmac. Everyone she meets looks at her and follows her with their eyes. She finds the car marked ‘Head of Operations’ and nods to some of the uniformed officers outside.

‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Who is in charge here?’

A tall, dark-haired man turns around.

‘I am. My name is Simen Krogh,’ he says, holding out his hand.

Trine shakes it.

‘Have you had any more contact with the hostage taker?’

‘No,’ Krogh says. ‘He hasn’t called us in the last forty-five minutes, and we haven’t called him. But we’re prepared, we have people ready to go in – should it become necessary. All lines of communications are open. The Police Chief is following the situation and will decide whether or not we take action.’

‘I’ll make that decision,’ she says. ‘I’m still Justice Secretary.’

‘Er, yes, of course. That’s your right. Have you been briefed about the hostage taker?’

‘I know a little, yes,’ she says and nods. She didn’t follow the news much when she was young, but she does remember the snow cave tragedy in Jessheim. She read about it in the local paper. Remi’s brother who died under the snowdrifts. A terrible, tragic accident.

‘Okay, good,’ Krogh says. ‘Before we get started, I’d like you to talk to the hostage negotiator from Lillestrøm. Follow me.’

Krogh leads Trine through a crowd of police officers. Then he stops at a mobile incident truck, gives an order Trine doesn’t catch and a few seconds later a woman in civilian clothing gets out. She is wearing a bullet-proof vest on top of her thin, dark blue raincoat.

‘Hello, my name is Tonje Tellefsen,’ the woman says. ‘I’m the hostage negotiator for Romerike police district.’

‘Trine Juul-Osmundsen.’

They shake hands and quickly smile at each other.

‘I’ll be with you the whole time listening to every word that’s being said. Situations like these are always unique and you can never know in advance what will work. There’s one thing that is important and it might seem obvious, but you mustn’t say or do anything that could make the hostage taker even angrier than he already is. Don’t remind him why he is here. And don’t speak to him in any way he might perceive as threatening. Listen to what he says and make sure your voice sounds as gentle as possible.’

Trine nods.

Tellefsen gives her a warm smile.

‘It’s highly unusual,’ she says. ‘For a hostage taker to demand to talk to a Minister. We’re very pleased that you’ve come. It’s a brave thing to do.’

‘Thank you,’ Trine smiles and gets a warm feeling inside. ‘Which house is it?’

‘The red one over there,’ Tellefsen says and points.

Another mobile incident truck is parked outside. Trine can see that members of the armed response unit in their dark uniforms are strategically positioned around the house.

‘Okay,’ she says and starts walking towards the truck. ‘Let’s get going.’

The agonies of choice. What to do.

Emilie Blomvik sits on the floor a short distance from Mattis. She is shivering even though she feels hot. Remi paces up and down in front of her, sits down, gets up again. Closes his eyes and writhes. It looks as if his head hurts. And now the police are outside.

The question is, should she do something or simply wait for them to sort it out? Can she trust them to handle it?

Yes, she decides at first. They’ve been trained for this. But then Remi started talking about the Justice Secretary. Threatened to use the gun. It made Emilie think she might have to do something as well. She can’t just sit there and wait.

Do something, yes. But what?

Fortunately Sebastian is still playing in his room, bashing away at his hammer board toy. He turns over the board and starts whacking the other side. It is a game that usually sends him to sleep. She hopes he is starting to feel sleepy now.

‘Remi,’ she says with warmth in her voice. ‘Why don’t you sit down for a moment?’

Emilie can’t gesture to him because her hands are tied behind her back. So instead she makes a come-hither movement with her head. Remi looks at her.

‘Do you remember when we used to skive off school and spend the whole day at home just watching movies?’

Emilie attempts to produce a smile she knows usually has an effect on men.

‘I can’t remember how many sweets we ate. I feel almost sick just thinking about it.’

Mattis stares at her, but Emilie ignores him. She sees that the memories start to come back to Remi. The time when they were good together. Life was fun. It was quite a wild time as well, she remembers. A lot happened.

‘We could be like that . . . again, you know that, don’t you?’

She has barely spoken the words before he snorts with derision.

‘What is it you want from me, Remi? What can I do to make all this go away?’

He lifts his head and looks at her.

‘I want you to say that you’re sorry,’ he says. ‘I want you to look at me and tell me you’re sorry for ruining my life.’

Emilie nods softly, before she realises what he has just said.

‘Me? I ruined your—’

‘Yes, you. You, Johanne, that vicious old—’

Remi bites his lip.

Emilie doesn’t say anything immediately, but she realises that she can’t stop herself.

‘Remi,’ she says. ‘What happened between us. It was a hundred years ago.’

Her voice is calm even though she is seething on the inside.

‘You’re not seriously telling me that you’re still upset about what happened back then?’

Remi makes no reply.

‘I was eighteen years old, Remi. Eighteen! Dear God, we were just kids. We did crazy stuff all the time.’

‘
You
did crazy stuff all the time.’

‘Yes, okay, but so what? We’re allowed to make mistakes when we’re young.’

‘Right and who cares if anyone gets hurt while we make our mistakes? Anything goes as long as
you’re
having fun?’

Emilie doesn’t respond immediately.

‘Remi, everyone has done things they regret. If I had the chance to live my life all over again there are many things I would do differently, and if that’s what you want me to say, then yes, I’m sorry for what happened between us. So here goes: I’m really sorry I hurt you. I apologise. Okay? Now can we please get on with our lives?’

‘I can tell from your voice that you don’t mean it.’

Emilie rolls her eyes, but Remi just sends her an icy glare.

‘Okay,’ Emilie says with a sigh. ‘Fine. But don’t come back later and say that I didn’t apologise.’

‘It’s too late now, anyway.’

The next moment the phone rings. Remi looks at it for a long time before he presses a button and puts it to his ear. But he says nothing. Emilie presumes it’s the police trying to talk him down.

But Emilie’s intuition tells her that talking won’t help; only action will do. And there is something in Remi’s eyes that terrifies the life out of her. There is no hope left in them. Only hatred.

You have to do something
, she thinks.