‘What kind of name is that?’

Henning holds up his hands.

‘Don’t ask me. I didn’t pick it.’

‘But what are you doing out here at this hour? There’s no one around.’

‘You’re here. It was you who found her, wasn’t it?’

Skagestad becomes defensive. Most people do, when they realise they are about to be interviewed. But Skagestad has no choice but to answer every single one of Henning’s questions. After all, his dog has just attacked him, so Henning doesn’t feel bad in the slightest for imposing on Skagestad.

‘I don’t want to get in the paper.’

‘You won’t have to.’

Kama Sutra returns with the stick in its mouth. Skagestad takes one end and pulls as hard as he can. The dog growls again, no way will it let go and it doesn’t until Skagestad overpowers it. The dog pants, its tongue dangles out of the corner of its mouth. Kama Sutra sits down, its eyes filled with anticipation. Skagestad hurls the stick again.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Henning can quite believe that.

‘What has happened to this country?’ Skagestad continues. ‘A stoning in Norway?’

He shakes his head.

‘I bet it’s those bloody immigrants.’

Henning wants to say something, but stops himself. As Jarle Hogseth used to say: When people want to get something off their chest, then you let them talk. Let them talk themselves dry. Even if you don’t like what they are saying.

‘There are far too many of them here.’

Skagestad shakes his head again.

‘I’ve got nothing against helping people who’ve had a rough time where they came from, but if they’re going to live here, they should jolly well abide by Norwegian laws, respect our culture and our way of life, do things like we’ve always done them.’

‘We can’t be sure that an immigrant did this,’ Henning says.

‘Is that right? We’ve never had a stoning in Norway before.’

It’s too early in the morning to have the immigration debate, so he says:

‘Why did you go inside the tent?’

‘That’s the thing. I’m not really sure. But the tent wasn’t there the day before, I’m here every day, you see, and I was curious.’

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘I usually do, but not near the tent. Nothing caught my eye as I walked up here. I live in Samvirkevei.’

‘Can you describe the crime scene?’

‘The crime scene?’

‘Yes. What did it look like inside the tent, did you notice anything?’

Skagestad takes a deep breath.

‘I have already done this with the police.’

‘Yes, but you may not have remembered everything. The brain is remarkable. We rarely remember every detail of a traumatic experience at the time. However, things may surface later, things you didn’t consider important, but which turn out to matter.’

I sound like a policeman, Henning thinks. But it works. He can see that Skagestad is trawling through his memories.

‘It could be anything. A sound, a smell, a colour,’ Henning continues. Something causes Skagestad’s facial expression to change. He grows more alert.

‘Actually, there is one thing I remember now,’ he says and looks at Henning. Kama Sutra returns. Skagestad ignores the dog.

‘I noticed it when I entered the tent, but then I forgot all about it.’

‘What was it?’ Henning says.

‘The smell,’ says Skagestad, remembering it. ‘It smelt stuffy, as it usually does inside a tent. But there was something else.’

Then he starts to laugh. Henning is puzzled.

‘It’s a bit embarrassing,’ he says.

Henning is sorely tempted to thump the old man.

‘What is?’ he asks, patiently.

Skagestad shakes his head, still smiling. Then he looks straight at him.

‘I could smell aftershave.’

‘Aftershave?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not perfume?’

‘No. Aftershave.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’

He nods.

‘How can you be?’

Skagestad smiles again.

‘That’s what’s embarrassing,’ he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Henning thinks the man would make an excellent torturer at Guantanamo.

‘Romance,’ he says. By now, Henning is completely lost.

‘From Ralph Lauren,’ Skagestad continues.

‘How — ?’

‘I use it myself, you see. It was a present from my grandchild. That’s why I recognised it.’

‘Was it very noticeable?’

‘No. Very faint. But I’ve a strong sense of smell. And like I said, I use it myself sometimes, when I’m going out to — eh — meet someone.’

Kama Sutra growls again. Skagestad throws the stick. Run, drool, chew, run.

‘And I think the ladies like it.’

He smiles briefly. This time Henning really doesn’t want Skagestad to elaborate. Skagestad grows serious.

‘Poor girl.’

‘Did you notice anything else inside the tent?’

‘You don’t think that was enough?’

‘Yes, yes. But anything could be important.’

‘True. No, I don’t think there was anything else.’

They stand in silence.

‘You won’t write anything about this in your newspaper — what was it called again?’

‘123news. And, no, I won’t.’

Skagestad nods and thanks him. Then he makes to leave.

‘Nice talking to you. Time for me to go home, have a coffee and a cigarette,’ he says. Henning waves and thinks that Thorbjorn Skagestad, embarrassed or not, might just have contributed an important piece to the jigsaw.

Jarle Hogseth must be smiling in his grave.

Chapter 33