Killing Moon полностью

‘I rang to say we appreciate what you’ve done on this case, it demonstrates integrity. We in the Labour Party care about equality before the law, and that’s why I gave the green light for an arrest earlier today. It’s important to send out the signal that in a functioning state governed by the rule of law there are no advantages in being wealthy and famous.’

‘Quite the opposite, perhaps,’ Harry said.

‘Pardon?’

‘I wasn’t aware that the Minister of Justice had to authorise arrests.’

‘This isn’t just any arrest, Harry.’

‘That’s what I mean. Some are more important. And it doesn’t exactly hurt the Labour Party to be seen going after a well-heeled sleazeball.’

‘My point, Harry, is that I’ve sweet-talked Melling and Winter, and they’re willing to have you on board the investigation moving forward. There is some work remaining before we file charges. Now that your employer has been arrested, I assume you’re out of a job. Your contribution is important to us, Harry.’

Harry had slowed the treadmill to walking speed.

‘They’d like you to be present when Røed is interviewed in the morning.’

What’s important to you is that it looks like the hero of the hour is on your team, Harry thought.

‘Well, what do you say?’

Harry considered it. Felt the distaste and distrust Bellman always evoked in him. ‘Mm. I’ll be there.’

‘Good. Bratt will keep you up to speed. I have to run. Goodnight.’

Harry ran for another hour. When he realised he wasn’t going to outrun what was bothering him, he sat down in one of the chairs, letting the sweat seep into the cushion cover as he called Alexandra.

‘Have you missed me?’ she cooed.

‘Mm. That club, Tuesdays...’

‘Yeah?’

‘They had club nights every Tuesday. Didn’t your friend say something about Villa Dante carrying on the tradition?’

Editor-in-chief Ole Solstad scratched his cheek with one tip of his reading glasses. Looked across his desk, piled with coffee-stained stacks of paper, at Terry Våge. Våge was slouched in the visitor’s chair, his wool coat and porkpie hat still on, as though he expected the meeting to take only a few moments. And hopefully it would. Because Solstad was dreading it. He should have listened to his colleague at the newspaper Våge had worked at before, who had quoted from the movie Fargo when he said, ‘I don’t vouch for him.’

Solstad and Våge had exchanged a few general words about Røed’s arrest. Våge had grinned and said they had the wrong man. Solstad detected no lack of self-confidence, but that was likely the way with all con men, they were almost as adept at fooling themselves.

‘So, we have decided not to commission any more content from you,’ Solstad said, aware he had to be careful not to use words like ‘let you go’, ‘terminate’ or ‘sack’, either verbally or in writing. Although Våge was only on a freelancer contract, a good lawyer could use a de facto dismissal against them at an employment tribunal. The way Solstad had now phrased it only meant they would not be printing what Våge wrote, while at the same time he was not ruling out Våge being assigned other tasks covered by the contract, such as research for other journalists. But labour law was thorny, as Dagbladet’s lawyer had made clear to him.

‘Why not?’ Våge said.

‘Because the events of the past few days have cast doubt on the veracity of your latest articles.’ And added, since someone had recently told him that a reprimand was always more effective if it included the name of the target, ‘Våge.’

As soon as he had spoken, it struck Solstad that admonishment was hardly the appropriate tactic, given that the goal here wasn’t for Våge to promise to mend his ways but to be rid of the guy with the least possible fuss. On the other hand, Våge needed to understand why they were taking such a drastic step, that it was about Dagbladet’s credibility.

‘Can you prove that?’ Våge said, without batting an eyelid, yes, even going so far as stifling a yawn. Demonstrative and puerile, but provocative nonetheless.

‘The real question is if you can prove what you wrote. It looks like, smells like and sounds like fiction. Unless you can give me your source—’

‘Christ, Solstad, as the editor of this rag you must know I have to protect—’

‘I’m not saying you go public with it, just give it to me. Your editor-in-chief. The man responsible for what you write and we publish. Understand? If you tell me the source, then I’m obligated to protect it, same as you. As far, that is, as the law allows confidentiality of sources. Do you understand?’

Terry Våge let out a lengthy groan. ‘Do you understand, Solstad? Do you understand that then I’ll go to another paper, let’s say VG or Aftenposten, and do for them what I’ve been doing for Dagbladet? As in, turn them into the market leaders on crime reporting.’