Free Burned by Thomas Enger Page A

closer to knowing why this happened.”
    “No, or who did it.”
    “You don’t think Marhoni did?” Nøkleby asks.
    “I don’t know what I think yet. But Marhoni didn’t strike me as a hardcore Muslim, to be flippant, or as someone who is up-to-date on hudud punishments. And I think it’s important to bear in mind that this isn’t normal Muslim behavior. Someone with extreme views—and I’m mean really extreme views—and a twisted mind probably did this. And I don’t think that description fits Marhoni.”
    “Don’t you have to be a Muslim to warrant the punishment?” Brogeland asks.
    “Yes, that’s correct, you do.”
    “But Hagerup is white, like us?”
    “Precisely. So lots of things don’t add up.”
    “She could have converted?” Hagen suggests.
    Sandland pulls a face.
    “But as she was white and Norwegian, this might not have anything to do with sharia or hudud, ” Gjerstad objects.
    “No, it’s . . .”
    “Perhaps someone just felt like stoning her to death. Hell of a way to kill someone. It takes forever, I imagine, especially if the stones are small.”
    “Yes, but we should be looking for someone who knows about hudud punishments.”
    “That could be anyone, surely?”
    “Anyone can read up on it, that’s true, whether you’re Norwegian or Muslim. However, this killing is highly ritualistic. Flogging her, stoning her, and chopping off one of her hands—it all means something.”
    “So it would appear,” Nøkleby remarks.
    “Was Hagerup unfaithful?” Hagen asks. “Or did she steal something?”
    Sandland shrugs.
    “No idea. Could be both. Or neither. We don’t know yet.”
    “Okay,” Gjerstad says in a voice designed to bring the meeting to a close. He gets up. “We need to carry out a more detailed background check on both Marhoni and Hagerup, find out who they were and what she did or didn’t do, what she knew, what she studied, people she knew, friends, family situation, and so on. Second, we need to talk to the Muslim communities, find out if anyone there approves of flogging and that kind of punishment, and see if there’s a link to Hagerup or Marhoni. Emil, you’re an IT whiz. Check the chat rooms, home pages, blogs, and more, look up everything you can on sharia and hudud and report back if you come across any names we should take a closer look at.”
    Emil nods.
    “And one more thing,” Gjerstad says and looks at Nøkleby before he continues. “It shouldn’t need saying, but NRK was remarkably well informed at today’s press conference. This investigation ticks so many boxes that we’ll only make it worse for ourselves if the press gets a hint of what we’re looking into. Anything said here stays within these four walls. Understood?”
    Nobody says anything. But everyone nods.

16
    It doesn’t take him long to finish at Westerdals. He interviews some people, gets the information he knows the newspaper wants him to get, takes more pictures, and heads home. He is outside Jimmy’s Sushi Bar in Fredensborgvei when his mobile rings.
    “Henning,” he answers.
    “Hi, it’s Heidi.”
    He pulls a face and says “hi” back without a flicker of enthusiasm.
    “Where are you?”
    “On my way home to write up the story. I’ll email it to you tonight.”
    “ Dagbladet already has a story about grieving students at the college. Why don’t we? Why is it taking so long?”
    “Long?”
    “Why didn’t you call in with what you had?”
    “Surely I have to write the story before I can call it in?”
    “Four lines about the mood, two quotes from a distraught bystander, and we could have put together a story and padded it out with photos and some more quotes later. Now we’re waaaaay late!”
    He is tempted to say that the expression isn’t “waaaaay late” but either “way behind” or “running late,” but he doesn’t. Heidi sighs heavily.
    “Why would anyone want to read our human interest story when they’ve already read it