An officer came in to inform them that the Oslo police chief had accepted his demands.
‘Now you tell us what you promised to,’ said the lead interviewer.
But the commander would not.
‘I want written approval, signed by the public prosecutor.’
‘You should keep your word and stop playing for time!’ replied the interviewer.
Julie was in the hotel lobby at Sundvolden when she got the call.
Geir Kåre had told her what happened on the cliff. About Viljar getting shot in the eye, Eirin in the back, Ylva in the neck. He had been running down with Simon; he had been next to him when the shooting started. Geir Kåre had been lucky. All he had was a bullet hole in his windcheater.
‘Simon can’t be dead,’ cried Julie when she heard about Simon landing on the rock. It all went black. She slumped to the floor. Simon, who that same morning had invited her over to his table in the canteen when he saw she was on her own. Simon, who gave her the best hugs. Simon, who was always singing her father’s song.
As she picked herself up from the floor, her mobile rang. She took the call without looking to see who it was.
‘Julie, have you heard anything about Simon?’
It was Gunnar Sæbø.
Julie froze.
‘I… I don’t know anything. He must be hiding somewhere.’
Gunnar thanked her and hung up.
It was night, the sun was up, and nobody slept. In a few hours’ time Tone, Gunnar and Håvard would set out on the same journey Simon had made on Tuesday. The flight from Bardufoss to Oslo. And then on to the Tyrifjord.
Gunnar wanted to make one more call. He had been given Geir Kåre’s number. Many people said he might know something. Gunnar went into a room on his own and tapped in the numbers one by one. Gunnar knew Geir Kåre well; he had been a frequent visitor to Heiaveien since that time he came with Brage and Viljar to help Simon set up the AUF branch in Salangen.
Geir Kåre was still standing in the lobby when he got the call. He pressed the answer key and heard a low voice.
‘Hello, it’s Gunnar, Simon’s father.’
That was all Gunnar got to say.
Because Geir Kåre just cried.
He wept and could not stop.
He sobbed into the phone.
Gunnar sat very quietly at the other end.
Geir Kåre could not get the words out.
Gunnar was silent. He sat completely still.
‘Geir Kåre,’ Simon’s father said at last, ‘can you tell me what happened?’
Geir Kåre described what he had seen.
There was not a sound from the Salangen end. Then Gunnar cleared his throat.
‘Is there any chance Simon could be alive?’ he asked finally.
‘Well I’m not a doctor—’ replied Geir Kåre.
‘Is there any possibility you could be wrong?’
‘But I’ve been in the army, so I’ve seen… I mean, we were taught—’
‘Could you be wrong?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Perhaps there’s a chance he’s alive, all the same?’
‘No, Gunnar, he was shot through the heart.’
Silence down the line.
‘I saw him die, Gunnar.’
‘Well, thank you for telling me,’ said Simon’s father.
He put the phone down. He got up and went into the living room. Tone was sitting there. All the others were sitting there.
Gunnar didn’t say a word. His legs carried him out onto the veranda.
‘Your son is charged with acts of terrorism.’
They were sitting in a room at Oslo central police station. Wenche wanted to keep her jacket on because she was ‘all to pieces with nerves’.
‘Is there any proof?’ she asked.
The interviewer confirmed that there was. ‘Did you know anything about his plans?’
‘I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything!’
‘Tell us what you do know.’
‘He said he’d finally got everything he had dreamt of. He dug the soil, he sowed grass and reaped it, and he’d learned to drive a tractor. When he got back yesterday evening he was shattered and just fell into bed. He said he was going to be at home here with me for three days, for a rest. I don’t know how he could have anything to do with this. That’s all I can tell you.’
Anders was sensible and clever, but had definite opinions, his mother said. He had lots of good friends, and solved other people’s problems for them; everything he did, he did 100 per cent. ‘He’s a nice boy, warm and fond of his mum. Yes, as his mother I can only give him top marks.’
‘What was it that Anders had definite opinions on?’
‘He thinks so much has gone wrong with society. It should be stricter in Norway, people here have too much freedom. He thinks there should be more rules. The state church should be a proper state church, more forthright. The priests should be more like in the old days. I think the same. The Norwegian gospel won’t count for anything soon. Anders thinks it’s a bad thing that there’s no teaching about Christianity in our schools any more. But then it’s a bit difficult because we’ve got so many different people here. I grew up in the 1950s. It was stricter then. You got the cane if you didn’t behave yourself. And you were expected to show consideration for other people. Anders wanted it to be like that. I miss it myself, having grown up with it.’
‘Is there anybody Anders feels hatred towards?’
‘Not hatred. Maybe dissatisfaction’s a better word. But then so many people are dissatisfied, aren’t they?’
‘What is he dissatisfied with?’
‘He’s dissatisfied with the government. That’s allowed, isn’t it? He said the system was a shambles and they needed to change their policies a bit.’
For her part, she said, she thought society ought to take better care of the old, and the poor children, instead of stashing away all those billions abroad. ‘But whenever he complained I would say, leave it, it’s fine living in Norway, things are pretty good for us and the government’s clever with money.’
She was asked about his weapons. The shotgun was in two pieces, she said, and therefore not dangerous. The Glock was big, dark and so heavy she needed both hands to hold it.
‘He really enjoyed the pistol club. The supervisor told him he was good,’ she said, and continued: ‘If Anders does turn out to be involved in this terrible drama, I don’t want my friends ever to know. Because then my life will be ruined, too. I hope you understand. There’s no call for my friends to go judging Anders, even if I do. I can’t bear the idea of losing contact with my friends… It can’t be possible. My Anders who’s such a good, kind boy.’
She started crying.
‘Would you like some tissues?’ they asked her.
She shook her head.
‘And after we had such a nice time yesterday evening. Why would he want to attack a government building? It’s just unthinkable. Why would he kill people on Utøya? I mean to say, he’s a farmer in Elverum! He was so worn out and happy. This is awful. I think this might finish me off. It’s almost like my own trial. I hope you don’t see me as a bad mother. Here I am, more or less informing on my own son.’
‘We very much appreciate the fact that you are helping us shed light on the case.’
‘My son is as good as gold. If it does turn out to be Anders, he must have been unconscious when he did it. Could I go out for a cigarette?’
They let her go out. The interview continued on her return.