Read Online Exposed at the Back by Guy; Arild; Puzey Stavrum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Guy; Arild; Puzey Stavrum
Ads: Link
load of rubbish, of course they’re not gay, but apparently they’ve fallen out. Arild Golden, Per Diesen and Marius Bjartmannwere pals. At least until Golden started fooling around with Sabrina. Pretty ironic.’
‘Why ironic?’
‘Well, Golden added a clause in the contract for Diesen’s online show that Diesen and Sabrina wouldn’t have sex on camera, because that would harm Diesen’s chances as a professional footballer abroad. And then Golden goes ploughing her instead.’
‘But why did Bjartmann get so angry?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe he thinks it’s pathetic of Diesen to let the girl sing here, in honour of the man who she slept with. Best friends tell each other these things, after all.’
‘Are you going to write about this?’
‘I’ve got no concrete evidence, just a colleague who saw Golden leaving Diesen and Sabrina’s flat while Vålerenga were training. Not enough to write about when we’re talking about dead people, but I know it happened. Golden was shagging Sabrina.’
Offside
Steinar realised that he was wearing the wrong clothes as soon as he entered the TV2 building. Out on Karl Johans Gate, the main street in Oslo, anything goes. In a way it was difficult not to be well dressed next to heroin addicts, prostitutes and tourists from Trondheim.
The whiteness of the reception desk was blinding, as were the backs of the computer screens, as were the receptionist’s teeth. On the desk was a red bowl of sweets wrapped in white. The flat-screen TVs on the wall were showing the company’s news channel, TV2 Nyhetskanalen. Steinar turned round and hurried out across the street to the first clothes shop he saw.
10 minutes later he was back in the reception, wearing new jeans and a dark blue piqué shirt, which he double-checked to make sure all the price tags had been removed.
‘I’ve got an appointment to see Benedikte Blystad,’ he told the Sensodyne man, who picked up the phone and passed on Steinar’s message.
‘Somebody will be down to fetch you. Take a seat for a moment.’ He pointed at the red leather bench. Steinar had just turned to the second page of Dagens Næringsliv when a young man came up to him.
‘Are you Steinar Brunsvik?’
Steinar nodded.
‘Follow me, please,’ said the man, leading Steinar over to the lift.
The doors opened into a large office area where a multitude of computers were ready to be used. The office was waiting for news. Steinar hoped the news wouldn’t be him.
He was led past the small studio used by the news channel and along a corridor filled with workstations. There she was, leaning on a colleague’s desk and resting on her left elbow while she pointed atsomething on the computer screen. Steinar couldn’t help letting out the tiniest of sighs.
‘I know, I know,’ said the man who’d accompanied Steinar.
Benedikte spotted Steinar and came towards him.
‘Come with me,’ she said.
She led Steinar straight to a room at the back, a small meeting room simply furnished with a table and a laptop in the middle. He turned down an offer of coffee, but said yes to some mineral water, and sat down.
‘Wondering about the way I contacted you, maybe?’ asked Benedikte.
Steinar was becoming aware of the crease in his shirt, the one going across his stomach, as the shirt had come straight from the packet. He hadn’t seen it in the shop, so now he tried to straighten it discreetly. He poured himself a glass of the mineral water, took a long sip and nodded.
‘I’ve been working a fair amount on the Golden case over the last few days, and while I’ve been sitting here doing research, I started thinking of you. I put your name into an archival search together with Arild Golden’s, and I found the raw footage for a planned investigation programme.’
‘What?’
‘It was a documentary about Arild Golden that was never finished, but I thought we could watch what’s there,’ said Benedikte. She turned off the light and pressed
‘Why ironic?’
‘Well, Golden added a clause in the contract for Diesen’s online show that Diesen and Sabrina wouldn’t have sex on camera, because that would harm Diesen’s chances as a professional footballer abroad. And then Golden goes ploughing her instead.’
‘But why did Bjartmann get so angry?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe he thinks it’s pathetic of Diesen to let the girl sing here, in honour of the man who she slept with. Best friends tell each other these things, after all.’
‘Are you going to write about this?’
‘I’ve got no concrete evidence, just a colleague who saw Golden leaving Diesen and Sabrina’s flat while Vålerenga were training. Not enough to write about when we’re talking about dead people, but I know it happened. Golden was shagging Sabrina.’
Offside
Steinar realised that he was wearing the wrong clothes as soon as he entered the TV2 building. Out on Karl Johans Gate, the main street in Oslo, anything goes. In a way it was difficult not to be well dressed next to heroin addicts, prostitutes and tourists from Trondheim.
The whiteness of the reception desk was blinding, as were the backs of the computer screens, as were the receptionist’s teeth. On the desk was a red bowl of sweets wrapped in white. The flat-screen TVs on the wall were showing the company’s news channel, TV2 Nyhetskanalen. Steinar turned round and hurried out across the street to the first clothes shop he saw.
10 minutes later he was back in the reception, wearing new jeans and a dark blue piqué shirt, which he double-checked to make sure all the price tags had been removed.
‘I’ve got an appointment to see Benedikte Blystad,’ he told the Sensodyne man, who picked up the phone and passed on Steinar’s message.
‘Somebody will be down to fetch you. Take a seat for a moment.’ He pointed at the red leather bench. Steinar had just turned to the second page of Dagens Næringsliv when a young man came up to him.
‘Are you Steinar Brunsvik?’
Steinar nodded.
‘Follow me, please,’ said the man, leading Steinar over to the lift.
The doors opened into a large office area where a multitude of computers were ready to be used. The office was waiting for news. Steinar hoped the news wouldn’t be him.
He was led past the small studio used by the news channel and along a corridor filled with workstations. There she was, leaning on a colleague’s desk and resting on her left elbow while she pointed atsomething on the computer screen. Steinar couldn’t help letting out the tiniest of sighs.
‘I know, I know,’ said the man who’d accompanied Steinar.
Benedikte spotted Steinar and came towards him.
‘Come with me,’ she said.
She led Steinar straight to a room at the back, a small meeting room simply furnished with a table and a laptop in the middle. He turned down an offer of coffee, but said yes to some mineral water, and sat down.
‘Wondering about the way I contacted you, maybe?’ asked Benedikte.
Steinar was becoming aware of the crease in his shirt, the one going across his stomach, as the shirt had come straight from the packet. He hadn’t seen it in the shop, so now he tried to straighten it discreetly. He poured himself a glass of the mineral water, took a long sip and nodded.
‘I’ve been working a fair amount on the Golden case over the last few days, and while I’ve been sitting here doing research, I started thinking of you. I put your name into an archival search together with Arild Golden’s, and I found the raw footage for a planned investigation programme.’
‘What?’
‘It was a documentary about Arild Golden that was never finished, but I thought we could watch what’s there,’ said Benedikte. She turned off the light and pressed
Similar Books
