The Consorts of Death

15

Skarnes Import turned out to be a very small company. They had offices on the second floor of a building in the part of Olav Kyrres gate that had survived the 1916 town fire. I was received by a secretary with red-rimmed eyes and a sniffly nose which she tended, throughout our conversation, with a tiny crumpled lace handkerchief that could hardly absorb more moisture than a stamp.

She introduced herself as Randi Borge and burst into floods of tears when I explained the purpose of my visit. Age-wise, I would have put her at about forty. She had groomed dark blonde hair and was wearing a tight-fitting black dress that, from where I was standing, on my side of her reception desk, put me in far from a funereal mood.

She kindly explained that, apart from Svein Skarnes and herself, the company had consisted of one technician, Harald Dale, who was out on a maintenance job that day.

‘No one else? But they’re heavy machines you import, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, they are. Photocopiers and franking machines. But we hire in extra help for when the biggest machines have to be positioned and installed.’

‘And what were Svein Skarnes’ duties?’

‘But…’ She sent me an angry look. ‘That’s obvious! It was his company. He’d built it up from scratch. First he worked for — one of the bigger enterprises. Then he realised there could be just as much money working for himself. And there was. All the contracts, all the marketing, all the dealing with customers… that was his responsibility. And he travelled a lot. We have customers up and down south-west Norway, from Alesund to Flekkefjord.’

‘I see. I didn’t mean it like that. But what will happen now, now that he’s no longer…?’

Her eyes widened as though the future was revealing itself in all its gruesome detail to her inner eye.

‘Will his wife take on the company, do you think?’

‘Vibecke!’ It sounded like a trumpet blast, rich with contempt. ‘Can’t imagine that at all.’

‘No?’

‘No, she simply doesn’t have — the capacity. So unless Harald can take over…’ Again the tears burst forth. ‘Well, then I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to go to the job centre…’

I leaned across the reception desk. She looked up at me. Her shapely legs pointed flawlessly downwards beneath the short dress, and I had to concede that she made an extremely tasty impression, perfect bordering on almost painful. The only thing that spoiled the image was the tearful expression on her face and her red-rimmed eyes; however, that lent her an even more human aspect, a touch of openness and intimacy that invited closer attention.

‘Tell me, fru Borge…’

‘I’m not married…’

‘Indeed?’

She met my gaze and blushed. ‘What was it you were going to — say?’

‘Yes, it was… In such a small company as this and with, if I have understood correctly, Skarnes and you alone here in the office for most of the time…’

Her eyes flashed and the redness of her cheeks assumed a more fiery hue. ‘What do you mean?’

‘No, no. No offence intended. I was just thinking… People talk. You may have had lunch together. You knew each other better than you would have done in a larger company, I would imagine.’

‘Yes, we did. And so?’

‘We at social services are most concerned about Jan. About how he’s going to be. And so I wondered… if we could form a picture of what the relationship was like at home. With his foster parents.’

‘But can’t Vibecke tell you that?’

‘Yes, but you know how it is. Often an outside view may be necessary. Those involved in the situation often become myopic.’

‘Well, I didn’t see much of either her or the boy. They very rarely came by the office. That’s also one of the reasons there won’t be any more… now that Svein…’

Once again her voice faltered. Her expression was distant. It struck me that she bore a slight resemblance to Vibecke. Or a roughly ten-year older version of her. They had the same regular features, the same well-groomed hair, they held their heads in the same slightly proud way. I wondered if it was Skarnes’ taste in women that was being reflected, in both his secretary and his spouse. Not bad taste anyway, but a bit conventional, perhaps…’

‘What was he like, Svein Skarnes?’ I asked tentatively.

‘I…’ She searched for words, and when she eventually found them, there was a new warmth in her voice. ‘He was a good person. Kind to other people. A good boss and one who never let the demand for maximum profit control the business. We had lots of small customers — small firms, many of them in outlying areas, and he insisted they were given the best possible deals and offered fair after-sales. In fact, Harald said that if things went on as they were doing, they would have to employ at least one more technician to take care of the more remote districts. Well, I think… Lots of problems can be solved over the phone, but of course it’s Harald who’s sent off if there’s anything serious.’

‘And, on a personal level? How long had you known him?’

‘Right from the start.’

‘The start of…?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘When the company was set up, five years ago. We had the five-year anniversary last autumn. An anniversary dinner at Sunnfjord Hotel in Forde.’

‘In Forde? Why there?’

‘Well… it was in connection with a sales meeting. Both Harald and I were up there anyway, and so Svein said: Today I think we’ll treat ourselves to a decent anniversary dinner.’

‘Aha. And Vibecke, fru Skarnes, was she with you?’

‘No, she certainly wasn’t! Why should she be? She hardly set her foot in here, as I said, unless there was something she needed copying.’

‘And Jan didn’t either, from what I understand?’

‘No. I only saw him a few times. The boy was Svein’s big worry, I can tell you.’

‘In what sense?’

‘Listen herr… Veum, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t have any… any children myself. But I can easily understand… the longing for a child. And I know Svein took it very hard, that he and Vibecke couldn’t have… their own children. So when the opportunity came along, he made a quick decision and said yes. First to the enquiry about whether they wanted to be foster parents, later to the adoption.’

‘And how did it work out?’

‘At first everything seemed to be going well. But it turned out that the tiny boy… he was a time bomb waiting to go off. There were so many strange reactions in that boy, and thinking back to all the incidents Svein told me about… once — well, no point covering it up — a few months ago, he came to the office in the morning and I could see that something was bothering him. In the end, I couldn’t restrain myself. I went into his room — there…’ She tilted her head towards an open door behind her. Through the opening I could make out a large desk and a vacant chair. ‘He told me that Johnny boy had bitten his hand the night before! And I do mean bitten. You should’ve seen the mark! When I was told on Wednesday morning what had happened and heard that… You can imagine what thoughts went through my head, can’t you.’

‘Naturally.’

She looked at me, with insistent eyes now. ‘Could that be what happened, this time as well?’

I met her gaze. Her eyes had a shimmer of green in the blue, like an ice wall in a glacier. ‘To be quite frank, froken Borge, I don’t know. But, yes, it’s certainly a possibility.’

She gave a faint nod, as if she had had her worst fears confirmed.

‘But tell me… He never mentioned anything about… Did you have any impression of what the relationship was like, between him and Vibecke?’

Her face wavered between professionalism and personal feelings. The impeccable shell cracked and the teenage girl she had once been burst through. ‘Not so good, I think,’ she let slip with a tiny sob.

‘And what do you base that on?’

‘The evening in Forde I mentioned just now.’

‘The anniversary dinner?’

‘Yes. We sat in the bar talking, it was more personal than it had ever… Svein and I.’

‘Mm?’

‘It was after Harald had disappeared with, er, well… a woman he met at the bar. And that was precisely why… I mean Harald lives with a really sweet girl, and that was the reason that Svein and I sat talking about… that sort of thing. How some people can never control themselves, and how mortifying it must feel to be… the one who is left on their own after it’s all over, or the one who may have a suspicion that everything is not all as it ought to be…’

I coated my voice with velvet. ‘And that may have been the situation with Svein and Vibecke, too?’

‘Yes. And it… really got to him.’ Instantly there were tears in her eyes, as if this was about her.

‘And his own house was spick and span?’

She glowered at him. ‘What do you mean? Of course it was!’ Her cheeks flared up.

‘Yes, by all means, but… he was away a lot travelling. You said that yourself. And women are in bars everywhere, not only in Forde, aren’t they.’

‘Yes, that’s true, but the way he put it to me… at that time… he was genuinely upset, Veum. He wasn’t like that. Not Svein. I would’ve

… noticed.’ Again the distant look in her eyes, and the small, almost unnoticeable stiffening of the neck, as though she was unconsciously studying herself in a mirror no one else saw.

‘So she had someone else? Was that what he was trying to say?’

‘Trying! He… well…’ All of a sudden her professional superego had taken control again. ‘I can’t see that this has anything to do at all with social services! They were tied to each other through their common responsibility for Jan, and that may have been what bothered him most of all, what would happen to Jan, if Vibecke… left him.’

‘Well, he was a man in his best years. There may have been others who would have proffered a helping hand?’

Mirror-woman made one last appearance, and for a second she sat with closed eyes, as though to keep out all the brutality of the world. On re-opening them, she was a hundred per cent in the here and now. ‘Was there anything else I could help you with, herr Veum?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Not for the moment.’

I had a question on the tip of my tongue, but I let it lie. I had no right to ask it. The question of how far her consolation had gone that anniversary night in Forde last autumn…