The Consorts of Death

34

I ordered sea trout in a cream sauce with cucumber salad and Norwegian almond potatoes. To drink, I treated myself to half a bottle of white wine. ‘I’ll put it on the bill,’ I said to Langeland and winked.

He nonchalantly waved the matter aside. It wouldn’t be him paying it, anyway. ‘Let me hear what you’ve found out, Veum.’

I gave him a brief summary of what I had been doing, told him about my visits to Mette Olsen and Trude Tveiten, as well as Terje Hammersten in a not insignificant supporting role.

He listened with particular interest when I came to the part about Ansgar Tveiten. ‘We can use this, Veum! This is brilliant! A connection between the murder in 1973 and the current double murder, linked by the smuggling in which both Tveiten and Klaus Libakk were involved. And this Hammersten, he turned up in Jolster on Monday evening, did he?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Is it possible to find out when he came to Sunnfjord? And, for example, if he had been there the night before?’

‘It’s possible to make enquiries, anyway.’

‘So let’s do that! We need everything that can point in the opposite direction to the path the police chose quite some time ago.’

‘Yes, I’ve just spoken to Standal. He indicated that charges would be drawn up tomorrow.’

‘Yes, that wouldn’t surprise me. But they can’t hold him in custody much longer, so…’

‘Are the pathologist’s and the forensic reports through yet?’

‘I haven’t been given them, if they are. But forget that! With what you’ve unearthed we already have a good hand.’ He was positively exploding with renewed energy. ‘This will create problems for them. Ha!’ He thrust his finger forward in the way that a torero delivers the coup de grace to a bull at the festive table the day afterwards.

‘You show an impressive commitment to the case. I must say that…’

‘My goodness, Veum! I’ve been following Jan… Jan Egil since he was born, so to speak.’

‘Yes, I’d heard you were Mette Olsen’s solicitor back in 1966.’

‘No, no. I was just a solicitor’s clerk then. But I remember the case well. It was a tragic story. Her friend took his life while in prison.’

‘Jan’s father.’

‘What? Oh, yes, exactly.’ He ruminated before continuing. ‘A tragic story, as I said. Now and then you wonder what makes otherwise talented individuals take such decisions. My God! I think it was close on half a kilo’s worth of hash he was carrying when he was arrested. And she…’

‘… knew nothing, you had persuaded her to say.’

‘Right.’ He raised both hands in defence. ‘He was the one carrying all the dope. What purpose would it serve if she also went to prison for knowing all about it?’

‘Hmm… That’s one way of looking at it.’

He leaned closer. ‘Mette Olsen was not like she is now, Veum. I can assure you of that! She was a gifted young girl, sweet and charming. But she had made a fatal decision, too. She went to Copenhagen, played the hippie and got a taste for — well, this and that. We did what we could to get her back on an even keel. Believe me

… This was one of the very first of my cases, and I was committed to it even though Bakke was in charge. A High Court barrister, if I may

…’

‘So you wash your hands of it?’

He splayed them. ‘Yes, in fact I do. All that transpired later was beyond our jurisdiction. But tiny Johnny boy, I’ve always done what I can to help him, right from the very first moment.’

I nodded. ‘Well… that’s admirable, that is, anyway.’

‘And this business with Terje Hammersten, I’ll get the police onto that. They won’t get away with it. But you check it out, too, Veum. I’m paying!’ He stood up. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to retire. I have to make a few calls. This is not the only case I have, unfortunately. I wish you a pleasant evening…’

He walked to the door. As if on cue, Hans Haavik appeared in the foyer. He and Langeland exchanged a few words as they passed each other. Langeland left and Hans looked around the room, as I had done.

Catching sight of me, he came over to the table. ‘Hi, Varg. Can I join you?’

I motioned towards the used napkin on the other side of the table. ‘Langeland’s just gone. Someone’ll come and set the table if you ask them.’

The efficient waiter was already at hand. The place was cleared and Hans sat down with a bump on his side of the table. He ordered the same as I had, except for the wine. He made do with a jug of water. I was now on dessert, a hot blueberry tart with ice cream.

‘One thing I’d like to ask you, Hans, since you were a relative of the deceased. Who is the heir? Have you any opinion on that?’

He stared into middle distance, lost in thought. ‘They had no children of their own, so if they haven’t written a will, I suppose everything will go to the nearest relative.’

‘Would Jan Egil qualify?’

‘Not as a foster child. Not without being mentioned in a will. He might have been, though, of course. Then, on the other hand… if he’s convicted of killing them, I’m afraid it will be declared invalid. In any case, legal proceedings are bound to be instituted.’

‘By whom?’

‘Well, that’s it. Klaus Libakk and Klara Almelid were brother and sister.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Silje called him Uncle Klaus.’

‘Yes.’

‘She called him an old pig, too. Did I ask you about that?’

The food arrived on the table and he waited until the waiter had gone before answering. ‘Yes, I heard from Jens that there had been some such suggestion. But it seems quite improbable to me. Did she say straight out that he’d tried it on her?’

‘Tried it on her or had his way. The whole thing is extremely unclear. She definitely called him an old pig.’

‘Hmm.’ He ate.

‘Now you know yourself from all your years in social services that this type of thing tends to happen behind very closed doors, Hans. Behind the most decorative Christian facades unmentionable things can happen with small children and young people.’

‘Mm, yes, yes.’ He swallowed and stretched a hand out for a glass of water. ‘I’ll buy that. But then it’s often with a member of the family. Silje, after all, came from a different farm, which immediately made it a riskier venture.’

‘But she was, well, if she wasn’t his niece by family, then in a way she was. He’d known her from the time she was small. She visited their farm, was with them in the cowshed, that sort of thing. Trusted them. Trusted him, in this case.’

‘So you don’t hold Kari liable, I take it?’ he said sarcastically.

‘I…’

‘She was killed too, you know. What about…?’ He sent me an inquisitorial look. ‘If we’re letting our imaginations run wild, I mean.’

‘Yes? It’s not at all unusual for the partner to know but to keep quiet, not to intervene, thus making themselves an accessory to the crime. We’ve experienced that several times, haven’t we.’

He shook his head in disbelief.

‘You don’t believe this, I can see.’

‘Not for one second, Varg.’

‘So who do you think did it?’

A sad look crossed his face. ‘I wish there were another explanation. That there were some tramps who happened by this farm. I mean… That sort of thing goes on all the time. But generally with people older than Klaus and Kari. On the other hand… it took place at night, didn’t it? Burglars? I don’t know.’

‘That’s what Jan Egil claims.’

‘However,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. I’m afraid the whole business is the way it appears. That it was Jan Egil who did it. But the motive… Look, it may have something to do with Silje, if we assume that your speculation in this regard is correct. It’s difficult to see any other motive, though.’

‘In other words, that he killed Klaus and Kari because of what Klaus might have done to Silje?’

He stared down at his plate with an expression that suggested that all of a sudden he had lost his appetite. ‘Something like that.’

I drained the last dregs of wine. ‘But… back to the inheritance. Klara is the nearest heir then?’

He peered up. ‘Yes, that’s not beyond the realms of possibility. There was another brother, but he died young. Lost at sea while herring fishing one year.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘So perhaps we should jog the sergeant’s memory. Tell him to have a chat with Klara, too?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone has killed to gain benefits from the will, anyway.’

‘But I doubt with such brutality, eh? Klara Almelid with a smoking rifle, standing like Calamity Jane over the body of her brother and sister-in-law? I can’t exactly see that… Besides Kari must have some family, I would assume.’

‘Yes, of course. Well, I think I’m going to have a coffee with a little something in the bar. See you there?’

‘Maybe. Have to see.’

I went into the bar. The number of press people was much reduced from the evening before, probably because the case in the eyes of most was so clear cut that it no longer held their attention.

I ordered the same as the previous evening, coffee and Line aquavit, and found myself an unoccupied table. I had hardly sat down when I noticed the Bergensian from the day before, still as drunk and with his eyes fixed on the base of my neck, as if imagining a tie he could grab onto so as to steady himself. He floated across the room, stood swaying in front of my table and said: ‘Could I join you for a bit? I think we have mutual friends.’

I frowned with scepticism. ‘And who might they be?’

Without answering, he flopped down on the chair.

The bartender had followed him with a glass of beer on a tray. He placed the beer on the table and looked at me, abashed. ‘I hope he isn’t bothering you?’

‘Let’s see how things develop. As far as I can see, he must have had enough several days ago.’

‘He won’t get anything stronger than this, either,’ the bartender mumbled, pointing to the beer glass. ‘And that’s the last,’ he added, eyeing my new acquaintance with severity.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he replied, reaching for the glass. His hair was dark, bristly, combed to make it stand up. His face bore the signs of many years of over-indulgence, and he was struggling to focus. On eventually locating me, he held out his hand and introduced himself. ‘Harald Dale,’ he said, as if that explained everything.

I shook his hand and said my own name.

‘I couldn’t help hearing what you and the others were talking about in here last night.’

‘I kind of noticed. But you said something about… mutual friends.’

‘Yes, perhaps not friends, more…’

‘More…?’

‘I heard you talking about this double murder. About Klaus Libakk and the smuggling and all that stuff.’

My ears pricked up. ‘Right. Did you know Libakk?’

He put on a foolish grin. ‘If I knew Libakk? Are you asking me if I knew Libakk? I was his contact person for Christ’s sake. The missing link…’

‘The missing link between…?’

‘Between Libakk and Skarnes, of course!’

That seared through me like an electric shock. ‘What did you just say? Not Svein Skarnes?’

‘Yes! That’s what I said.’ Again he held out his hand. ‘Harald Dale. Ex-technician for Skarnes Import. I often came here for work reasons — and others.’

The penny dropped. ‘Yes, now I remember… you even had a kind of celebration dinner here…’ I looked around. ‘Here at the hotel, wasn’t it?’

‘Yep!’ he said with a broad grin. ‘That was when I met Solfrid. She checked me out here in the bar. Well, after we’d eaten. And she and I, we certainly had mutual friends…’

‘Solfrid…?’

‘The missus. We got married two years afterwards, and I moved up here. Tveiten, her name was then.’

‘Tveiten!’

‘Yes, sister to someone called Ansgar who was killed when the whole shebang disintegrated.’

‘Right. Little Silje’s aunt in Angedalen when…’

‘Yeah, yeah. Something like that. But they don’t have any contact. Not a lot anyway. So much has happened in that family.’ He was grinning so much his loose lips were almost flapping in the air. ‘Yes, we don’t have much contact any more, either, Solfrid and I, so to speak.’

‘Well, I can almost… You’re divorced?’

‘Se-par-ated,’ he said, with difficulty. ‘Sepa… yeah. After I lost my job, there was too much… joy juice.’

‘I see. But I’d like to go back to… You mentioned Svein Skarnes. Was he involved, too? In the smuggling?’

‘That’s what I’m telling you! I thought it’d surprise you. I heard you talking about his missus. We called her the dolly. I wouldn’t’ve minded a round with her in the sack, at some point. But she held her nose in the air and never looked in my direction. Svein and I, on the other hand, we were good mates, and both did our own thing.’

‘So when he fell down the stairs…’

‘You know… There was so much going off at that time. The bubble burst in 1973. First of all, it was the fishing smack that was boarded by the customs officers somewhere at sea. Laden with booze. A few days later Ansgar was beaten to death, and the police here as good as rounded up the whole gang.’

‘Not all of them, though, obviously. Klaus Libakk never got a blemish on his record.’

Another grin. ‘Nor me. Nor Svein. We were good at covering our tracks.’

‘So Svein Skarnes had an important role in the business?’

‘An important role! How many times do I have to tell you? He was running the whole bloody thing. He was sitting in Bergen with all his foreign contacts. All his travelling, at home and abroad… it was the perfect cover.’

My brain was reeling. The whole affair was taking on a new perspective. The threads going back to 1974 were even stronger than they had seemed even a few hours ago.

‘Well, OK, then,’ I said. ‘The racket was broken up in 1973, and in February 1974 Svein Skarnes had his dramatic fall.’

‘The bitch shoved him down the stairs.’

‘At least, that was the official version. Now there’s a lot that has to be re-thought, I’m afraid.’

‘Don’t be afraid, Veum. I’ve been afraid for many years, I have.’

‘Yes, exactly. When did you move here?’

‘Well, I met Solfrid here in the autumn of 1973. Svein and I had a sales meeting here while seeing if it was possible to build up something new in the booze market at the same time. I mean… Svein was in a real fix. He owed money for the last load and those waiting for payment were not exactly very patient creditors.’

‘No, I can imagine. They threatened to send in Terje Hammersten, did they?’

‘Hammersten? Do you know him?’

‘Who doesn’t?’

‘But how did you know…?’

‘How did I know…?’

‘That Hammersten was involved?’

‘He was the one who killed Ansgar Tveiten, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but that… No, I don’t know. People here took care of that. That was what blew the whole thing out of the water, for Christ’s sake! After that it was as good as impossible to start up again. The whole set-up was compromised, and no one dared touch it with a barge pole! We just had to give up.’

‘But you heard from Hammersten as well, I take it?’

He had started sweating. Every now and then he looked over towards the foyer as if fearing that someone he didn’t like could enter at any moment. Then he whispered: ‘Svein got a lot of calls from him.’

‘From Hammersten?’

He nodded. ‘For every day he didn’t pay, the sum went up. Black-market interest rates. I don’t know if you know the system? It’s horrendous once you’re caught up in it.’

‘And if that didn’t help, then Terje Hammersten dropped round, was that how it worked?’

Again he nodded, without saying anything.

‘So, in theory, it could’ve been Hammersten who pushed Skarnes down the stairs on that February day in 1974?’

‘But his missus confessed, didn’t she!’

‘Yes, but what if I tell you that some new information has come to light… Someone overheard a row at the Skarnes household, a row between Skarnes and another man…’

‘Someone? Who was that?’

‘It’s not important.’

‘But…’

‘Then it could’ve been Hammersten. Why didn’t you say anything about this to the police?’

He looked at me as if I were mad. ‘And ruin everything for myself? I would have dropped myself right in it. And when his missus had confessed anyway… I didn’t reckon she would lie about anything so serious!’

‘She must’ve had her reasons?’

‘Yes, they must definitely have been bloody good ones.’

‘Perhaps they were. But back to… It was after that that you left everything and came here?’

‘Yes, as I said… after Svein died and the missus was in clink the company was dissolved. It was Solfrid who lured me to Forde and I got myself a job, for a while.’

‘And you never heard anything — not from Hammersten or any of the others?’

He shrugged. ‘Why should I? I didn’t owe any money. I was just the missing link, as I said.’

‘Right. But time passes, and then this happens: Klaus and his wife are murdered. Didn’t that worry you?’

‘No, why would it? Isn’t it exactly as the papers say, that the case is as good as solved?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. But what if it was all linked with the smuggling business? That that was the motive?’

He gave me a long lingering look. ‘It could’ve been the money, of course.’

‘Which money are you talking about now?’

Yet again his gaze wandered off to the foyer. When he answered, he had lowered his voice so much that I had to lean close to understand what he was saying. ‘There were some rumours going round, in 1973… Listen, Veum… Everything went tits up. No one got their money. But the money ended up somewhere, didn’t it. Someone was sitting on a pot of gold, somewhere in the chain…’

‘And you think that might’ve been Klaus Libakk? Was there such a large turnover in Angedalen?’

‘Angedalen!’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Klaus Libakk was organising sales in the whole region. From Jolster to Naustdal. Everything went through him. He was the bloody spider in the web here. That was why it was so bombproof. The whole thing was built up a bit like a resistance group, with small cells that knew nothing of each other, apart from the closest contact-person.’

‘But you knew a lot, I can see. You’re not scared that you’re in the firing line yourself?’

‘Me?’ He had gone a little green around the gills. I feared he would soon be looking for a suitable place to throw up.

I said quickly: ‘But what you’re suggesting is that Klaus Libakk might have been sitting on quite a sackful of money on his farm?’

He nodded. ‘A fortune, Veum. A veritable treasure chest…’

Now he knew the moment had come. He pushed back his chair and staggered to his feet. He bent forward, grabbed his glass, raised it to his mouth and drained it in one long swig. Then he turned around, and without saying goodbye tottered off towards the toilets.

On the way out he passed a woman. My eyes lingered on her. She was wearing a tight black dress that emphasised her trim figure. Over her shoulders hung a loose coke-grey suit jacket. Her coiffeured hair was arranged in fluffy blonde curls, and it was only when she met my eyes that I saw who it was. Grethe Mellingen, dressed to kill…

By the time she had reached my table I had been standing for quite some time. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’

‘I’m here now,’ she said with a pert smile.