The Writing on the Wall

Thirteen

WE HAD SO CONSISTENTLY AVOIDED each other the past few years that when I met Dankert Muus that day I was struck by how much older he looked.

Not only had he put on a fair amount of weight, he’d also become greyer, and his hair was thinning. The grim set of his mouth was more pronounced; on the other hand, a kind of peace seemed to have settled over him. No longer did it look as though he might leap over the desk and grind you to a pulp if you contradicted him; on occasion, he could even throw his typewriter after you.

Through the open door he signalled a rather heavy handshake. ‘Come in, Veum. Have a seat.’

I did as he said and shot a quick glance round me. The office bore clear signs of the fact that, in a year’s time, the whole department would be moving into the new wing now going up on the corner of Allehelgens Street and Nygaten. It hadn’t had a lick of paint in the last five or six years, at any rate. And in a way Dankert Muus looked a bit like that too.

He looked at me dispiritedly. ‘Jensen said you’d been trying to find this girl?’

‘I have been looking for a particular girl, yes, that’s right.’

He breathed in deeply then slowly exhaled. ‘I’m afraid I can confirm it’s the same person… if the name Jensen had noted was correct.’

I felt numb, as if I’d stayed too long in the water after a dip too early in spring. ‘Torild Skagestøl.’

He nodded. ‘Her father’s just identified her. I went up with him to the Institute of Forensic Medicine, and we got a provisional statement from him before he had to go back home to – his wife.’

In a flash I saw before me Sidsel Skagestøl in the large east-facing sitting room. That view would lose something of its charm for her now and for a good many weeks to come. Indeed, it might well never regain it.

‘He said she’s been missing since the end of last week, and that his wife had engaged you to look for her.’

‘Yes, but not till Wednesday, and it wasn’t till yesterday that my investigation really got off the ground.’

‘And what did you find out?’

‘Not much. I talked to a few of the girls in her class. They were in town together last Thursday, raking about, window-shopping, probably went to a place called Jimmy’s. Know it?’

He nodded.

‘They were seen there, her friend Åsa, herself and an – escort.’

‘Åsa…’ His ballpoint was at the ready.

‘Furebø. They were old friends and still knocked about together. I don’t think Åsa told me everything she knows. For example, she could definitely give you people the name of that “escort”.’

‘Anything else?’

‘There was another friend, also a girl from her class, Astrid Nikolaisen…’ I paused as he noted down the name and the exact address. ‘That was the one who said she’d seen these three at Jimmy’s, probably last Thursday.’

‘And her escort…’

‘That’s a loose end I hadn’t even begun to tie up. Now I probably never will -’

‘No, probably not.’

‘No?’

‘No!’ He swivelled partway round on his office chair, looked at a place on the wall and pointed with a finger as chubby as a sausage. ‘See that calendar, Veum?’

‘Yes.’ A traditional-looking annual calendar hung on the wall; it had no illustrations and was divided up into squares, like a sort of window on the future, which at that point in the year it was in a way. One of the days had been circled by a dark-red felt-tip pen.

‘See that date ringed there?’

‘March 1st?’

‘Exactly.’ He moved the corners of his mouth to one side, baring his teeth in something that just resembled a smile. To me, though, it looked more like the leering grin of a wolf. ‘Liberation day!’

‘Isn’t that still May 8th?’

‘My liberation day, Veum! The day I reach retirement age!’

For a moment I seemed to feel the breath of time on my neck like frost smoke on a cold winter’s day. – Life without Muus? Was that possible? And how come I didn’t feel even a momentary surge of joy at the thought of it?

‘You mean you’re – sixty?’

‘On February 27th!’ He smiled, proud as a six-year-old kid.

‘Maybe that should be the retirement age for private investigators too.’

‘Sixty?’ said Muus dryly. ‘Most give up at fourteen.’

‘And what are you thinking of doing for the next few years? Court usher or town crier?’

A new look came over his face, a milder and completely different expression from anything I’d ever seen on it before. ‘I’ve always been very fond of flowers, Veum.’

‘Oh…?’

‘At Easter my wife and I are off to Holland for the bulb season. And later this year I’m going to be out in the garden every hour God sends.’

‘Sounds – very nice.’

He looked at me sharply. Then the dreamy expression on his face was gone, and he returned to what was still the humdrum daily grind. ‘So what I mean, Veum, is this. I’ve no intention of seeing the last few weeks of my life here at the station wrecked by you getting under our feet and playing the big private investigator at the expense of us ordinary overworked civil servants! Is that clear?’

‘It never occurred to me to -’

‘Is that clear?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I’m not planning to come to a sticky end like Vegard Vadheim either.’

‘No, that I can understand.’

‘Just one thing before you go, Veum…’

‘I’m not in any hurry.’

‘But I am!’ He picked up a large white envelope and put it down again.

‘During your investigations… did you come across anything…?’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘I mean…’ He looked almost embarrassed. ‘Anything linking her with – you know, these so-called Satanist circles?’

‘No, absolutely not, but… why do you ask?’

‘Oh, just a thought. You see, the place we found her in, it’s not all that far from the old Lysekloster monastery, and… well, it was rumoured that – what do they call them? – black masses were held up there.’

‘Yeah, there were certainly goings-on involving people getting togged up, but… is that your only reason for asking me?’

He looked at a spot a few inches above my head. ‘Yes.’

As I left his office I still hadn’t quite recovered from the shock. Flowers? Muus? The only plants I could imagine him liking were cacti.

On the way out, I stuck my head into Eva Jensen’s office. She was on the phone, nodded curtly and turned her back on me to show she’d no time at all for knights errant.

A new chap had moved into Vegard Vadheim’s office, a great brown-haired bear of a chap in his mid-thirties with a dark beard, a good-natured smile and an apparently optimistic view of life.

He glanced up through the open door, gave me a one-fingered salute in greeting, and I stopped.

I noted a sudden look of uncertainty come over his face, as he realised he couldn’t quite place me. ‘We – I don’t think we’ve met properly.’

‘No.’ He stood up and came out from behind the desk. ‘Inspector Atle Helleve,’ he said in an unadulterated Voss accent.

We shook hands. ‘The name’s Veum. Varg Veum.’

‘Oh… It was you who… I’ve heard about you.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of. If it wasn’t from Vadheim, then…’

‘Er, I…’ His face darkened. ‘I never met him before…’ He made a vague gesture with his hand.

I sighed, and he regained his composure. ‘Was there anything else?’

‘No, I – just wanted to say hello as I was passing.’

‘Hello.’

I nodded, gave a wry smile and carried on my way out of the building; and no one came running in hot pursuit to stop me, place me in custody down in the basement or make me some other offer I couldn’t refuse.