The Writing on the Wall

Thirty-one

VIDAR WAAGENES had his office in the premises of a firm of solicitors on the fourth floor of a building in Strandgaten. He was smaller than he appeared in the pictures I’d seen of him in the papers. A dark lock of hair kept falling down over his eyes, and he had developed a practised gesture for pushing it back again.

He was only just over thirty but, despite his youth, had made a strong impression on the bench. So it surprised me that he made such a weak impression in the flesh, friendlier and more compliant than a broker sensing a good investment opportunity

It was nearly three o’clock before he could see me, the hearing he’d been taking part in having ended ‘a little early’, as he put it, hurrying back from court. His friendly secretary, who had given me a large mug of coffee while I waited, gave him a much larger pile of legal documents, which, to judge by the look on his face, he would be snuggling up in bed with that evening.

He beckoned me into his office, dumped the pile of documents on the ebony-coloured desk, hung his grey overcoat and the burgundy woollen muffler on a coat-rack and offered me a seat in an unusually comfortable chair.

He offered me a cigarette from an elegant case, and when I declined, took one himself.

‘How can I help you, Veum?’ he asked, lighting the cigarette.

‘Helge Hagavik.’

He inhaled the smoke pensively before blowing it out just as slowly. ‘I see. In what way, then?’

‘I’d like to have a word with him.’

‘What about?’

‘About what he did after Torild Skagestøl disappeared, among other things.’

‘Nothing that has anything to do with that, at any rate – if we’re to believe the statement he made to the police.’

‘And to you?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve nothing more to tell you either, Veum, even if I could. Is that all you wanted?’

A sudden suspicion came over me. ‘Tell me, who was it that actually hired you to take this case, Waagenes?’

‘I was officially assigned. Why do you ask?’

‘Well… He hasn’t mentioned Birger Bjelland to you, has he?’

‘No.’

‘The Persen Brothers?’

‘No. He stubbornly maintains he found her purely by chance.’

‘And you believe him?’

When he did not reply, I added: ‘He knew the girl personally, Waagenes! They were seen together the day she went missing from home.’

He ran his hand over his forehead, looking tired. ‘No, it’s just that I haven’t got him to talk yet.’

‘Maybe that’s how I could help you. If only I could have a word with him.’

‘Can’t you tell me what it is you know? Then I can take it up with him.’

‘I’d rather do it face-to-face. I have a reputation for getting people to talk. He might let his guard down more if he thought I was just an ordinary member of the public…’

‘I can’t let you speak to him unless I’m also present myself, Veum. We’d never be allowed to do that.’

‘Course not! But am I to understand you’re willing to give it a try?’

‘I’ll ask Hagavik himself first. I’m going to call in to see him tomorrow morning. Can you try and ring me at about midday during the lunch break?’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t thank me too soon.’

I called Karin from my office.

‘Personal or business?’ she asked.

‘Both – sort of.’

‘Let’s deal with the business first, then.’

‘OK. – It’s about a guy called Harry Hopsland: about my age, maybe a bit older. I’m trying to find out whether he’s registered that he’s moved back to Bergen and where he lives, in that case. He’s lived here before, you see. And then there’s his son, Ole Hopsland, born in 1971. If you could find out his address.’

‘OK.’

‘The second thing may be a bit more complicated. It’s about a chap from the Stavanger area, Birger Bjelland, and he must be round my age as well. As far as I know he came to Bergen about twenty years ago.’

A slightly more distant note had crept into her voice when she said: ‘He was the one behind it that time they nearly – did you in, wasn’t he?’

‘Yep.’

‘What do you want to know about him?’

‘I wanted to ask you to get in touch with Stavanger if you don’t have direct access to their archives via the computer network.’

‘Yes we do, within certain limits…’

‘I just want to know if he has any close relatives down here.’

‘That all?’

‘No. Just one more thing; now we’re into the personal stuff. Are you going straight home after work?’

‘Yes. I was intending to.’

‘I’m off to see Birger Bjelland now.’

‘No!’

‘If I haven’t called you by five o’clock, can you do me a favour and call the police?’

Her answer was an ominous silence.

‘It’s not dangerous, Karin. The guy’s a highly respectable businessman, putting the best complexion on it. I just want to talk to him, maybe drop a few depth charges. But don’t worry, I’ll be over the hills and far away before they go off.’

‘Sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

But there was one thing this job had taught me. You could never be quite sure. Especially when visiting people like Birger Bjelland.