Death in a Cold Climate (21 page)

‘Hence you?'

Dr Mackenzie smiled broadly and leaned back on the sofa, stroking the head of his dog, who had given up all idea of going on his own chair and had finally jumped on the sofa and settled down with a sigh of boredom by the side of his master. ‘Hence me, as you say. There are lots like me in Norwegian universities–in geology departments and elsewhere.'

‘People with foreign experience?'

‘Yes–people with foreign degrees, people with lectureships at foreign universities who can get a step up by coming to Norway. We've got in while the going's good, of course. In a few years they'll very likely be restricting jobs to Norwegian applicants.'

‘I see. And you teach, supervise–you also act as consultants for State Oil now and then, I suppose.'

‘Yes, now and then.'

‘So in many ways you're key people in this whole business of North Sea oil?'

‘Oh, I wouldn't say that. The key men are all down in Oslo, within State Oil. They're the ones who make the decisions. They've multiplied like rabbits down there in recent years, and I must say–well, perhaps I'd better not. One learns to be tactful after a time.'

‘You think they're inefficient?'

Dr Mackenzie smiled and held his peace.

‘Still,' said Fagermo, ‘if you're not the key figures, here in the universities, still you have a lot of sensitive information going through your hands.'

‘Yes, I suppose so, now and then.'

‘Information that a lot of people outside the system would give a packet to get their hands on?'

‘I think you're being a little melodramatic there, Inspector. There are various ways of getting this information. Companies can mount research operations of their own, for example.'

‘Illegally, surely, if they were within the Norwegian sphere of interest?'

‘Yes, surely. But it happens. You've just got to look at the Russian fishing fleet . . . '

‘Yes–that's the local joke, of course. Still, the big oil companies at least would prefer not to do anything so flagrantly illegal as mount their own operations, if it could be
avoided. If there were other ways of getting hold of the sort of information they're after–'

‘Well, yes, I suppose they'd take it, if there was no great risk involved.'

‘Yes,' said Fagermo. ‘So I would have thought. And a large wad of money to one or two people is in any case cheaper than an elaborate and clandestine scientific expedition.'

‘No doubt. Though as I say, I don't think you should dramatize this too much. The State Oil people do a lot of sharing of information, when it suits them, and most of the data from these geological surveys gets around eventually.'

‘Eventually. That may be the crucial point. Where there's a lot of money to be made, the various parties will want all the information they can get, and they'll want it fast. Hence the Russian fishing-boats, I suppose. But really, what I'm trying to do now is what I've been doing all along: fill in on Martin Forsyth. The boy and his background. See what possibilities he had for getting into trouble. Because one of the few things we know about him is that he certainly did get into trouble. One possibility was–still is–sex. But the difficulty with that is: he was here for such a short time. Another possibility is money. But then the question arises: what from? As far as I'm concerned the two most likely answers are spying-political spying–and oil.'

Dougal Mackenzie looked thoughtful. ‘There have been some pretty odd deaths in the area, haven't there? Those Japanese or Chinese or whatever down near Bodø: they were never identified. People talked about spying, I remember.'

‘They certainly did. It's the sort of thing people say when they don't know anything definite but think there's something mysterious going on. But nobody ever identified
those foreigners. With Martin Forsyth we had the advantage of identifying him pretty easily. And then we found–amid lots of uncertainties–some background in oil. Here in Norway, both in the Stavanger set-up, and in Trondheim. And also in the Middle East. I soon found out that he'd probably worked in Abadan.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes. And as far as I'm concerned that seems to mean one thing: if there was anyone working on that boat doing geological surveys who was likely to know what he was doing, it was Forsyth. He was intelligent, he had a moderately good educational background–and above all he was
sharp:
he had a keen eye for the main chance, and he seemed to want to use it to make money quick.'

‘Yes, I see,' said Mackenzie. ‘That does seem to add up to a fair conclusion.'

‘Doesn't get me far enough, though,' said Fagermo. ‘If Forsyth was feeding information direct to–say–an American oil company, why should they kill the goose that was laying the golden eggs, or why should anyone else? It seemed to me that the situation was a bit more complex than that.'

He sat back, took out a cigarette, and lit it. ‘Now, Dr Mackenzie, these foreigners who come and work in oil in this country, or in the universities, what is their background as a rule?'

‘Well, as I say, they come here mostly for promotion. Norway needs people in a variety of fields connected in one way or another with oil: geologists of various kinds, geographers, economists with rather special interests–and plenty of others. Where you get a sudden demand like that you'll always get people applying from outside who think they'll get ahead faster abroad than they will in their own countries. Nobody likes being stuck on the lower rungs of the academic ladder when the only chance of
rising is by stepping into dead men's shoes.'

‘You're implying that most of them come direct from foreign universities, aren't you? But that's not always true, is it? Some have come here whose main experience is with overseas oil companies, isn't that right?'

‘Oh, yes, certainly.'

‘As in your own case, Dr Mackenzie.'

Dougal Mackenzie sat back in his sofa, his hand once more on his dog's head, his whole body lazily drooping over the arm in a way designed to suggest relaxation. He smiled faintly. ‘Yes, that's quite right. I had a period with one of the big British oil companies and another short spell with an American one. Most of us have, as you say, been with them at one time or another.'

‘So I gather,' said Fagermo. ‘It must make you very useful when it comes to all this consultation work.'

Mackenzie shrugged. ‘Perhaps. They come to me–the State Oil people–now and then. All of us in geology departments who have this sort of special knowledge are used from time to time. Most of us have done our stint with the big oil people.'

‘Again, so I gather,' said Fagermo. ‘You, I believe, were working in Abadan for about five years before you came here.'

‘That's right. Something like five, I suppose. In a way I expect you could say it was that experience got me this job. Naturally if they start drilling up here, someone with first-hand experience on the spot will be worth his weight.'

‘Very nice,' said Fagermo, keeping his eye on that carefully relaxed body. ‘Well–you can understand my interest. Martin Forsyth's mother says he worked at “Aberfan” or some such place as that. You've worked at Abadan –'

Dougal Mackenzie laughed and spread out his hands. ‘Have you any
idea
, Inspector, of the size of the place, of
how many foreigners work in or around Abadan?'

‘A good many, I've no doubt. I presume you would deny that you ever met Martin Forsyth there?'

‘Certainly I would–there or anywhere else as far as I remember. But one met a great number of people out there–many of them British. And remember that I only saw him dead here. But as far as I know, certainly I never met him. You've got to remember these oil companies are pretty stratified little societies. I don't want to sound snobbish, but Marty Forsyth and I would have moved in very different circles.'

‘I notice you call him Marty. And yet I've never used that form in talking about him with you.'

‘Martin–Marty. It's a common abbreviation.'

‘
Is
it, sir? I'd like to check up on that. I had an idea that it was fairly unusual–more of a pet name, or a joke name based on a television star than a common abbreviation. Well, well–interesting. Now, one more little thing. Our medics are agreed that Forsyth was not killed where he was found–he was taken there later, after the blood on the wound had already congealed. Now, by pure luck–and it's about the only piece of luck we've had in this case–Forsyth had an unusual blood-group: he was AB positive. And the other day we were put on to a nasty bloodstain in the
vindfang
of Isbjørnvei 18. It was the same blood-group. And when I looked up the names of the people who had been tenants of number 18, I found your name, sir.'

‘My dear Inspector, you're on to a loser there. That was all of three years ago. The first couple of months I spent here, before I bought this house.'

‘Exactly, sir. I know the dates. But the idea I'm playing with is this: if you
should
have planned to kill this boy, you would hardly have wanted to use your own house, would you? Quite apart from the obvious danger of his being
traced here, your wife was with you at the time, wasn't she? And yet you would want an address to give him, somewhere to meet him: he would have been highly suspicious of an outdoor tryst at that time of year. Now, if it
should
happen that you had still got a key to the house in Isbjørnvei–one you thought you'd lost, and which therefore hadn't been returned to the University Administration–what better place to appoint to meet him than a house you knew was empty, and which you could get into. Around Christmas there's very few in those houses: a lot of tenants have gone to their families in other parts of Norway. It's dark by two, and most people huddle inside. Really, a very good place to kill.'

Dougal Mackenzie's smile had not relaxed, and if there seemed a new tenseness in the body he nevertheless gave an impression of relief that things had come into the open, a readiness to accept a challenge and enjoy a duel.

‘Well, well, at last you've said it out,' he said. ‘Fantastic as it all is, I know now exactly what you're thinking and suggesting. Let's take it from there: I know what I'm being accused of, and you know that I know. I think there's a distinct lack of anything in the way of evidence in your case so far, and the whys and wherefores are still a mystery.'

‘You're right,' agreed Fagermo amiably. ‘Quite right. Very little evidence. Only very tenuous indications. Little connections like spiders' webs. Now, here's another little dribble of information. As you say, the people at State Oil often use the high-ups at the universities as consultants to evaluate the data collected on these various research expeditions in the North Sea. But well over a year ago, they stopped using you.'

‘But, Inspector, this isn't a regular thing. There are several of us. This sort of work goes in fits and starts.'

‘Quite possibly. But they
deliberately
stopped using you.
There are several Professors and Readers in your field previously employed by one or other of the big oil companies. For various reasons–mainly, of course, the suspicion that some companies were acting on information which they shouldn't have had–they began to have doubts about the reliability of some of the people they were using. Because this stuff was definitely confidential. So they began making little tests. And as a result, a couple of people were dropped as consultants. One of them was you.'

‘I see. Well, this is news to me. It seems rather like condemnation without trial. And, with all due respect, I still don't entirely see the significance.'

‘End of useful extra income,' said Fagermo, with his most urbane smile. ‘And I don't mean the payment from State Oil for your consultancy work: eighty per cent of that would go back in income tax at your salary level. But why else would you have been passing on information except for money? What was threatened was that extra whack you have been getting, tax free, from whichever company, or compan
ies
, you were passing on the information to. I don't know the rate for the game, but I'd have thought these must have been tidy sums, to make it worth your while.'

‘You have, I suppose, Inspector, some shreds of
evidence
that this is what I've been doing?'

‘Quite frankly, no, sir,' said Fagermo, with undiminished amiability. ‘As you will be aware, this is an area where we can't get information by our normal channels. Nothing short of a Congressional Committee or a Royal Commission or something of that sort could get details of the sort of payment I'm thinking of: undercover payment by one of the big multi-nationals. So you're quite right: here we are definitely moving into the realms of conjecture.'

‘Have we ever been out of it? Still, go on and entertain me further.'

‘Well, I'm quite willing to acknowledge that what I'm suggesting here is sheer guesswork. We'll keep it on that level. I think that somewhere around this time, when you stopped being used by the State Oil people, you met up again with Martin Forsyth–if in fact you'd ever lost touch. For all I know you could have got him his first job in this country with the oil people down in Stavanger, but that's not a vital part in the story. I think it occurred to you, when you met up with him, that there were other ways of getting the gen the oil companies wanted than by having it referred to you as consultant. If you had somebody bright, sharp, somebody with experience and a bit of grounding in the subject, and if he got a job with one or other of the bodies doing the geological surveying, then you could go on with your little side-line. Splitting the proceeds, of course, with your partner, doubtless in some such proportion as eighty per cent to you and twenty to him. That was your downfall.'