Dregs (33 page)

Wisting put pen to paper and wrote KEN RONNY HAUGE in capital letters. He felt he understood everything now. The plan Ken Ronny Hauge had probably spent years of his life concocting. A murderous plan.

The old man coughed into his hand while pressing his eyes together as though they were sore.

‘But you know all of this already,’ he said, clearing his throat.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Not the paternity, but the fortune in cash. I expect that you have investigated all this earlier.’

Wisting shook his head.

‘It’s the first time I’ve heard of it.’

Alf Storeggen’s hand curved round the handle of his walking stick. His breathing was constricted, and there was a gurgling sound. Wisting saw that something was making him uneasy. His eyes darted back and forth, as though his thoughts were jumping about.

‘I can’t believe that,’ he mumbled.

‘Have you told this to the police before?’

Storeggen shook his head so that the loose folds of skin beneath his chin quivered.

‘Not to the police.’

‘To whom, then?’

‘I was ill when Torkel Lauritzen disappeared last autumn,’ the lawyer explained in a rough voice. ‘Pneumonia. I couldn’t manage to do much, but eventually after a few days and Torkel hadn’t been found, I told this to one of the carers who promised to take it up. I thought it might have significance for your investigations.’

‘Who did you tell?’

‘Camilla Thaulow. The one who’s also gone missing. Did she really not say anything?’

‘I haven’t heard about it before now at least.’

The old man shook his head.

‘Why did she not say anything?’ he mumbled to himself.

Wisting bit his bottom lip, thinking about the woman who had just been found at a depth of over 300 metres, and who had lived her whole life with her mother. The only man she had met had become an expensive experience, swindling her out of all her savings. What Alf Storeggen had told her was valuable information. In some way or other, she may have decided to make use of it herself.

Alf Storeggen leaned on his stick and got ready to leave.

Wisting stood up and felt his dizziness return.

‘I’ll get someone to drive you home,’ he said, picking up the phone. He ordered a car and went round the desk to help the other man out of his chair.

He accompanied the old lawyer out of the police station and stood waiting until he was sitting inside a patrol car. The wind had changed direction, and he thought he could feel it: it was as though it carried with it the taste of something promising.

CHAPTER 60

Line emerged from the shower, dried herself and wiped the steam off the mirror before wrapping the towel round her hips. She took out her make up and spent almost a quarter of an hour before she was happy.

She had a dress in her bag that she had not used, and tried it on before pulling on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt instead.

Her morning had been taken up by reading up on miscarriages of justice. She had found more than she had been aware of, and more than she liked to think about.

In front of the computer screen again she looked at the picture of Ken Ronny Hauge. She had not made an appointment, but would take the risk that he would be at home. If not, she would wait to see if he turned up.

She took out the expensive
Hasselblad
camera, checking that the memory card was empty and the battery charged. She went over to the window and took a few trial photos with different shutter speeds of the grey weather before packing it away in her bag.

As early as last night, she had decided how she would begin the conversation with Ken Ronny Hauge. She would provoke a reaction from him
. I think you’re lying
, she would say, adding:
I think you’re innocent
.

CHAPTER 61

There were six people round the conference table. William Wisting sat at the end. He had broken into a cold sweat and had to concentrate to keep his focus. Torunn Borg, Nils Hammer and Espen Mortensen were sitting to his right, while Chief Superintendent Anvik and Assistant Chief of Police Vetti were on his left.

‘I think it happened like this,’ Wisting began, going on to give a chronological summary of all the events and how this had led him to pinpoint Ken Ronny Hauge as the perpetrator. Daniel Meyer had also played a part behind the scenes, but they did not know exactly what.

‘This has involved converting the proceeds from an old robbery into legal tender,’ he concluded, laying his hand on the summary report he had distributed. ‘The methods used have been more cynical than we have ever seen before.’

The others sat in silence.

‘What do we do now?’ the Chief Superintendent asked, glancing towards the Assistant Chief of Police who had the responsibility to prosecute. ‘Is there enough to make an arrest?’

‘There’s nothing I’d rather do,’ Vetti replied. ‘But I’m afraid it’s not enough. We don’t have anything specific.’ He held up the report. ‘In reality, this isn’t anything more than a working hypothesis. The division of roles between Ken Ronny Hauge and Daniel Meyer is unclear. Were they working together all the time, or was Ken Ronny Hauge operating alone?’ He dropped the report on the table. ‘We have no proof. There’s no technical evidence to link him to either the money or the victims. We can’t risk anything coming undone now. We need to have a completely watertight case.’

Wisting scowled across at him. Vetti was right, but the reason for making an arrest was that there was a justifiable suspicion about a person. It was not necessary to be certain of being right. Evidence could come to light during the further investigation, in the shape of the lies the arrested person might become entangled in or discoveries made while searching his car or home. What they risked if the worst came to the worst was not getting support for a request to remand him in custody. For the Assistant Chief of Police, that would be a setback that would not look good beside his application for the post of Deputy Chief Constable.

Vetti cleared his throat: ‘I want us to do the rounds one more time. See what we can turn up. Perhaps bring him in for questioning as a witness so that we can get him later for perjury. Possibly charge him with avoiding inheritance tax. But it’s too early for a murder indictment.’

He got up and went to the door, as though to avoid any discussion.

‘What I mean is that we must not be in too much of a hurry,’ he concluded as he left.

The Chief Superintendent got up as well, nodding in satisfaction that the case was progressing towards a solution, before he too left the room.

‘What’ll we do?’ Nils Hammer asked when the investigators were left alone at the table.

Wisting felt tired and unwell, almost faint. He got up and went over to the worktop to fill a glass of water.

‘We’ll go for a drive,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll see if we manage to stir up something or other that we can use.’

Crows took off from a densely growing field and flew low across the meadow as Wisting drove down towards the little farmstead at the water’s edge. The spot had a somewhat deserted appearance. Junk and rubbish were lying in heaps, old car parts, bottles with peeling labels, bricks and pieces of cement. A rusty cast iron stove with a gaping hole in its side was leaning on the wall of the house. The last time he had been here, the mess had given the place a certain charm. Now it gave the property a gloomy character. Perhaps it was the effect of the weather, or perhaps it was what he now knew.

Wisting parked in the middle of the courtyard and remained sitting behind the steering wheel. His dizziness had worsened, and he needed to concentrate before getting out.

The rain had made the area between the main house and the barn very muddy, and water was lying in puddles. A dog lifted its head as they slammed the car doors. It had sought shelter from the rain under a garden table and yawned before lying lazily down again.

Wet grass washed their shoes as they strode up to the entrance door. Flakes of old paint fell off when Wisting knocked. There was no response from inside.

The wide barn door was open and banging in the wind behind them. They went over to the large building and peered into the semi-darkness inside.

‘Hello,’ Wisting called out, without getting any answer.

The room inside was fitted out as a kind of car workshop. It smelled of motor oil and old steel. An American car was sitting close to the wall on the left hand side with its bonnet up. Around it were car parts, welding lights and cutting tools scattered all over. The shape of another car was outlined under a blue tarpaulin in the middle of the room.

Wisting took a couple of steps into the large building, but stopped. The tracks from wet car tyres were showing on the rough concrete floor, leading to the car that was covered over. He glanced at Hammer as they approached. Hammer pulled away half of the tarpaulin to reveal a small, black Peugeot. It was wet from the rain, and drips from the undercarriage were falling on the floor.

‘Hello?’ Wisting repeated. It was an effort to shout. Blood was pounding in the veins behind his forehead and he had to close his eyes to get a grip on himself.

‘He can’t be far away,’ Hammer said, pointing at several footprints on the dusty floor made by whoever had circled the car to pull the tarpaulin across. The prints were drying, and impossible to follow.

‘Ken Ronny Hauge!’

This time it was Hammer who was shouting. A bird living beneath the roof trusses was startled, flapping its wings until coming to rest again. Otherwise, it was completely quiet.

Wisting turned to go outside again, but came to a halt. Over by the east wall was a cylinder of wire cable. A length of about two metres had been cut off and lay coiled up. Beside it was a box containing wire clamps.

He squatted down to pick up the cut length and examined it. The steel seemed acid resistant. The diameter looked to be the same as on the wire that had held Camilla Thaulow firmly to the bottom of the sea.

A gust of wind rattled the corrugated iron overhead. Wisting put the steel wire down carefully. Analysis of the alloy in the steel could connect it to the murder of the missing nurse, the kind of evidence they were looking for.

He straightened up and felt dizzy again. The slightly too quick movement caused light red spots to dance in front of his eyes. He supported himself on a partition wall, shook his head cautiously and felt the blood pumping hard through his veins. His whole body felt weak and he closed his eyes while he took a couple of deep breaths.

‘Oh, fuck,’ he heard Hammer swear behind him.

Wisting opened his eyes. Hammer stepped over the wire cylinder and approached a pile of old hessian sacks lying against the wall. There was a foot sticking out of one of them.

Hammer pulled the hessian sacks to one side. A swarm of flies flew up. The body was lying face down, the back of the head a large, open wound. Wisting could see the crushing injuries in the skull. Hair and blood stuck together had hardened into a dark crust.

Hammer swore once more and turned the dead body round. It was Daniel Meyer. His face was distorted and stiff, with a startled expression. His eyes were opened wide and his mouth half open, as though he had been in the middle of a scream.

Wisting felt himself break into a cold sweat, swallowing to keep the nausea at bay.

‘He’s here somewhere,’ Hammer said, taking a couple of steps back. He looked around before taking out his mobile phone.

‘I’m calling in reinforcements,’ he said, walking towards the open barn door.

Wisting took some unsteady steps after him. The clammy air inside the barn was not reaching his lungs. He concentrated on breathing in deeply.

Hammer put his phone to his ear, standing in the middle of the door opening. At the same time, Ken Ronny Hauge leapt on him from the side. Wisting watched it happen like a slow-motion animation. The attacker had a wire cutter in his right hand. The blow struck Nils Hammer on his right shoulder and Wisting heard something break. The mobile phone dropped to the ground as Hammer fell to his knees, twisting round and raising his left arm to ward off the next blow.

Wisting’s body would not obey. He tried to gather his strength to jump on Ken Ronny Hauge and knock him over, but instead felt his legs give way. He staggered, groping for something to hold. The sounds around him faded as he gasped for breath. His last thought was that he was fainting, and then his eyes flickered and everything went black.

CHAPTER 62

The rain stopped as Line drove in front of the small farmstead out by Helgeroa. She hooked her bag with the camera and notebook over her shoulder and got out of the car. The place appeared desolate and abandoned.

She knocked the door of the main house at the same time as calling out Ken Ronny Hauge’s name. There was no response. She took a couple of steps back down the broad stairway and looked around. The doors into the barn he used as a workshop were closed and car tracks across the muddy courtyard suggested that he had just driven off.

An empty drying rack stood in front of the house. Gripping one of its bars she gave it a shove. The rack moved round half a turn. She had really decided to wait in the car if he was not at home, but if he had just left, he might be quite some time. She decided to drive to Nevlunghavn and buy an ice cream and come back later. Walking towards the car she suddenly noticed the dog lying under the garden table where she and Ken Ronny Hauge had sat the first time she had visited him. It got up and arched its back before sauntering over to her.

She patted the dog behind the ear and said a few words to it. Its wet fur smelled unpleasant.

The dog yawned and sat down as Line looked around, wondering how Ken Ronny Hauge could have left the dog untethered.

Then she caught sight of him. He was standing in the clinker-built boat down by the quay, and he had spotted her as well. He raised his hand in greeting before disappearing into the cabin, popping up again almost immediately and jumping ashore. As he walked towards her he grabbed a wheelbarrow that had been lying beside the boathouse, pushing it in front of him.