The Consorts of Death (23 page)

‘No, no. I have nothing to … I work freelance now, as a private investigator.’

‘What?!’ Terje Hammersten reacted instantly. ‘A private snoop? What the hell are you after?’

I turned to face him again. ‘I’ve just come from Mette Olsen. Even though she didn’t appear to know, I assume that you are informed.’

‘Informed about what?’

‘About the double murder in Angedalen.’

‘Dunno anything about it. Dunno what you’re talking about.’

‘Terje!’ his sister reproved. ‘Don’t …’ She turned to me again and nodded. ‘We know. I was rung up by someone from the local police. Because of Silje.’

‘I could imagine.’

‘I had a few words with Silje, too.’

‘But what I’d like to know is what you’ve got to do with any of this!’ Hammersten burst out.

I kept my attention focused on his sister. ‘I think Silje’s fine. She’s in good hands.’

She sent me a sorrowful look. ‘Well … I hope so,’ she said softly. ‘But … can’t we sit down? Let me hear what you came to say. Terje, please get a coffee cup from the kitchen, would you …?’

Hammersten gave a snort of contempt, but did as she said. A mug appeared on the table, and Trude Tveiten poured from a thermos jug standing on the low teak coffee table.

I sat down in one of the chairs, she was on the sofa, Terje
Hammersten
on the other chair with his glare fixed on me and both hands tensed on the chair arms, ready to spring into action, should the need arise.

‘The incident on Tuesday … Did Silje say anything which might shed any light on the matter?’

She lit a cigarette before answering. ‘No. I just had a few words with her. All she said was that she was … fine. Things were fine, now.’

‘So she didn’t say anything about the lead-up to all of this?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing about – sexual abuse?’

‘What! Abuse? In that case he’ll have to deal with me! I can promise you that!’ Hammersten clenched his fist and banged the table so hard Trude automatically recoiled.

I looked at Hammersten thinking my own thoughts. To Trude I said: ‘How much contact did you have with her actually?’

She took a long drag, and her eyes converged on the glow. ‘Not a lot. I’m allowed to visit her now and then, but … her foster parents are not very warm, and I never feel welcome there. The whole of Angedalen is like a living hell for me.’

‘But when you visit her, do you talk together? Does she confide in you?’

She glared at me, with resentment. ‘What do
you
think? She was five years old when her father … died. Since then she’s lived in other places. First, a few years in Naustdal, then in Angedalen.’

‘What happened?’

‘What happened? What do you mean?’

‘Your husband died, you said.’

‘Yes, and I had a nervous breakdown. Total. And I hadn’t been good beforehand.’ The hand with the cigarette shook. ‘No hard stuff but … pills. And alcohol.’ Her lip twisted. ‘A bad mixture, especially with a tiny tot in the house.’

‘He was killed, wasn’t he?’

‘Why do you ask if you already know?’ she exploded.

I concentrated on her, but from the corner of my eye I could see Hammersten, and there was more than a hint of tension when I said: ‘The case was never solved, was it.’

Now her hands were trembling so much that she dropped her cigarette. It fell on the table and she made a determined grab for it, creating a shower of sparks over the scarred coffee table. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

‘Pack it in, will you, you prick! You can see how you’re
tormenting
her, can’t you.’ Hammersten had half-stood up from the chair.

I met his eyes with strained composure. ‘Perhaps you know something about this case, do you?’

He pushed back his chair and drew himself up to his full height. I did the same, and he shrank instantly. He was shorter than me, and it was more his pent-up fury than his size that intimidated. We stood glaring at each other.

‘Terje! Don’t …’ Trude said from the sofa. ‘It’ll just end in trouble. I might get evicted again. I can’t take any more of this!’ With which she burst into tears.

His eyes wandered, from me to her and back again. I could see how he was oscillating between the desire to have a go at me and to comfort his sister. With a low, intense voice, he said: ‘I had nothing to do with it. Anyone who says anything else is a liar. And the man who lies about Terje Hammersten is in the shit. Mark my words, Veum. He is in deep, deep shit!’

I held my eyes trained on his. I fixed him there, but I tensed my abdominal muscles at the same time, ready for whatever came my way.

‘Everyone must’ve seen that it was just lies!’ came a sob from the sofa. ‘Ansgår and Terje were best pals! That was how we met. They had been to sea together, they knew each other from the time they were young kids. Terje could never have done anything like that. I told the cop at the time, and I told everyone who came snooping for many years afterwards.’

‘But is it true that Ansgår was involved in smuggling alcohol?’

I was still staring at Hammersten, and he answered. ‘And so what if he was? Does it matter? With the policy we have on booze in this country – and especially in this bloody county – they’re asking for it! It’s fuckin’ welfare work what they’re doing,
smuggling
booze into Sogn and Fjordane.’

I produced a weak smile. ‘I can imagine views are divided on that.’

‘Not among normal people! Is it any wonder there was big money in it?’

‘Klaus Libakk,’ I said abruptly.

A remarkable change occurred in his face. The expression altered at a stroke from active aggression to squinting vigilance. ‘What about him?’

‘You know who he is?’

His eyes darted away for a moment. Then they were back. ‘He’s the one who was killed, right? Him and the biddy.’

‘You’re well informed, I see.’

His temper instantly flared up again. ‘And what d’you mean by that?’

‘Their names still haven’t been made public.’

Behind his forehead, his brain was working at full steam.

‘But … but …that’s what the cop said, to Trude. Or … she was led to believe …’

‘We knew where Jan was living,’ the sister said calmly from the sofa.

‘Yes, you did know that,’ I said, still eyeing Hammersten. ‘You told Mette, didn’t you. Where did you get the information from?’

‘That’s got fuck all to do with you!’ he barked back.

‘But to go back to Klaus Libakk. He was also part of the
smuggling
racket, people say.’

‘OK! That’s what you say.’

Trude had stopped crying. I noticed she had raised her face and was staring at me.

‘Could he have had anything to do with the murder in 1973, do you think?’

He stared at me, his expression blank, bordering on fossilised. But his eyes were as rigid and smouldering as they had been the whole time. At length he said: ‘If so, I’d …’

‘Yes? Have done the same to him as you would’ve done to the person who abused Silje? And what about if they were one and the same? You’re accumulating a nice pile of motives here. Impressive.’

I should have seen it coming. But for a moment I had been a bit too complacent. My attention wandered, and I only just managed to ward off the surprise blow.

His fist swung towards my face, but in a pure reflex action I yanked up my shoulder and the punch glanced off my cheek and left ear instead. The next was more accurate. It hit me right in the chest and sent me tumbling backwards, knocking over a standard lamp; I hit the wall and slowly sank until I was sitting on the floor, dazed and shaken. I felt a dull pain in my chest and a hot, smarting sensation in my ear.

Above me stood Terje Hammersten, ready to lay in to me if I tried to get to my feet. Trude had stood up, too, now. She rushed forward and put her arms around his upper body to restrain him. ‘Don’t, Terje! I told you not to. I’ll be evicted …’

I looked up at them. Everything was blurred. For one strange, long, drawn out moment they seemed to be one person, a
two-headed
, androgynous creature from a world where I didn’t belong. Then I succeeded in re-focusing. ‘It’s alright,’ I said. ‘I won’t report you. There won’t be any trouble, so long as nothing else happens.’

Terje Hammersten lowered his fists, shook himself free from his sister’s grip and walked across to the window, where he stood with his back to us, gazing down at the road leading to Dale town centre.

Still dizzy, I slowly stood up. I felt nauseous and could see dots dancing in front of my eyes. All credit to him. He had a powerful fist on him. I nodded to Trude with a mixture of gratitude and the need to say she shouldn’t worry. I wouldn’t tell anyone.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

I rolled my shoulders and rubbed my chest. ‘Could be worse.’ Without looking at Hammersten, I added: ‘I think I’ll be off.’

‘What did you actually want?’

I studied her. ‘To be quite honest, I’m not at all sure any more. But I’ve made a mental note of some things.’

Terje Hammersten turned round smartly, strode across the floor and came up close to me again. But this time I was prepared. I raised my fists in defence and eyed him stiffly.

‘Be careful, Veum!’ he snarled. ‘Be bloody careful!’

‘Unless I want to wind up like Ansgår Tveiten, you mean.’

Between us, Trude gave an involuntary sob. ‘Not again!’

The blood vessels in his temple swelled and the knuckles of his fists went white. But he kept himself in check. He didn’t lash out this time.

Without letting him out of my sight, I walked to the door, opened it and left the flat. In the corridor outside I hurried towards the staircase, then stopped to check if he was following. But there was no one, and, still feeling physically uncomfortable, I went down the steps and into the bright daylight. A high white sky hung over Dale, like a huge plastic cupola. A handful of gulls sailed on the wind to the steep walls of Heile Mountain, while complaining in grating cries about bad backs, poor catches or whatever it is gulls complain about.

It was beginning to get dark as I drove into Osen where the Gaular waterway plunged like a faded bridal veil towards the fjord. High up above the mountains the moon had appeared, the earth’s pale consort, distant and alone in its eternal orbit around the chaos and turmoil below. It struck me that the moon wasn’t alone after all. There were many of us adrift and circling around the same chaos, the same turmoil, without being able to intervene or do anything about it. We were all consorts of death.

It was six o’clock when I arrived at the hotel. There were no
messages
for me in reception. I went to my room, found Grethe’s
telephone
number and dialled. No one answered. I rang down to reception and asked if Jens Langeland or Hans Haavik were in. Langeland was out. Haavik was in his room. Did I want to speak to him? I considered for a moment and ended up saying no.

My body felt strangely restless. Maybe it was a side effect of the blow I received in Dale, or else it was something I had heard in the course of the day, a bit of information I still hadn’t managed to sift out from all the rest. Something that had invaluable significance for the development of the case, unless, as things were
progressing
, I should begin to say: cases.

The latter reflection caused me to ring the police offices and ask for Standal. He was in, but what surprised me most was that he was willing to talk to me.

‘Yes?’ his voice came on to the telephone.

‘Veum here.’

‘Yes, so I heard. What do you want?’

‘Anything new?’

‘Nothing you have any right to know, anyway.’

‘Well, right … Listen to me for a moment, Standal. I may have something to tell you that you don’t know.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Have you taken out the old 1973 murder file yet? Ansgår Tveiten. The illicit alcohol business. We touched on it yesterday.’

For a moment the line went quiet.

‘We’ve got the file, yes. But so far we haven’t had time to look into the material in any depth. It’s quite a pile, Veum.’

‘I don’t doubt it. But it was shelved.’

‘Not shelved. It’s incorrect to say that. In active abeyance, we call it. We’re still gathering information for the case.’

‘OK. Then that’s perhaps what you’re doing now.’

‘And by that you mean …?’

‘Let me remind you what the lawyers Langeland and Bråtet told us yesterday. That Silje Tveiten, as she is still called, is Ansgår Tveiten’s daughter. And I know that her uncle, Terje Hammersten, was on the police radar at that time, although nothing decisive was to come of it.’

‘We know that, Veum!’ he said impatiently. ‘I thought you said you had something to tell me.’

‘Well, listen to this then. Rumour has it that the deceased Klaus Libakk was involved in the same contraband operation. He
distributed
the goods to people in Angedalen. Did you know that?’

‘He wasn’t down on our records, at any rate. I’ll have to regard this as idle gossip for the moment.’

‘Odd. That his name isn’t in your records, I mean.’

‘It was a complicated case. With lots of ramifications. And when this murder came to light the investigators had to concentrate on that aspect.’

‘With not much success, it has to be said.’

‘Get to the point!’

‘Alright. I’d like to inform you that the said Terje Hammersten is in the immediate vicinity of Førde right now, and has been since Monday evening.’

‘Monday evening. Uhuh. Anything else?’

‘He stayed with a woman who’s lived in Jølster for the last couple of years. Her name’s Mette Olsen and she is the biological mother of Jan Egil.’

‘Hang on there, Veum. Let me take a note of that. Mette Olsen. Where does she live, did you say?’

I explained.

‘And this Terje Hammersten … do they live together or what?’

‘They did at some point. Something like that. And he has a sister who lives in Dale. Trude Tveiten, who was married to Ansgår Tveiten. In other words, Tveiten was his brother-in-law.’