Yours Until Death (14 page)

Roar’s aunt and uncle lived in a large cube-shaped house that looked newly refurbished outside and in. It stood high on the mountainside, surrounded by budding fruit trees, with a view of Øystese and of the fjord and the mountains on the other side of town. It must feel strange living in the middle of a postcard.

Roar’s aunt came running down to the gate before we were out of the car. She’d been waiting for us. She hugged Roar for a long time. And that made him cry again.

Then she stood up and we shook hands. ‘Sissel Baugnes.’

‘Veum.’

She was clearly older than her sister. Sharper face. She was around forty and didn’t try to hide it. Narrow lips. Long strands of grey in her dark blonde hair. Her eyes were red-rimmed and there were dark shadows in her face. The shadows of a lot of sleepless hours.

She wore a full blue skirt and an eggshell cotton blouse. Her hands were pink and there were freckles on her bare arms.

‘It’s been a terrible shock – for all of us,’ she said and searched my face as if to discover new shocks and more bad news.

It has been,’ I said. ‘For all of us.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m not thinking. You’ll have a cup of coffee? Something to eat?’

I thanked her. She looked like the right person to drink coffee with on a day like this.

She settled me on a sofa in a living room that reflected a peaceful, average family life. There were more photographs than books in the little teak bookcase and the TV the corner was old. Black and white. The black radio with its shining FM antenna was newer. It was playing music from a Hamburg station. A hint of South American rhythms mixed with a West German flute arrangement and a choir of angels. The flute for your ears, the honey for your soul. If you didn’t have much of an ear for music and your soul wasn’t too wicked.

A red-brown cocker spaniel came yipping in and flung itself wildly on Roar who got on his knees and let it lick his face. ‘Rover!’ he said. ‘Hello, Rover!’ It had to be called Rover. Any other name would have been impossible in these circumstances.

She came back with freshly made sandwiches on a pewter plate and poured coffee into solid little cups with roses on them.

‘The girls are in school,’ she said, trying to talk about
everyday
things.

‘How old are they?’ I asked.

‘Bent’s eleven and Anne-Lise’s thirteen. Reidar – my husband – is going to try to come home early.’

‘What does he do?’

She drew a hand across her forehead and through her hair. ‘He’s a shop manager down at Samvirkelaget. He used to have his own little business but it got to be too hard. Too much competition. He was never at home. He couldn’t spare the time to be at home, and he couldn’t afford to hire help. At nights he used to restock the shelves, price the merchandise, do the accounts and update the inventory and orders. It’s not that he isn’t busy now. He is. But at least it’s not as stressful.’

She seemed upset underneath that calm. She wasn’t nervous or hysterical but she was tense just the same. Almost irritable.

A thin network of red veins ran across that sharp narrow nose and her lips looked pale and dry. ‘I cannot understand it – how the whole …’ she said.

Then she looked at Roar. ‘Roar, could you take Rover out in the garden and play?’

Roar nodded. Looked at me. ‘You’re not going yet, Varg?’

‘Of course not, Roar. I’m not leaving all that soon.’ There it was again. That strange voice. Not mine. Somebody else’s.

As soon as Roar had left, she said, The police said – they gave us to understand … Is it true that Wenche’s suspected of – that she …’ She couldn’t finish. She stared at me. Incredulous.

‘She is.’ I leaned forward. ‘But I don’t believe it. Not for a second. I don’t know your sister very well. As a matter of fact, I met her for the first time less than a week ago. But I don’t believe she killed her husband.’ I swallowed. ‘I don’t know if the police mentioned me.’

She shook her head.

‘I’m a private investigator. It’s my job to find out things. Things which aren’t as serious as murder cases – but I don’t see this as a “case”. This is a tragedy which has hurt people I like. And I promise you, Fru Baugnes, I promise you if there’s anything that can be found out, anything that can change the police position – if it’s there to find, I’ll find it. I give you my word …’

She looked distantly at me. ‘We just cannot believe it. She – she loved Jonas so, and she was so unhappy – I’ve never seen anybody unhappier – when it was over and they separated, because of, because of …’

The front door opened and we heard heavy footsteps. A man came in and both Sissel Baugnes and I stood up.

‘Veum,’ she said. ‘This is Reidar, my husband.’

Reidar Baugnes and I shook hands. ‘Pleasure,’ he said.

He had a wrinkled face and I figured he was in his late forties. A man with a strong profile, dark blue eyes, a narrow mouth and a chin which had never been able to decide if it were a chin or a neck. He wore a grey work apron and there were three ballpoint pens and a yellow pencil in his breast pocket. His voice was thick. As if he had a cold.

‘We were just sitting here talking about …’ Sissel Baugnes said.

She brought him a coffee cup from the kitchen.

They seemed happy together. Contented. They were at the halfway point in life and had passed their crossroads. They had just one direction to go in now and they didn’t need a compass. Nobody stopped them and asked tough questions. No
strangers
crossed the road in front of them and made them change course.

I looked at Sissel Baugnes. ‘Your childhood home. I’d
understood
that it was fairly strict.’

Her husband answered. ‘Who told you that? Jonas?’

There was a little edge to Sissel Baugnes’ voice. ‘I know Jonas used to describe it that way. He never was comfortable with us. Too different. He was from the city and we were from the country. He liked describing us as pious, too religious. But that was … wrong.’

And she said ‘wrong’ as if it were the strongest word in her vocabulary.

‘He was a snob,’ her husband said. ‘And we could see what was going to happen.’

We weren’t like that,’ she said. ‘We came from a God-fearing home, but it was a joyful, beautiful Christianity. Not
depressing
or dark. My father – he’s dead now, God rest his soul – but
I’ve never heard a person laugh better than he could. He was a good person through and through. Kept his good humour and his faith in his Saviour during the last long years of his illness. We didn’t mourn him when he died. How could we? He’d gone home. He was safe. It was sadder for us who were left behind – we had to experience the loss …

‘My mother. How I’m going to break this news to her I haven’t a clue. If anything’ll kill her, this … She and my father never understood Jonas. He never understood them. I’m not saying it was his fault. Or theirs. They came from two different worlds. And now …’

‘Now, look what’s happened,’ Reidar Baugnes said.

She became more emphatic. ‘I simply cannot understand it. When two people marry and promise – I can’t understand how one can desert the other. I can forgive his coming from another world, but that, that I can’t forgive. Or understand.’

Her husband nodded. Agreeing. ‘Are you married, Veum?’ he said.

‘No.’ I didn’t feel like explaining.

‘No. Then you wouldn’t understand. But a marriage – an association between two people who love each other, it is – it should be – so sacred, so pure that nothing – nothing! – can come between them and ruin things.’

I ate a sandwich so I wouldn’t have to comment. Then I emptied my cup. Stood up. ‘I’d better be leaving. I’ve got to get back to town.’

They stood up. ‘We’re grateful for what you said just now,’ Sissel Baugnes said. ‘If we can help in any way, just get in touch with us. We don’t have much money, but – some …’ She left it hanging in the air where most questions of money hang before they disappear by some miraculous means.

‘Promise me just one thing,’ I said. ‘Take good care of Roar, if …’

They nodded. ‘We’ll look after him as if he were our own son.’

That made me feel better. I thought he’d be better off with his mother, but if things didn’t work out – this wasn’t the worst home he could land in.

Reidar Baugnes followed me to the front steps. When his wife had gone in, he said in a low, confiding voice, ‘I wouldn’t say this in there. But out here, man to man, Veum, I’m a man with normal appetites. And there are plenty of temptations in today’s world. Down at the job – there are plenty of young sexy girls. Egging you on. Not what you’d call shy. I could certainly …’

He stared intently as he thought about what he could
certainly
do – if he had the guts.

‘But I’ve learned to control those appetites, Veum. I could never do that to Sissel. Not in my wildest moments.’

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ I said. ‘I understand.’

‘That’s the right thing, isn’t it?’ he said. His tone was almost grateful.

I said goodbye and went down to the garden. Roar was playing with the little dog. When I walked along the path, he came running to me and locked his arms around my waist. Looked up at me. ‘Are you leaving now?’ he said. ‘Do you have to?’

I looked down at that young unfinished face. ‘Afraid so. Got to. Got to get back to town. You know. You’ll be OK here, Roar.’

Will you be seeing my mum?’

‘Probably.’

‘Tell her – tell her I love her and I’ll wait for her – no matter what she …’ He didn’t say any more and I’d wonder all the way home how he would have finished that sentence: no matter what she’s done?

You can’t really hide things from children. They know
everything
from the time they’re born. Somewhere inside themselves.

In their blood. Or hearts.

I leaned down and hugged him tight. Felt that frail little boy’s body. His narrow back, his spine like a pearl necklace. His shoulder blades like misshapen wings, his neck like a little tree trunk.

Then I left in a hurry and drove off without looking back. It doesn’t pay to look back. You always end up missing people before you’ve left them.

On the way out of Øystese I thought of Reidar Baugnes’ last words and of what Jonas Andresen had said to me two days earlier. Reidar Baugnes had talked about ‘appetites’ while Jonas Andresen had talked about ‘love’. And I asked myself whether they hadn’t been talking about the same thing.

And I’d already started missing people. I’d already started missing him.

On the way down from Kvamskogen, I turned off on to a gravel road that led to a valley which began as a U but ended in a V. The road twisted upwards. It was passable this early in the year because there’d been so little snow, but I still wouldn’t be able to drive very far.

When the road became too slippery, I swung off it, parked and left the car. Walked uphill fast. Filled my throat and lungs with the sharp mountain air.

This wild, beautiful valley would lead me past some
abandoned
summer pastures up to the mountain’s bare top. If I had the time and the energy. The valley would have been green and lush with birches if it were later in the year. Now it was
yellow-brown
, barren. Covered with patches of snow.

A wild little river tore along the valley floor. Later, the trout would line up to reach the large deep mountain lake the river came from.

I’d spent quite a few hours – not so many maybe, but they’d been good ones – fishing for trout by that river. I’d waited for the kingdom of heaven, the explosive struggle, the prize for patience, while the sun crept up the mountainside and the air got steadily colder and clearer.

Having had a father who’d hated the outdoors and who spent most of his spare time in museums or bent over books on Norse mythology, I was grown up before I hauled in my first trout. And later on I learned to appreciate those rare escapes from the city. I was too much of a city person to stand being
away too long from the traffic, the smoky patterns over the rooftops and the dirty caress of exhaust fumes against my skin. But every so often it was good to get away, scrape the city’s dust from my hide, spend some hours in clean air by a clean river and wait for a willing trout. And this was a good valley to know about. An hour’s drive from the city.

Sometimes night would darken around me before I went home. I’d build a fire by the river. Make coffee in a soot-
blackened
can, drink it out of an old tin cup. Then I’d sit there in the darkness with the light from the fire and snapping dry twigs the only other living things. I’d listened for other sounds, but the birds had fallen silent. A solitary hedgehog might root around in the bushes and every once in a while there might be the croak of a frog. Otherwise everything was as quiet as the stars overhead and the mountains all around.

I didn’t have my fishing gear with me now, and I’d only come here to get away for a couple of hours, to put a little perspective on things, sort my thoughts into their right pigeon-holes, file my impressions. The air was colder than I was dressed for and I wasn’t wearing boots. The snow kept me from going further, so I was forced to turn around and walk back to the car.

Anyway, this wasn’t a valley for these thoughts. It was too narrow. It didn’t free your heart, your brain or your attitude. You didn’t break loose. It turned you inward towards a chaos of thoughts, and made you think of a different, more effective kind of release.

When I got back to town, I went straight home. Showered, put on a shirt and tie.

Then I went to Bergen’s finest hotel. If you’re not wearing a tie they won’t serve you in the bar. You can sit in the restaurant and the waiter will bring your drinks. But I liked the bar.

It was still early and the place was half full. Or half empty. Depending on how you see things. I settled on a stool and latched on to a double whisky. I drink whisky in bars. It suits the decor better than aquavit. You can drink aquavit at home, in the mountains, at sea. Anywhere but in bars. In bars you drink whisky or vodka or those fancy drinks you need a
dictionary
to order. But I’m a simple guy with simple drinking habits and the dictionaries were at home. So I ordered whisky.

There was a woman nearby. That’s the way it is in this hotel. There’s always a woman nearby. It’s about the best place in the city if you want a woman, and you can choose your ages and price ranges.

From the back this woman could have been in her twenties. She was dressed in a black silk blouse and a full black skirt. A wide tight belt. Slim legs. Long loose yellow-blonde hair. Something told you the colour wasn’t natural.

When she turned around, you saw she was closer to fifty than twenty. A face without illusions. Exactly the kind of woman I needed tonight.

Our eyes met. I nodded at my glass and then looked
questioningly
at her. She stood up and walked over to me with swinging hips and thirsty lips. But she wasn’t thirsty for me. She ordered a dry martini and it went on my bill.

‘Call me Sun,’ she said in a voice which sounded like a badly tuned radio.

‘Call me Moon,’ I said.

Her face was lined but not weather-beaten. A face more at home indoors than out. I doubted she’d know the difference between a trout’s head and its tail. She’d probably never drunk coffee from a soot-blackened pot and if she had, it had been a long time ago.

Her eyes were bright and watery from too much gin, but her
lips were wide and generous and used to drinking straight from the bottle. I didn’t mind calling her Sun.

‘I was thinking of having a bite to eat,’ I said.

‘I’ll keep you company,’ she said. ‘But I never eat after four. Can’t take it.’

We sat at a table on the balcony and looked down at the few guests who strolled through the lobby. The only tourists were the inevitable pair of ruddy-faced Englishmen. Otherwise the clientele consisted of travelling salesmen, businessmen and more-or-less professional participants in seminars.

‘I’m only passing through,’ she said.

‘Pass through every night?’ I said.

‘On my way from Laksevåg to Sandviken,’ she said. ‘I’ve just moved into a new flat.’ She watched the smoke from her cigarette curl slowly up to the ceiling high above us.

After what felt like a couple of hours, a surly waiter brought me an over-cooked pepper steak and some mushy vegetables. But the potatoes weren’t too bad.

‘If you wanted to – we could go to my place. To my new flat,’ she said.

‘Perhaps we could. I’ve always been interested in new flats.’

There were deep furrows on either side of her mouth and I could see the pores on her skin.

‘The only thing is, the rent’s a rip-off.’

‘Oh? Well, my wallet’s got a loose mouth and my account’s on its last legs, so …’

Her flat wasn’t exactly in Sandviken unless you called
Øvregaten
Sandviken, and it didn’t look all that new either. But she had an unopened bottle of first-class whisky.

‘Somebody forgot and left it here,’ she said, bracing herself against the wall.

I didn’t feel especially good and she didn’t look especially good. A face without illusions.

When she undressed I saw her body had lost its illusions, too. A long time ago. But it was just the kind of body I needed on a night like this.

I wasn’t surprised that she kicked me out. I loved her like a middle-aged marathon runner who’s run in the rain and come in somewhere between number eighty and number ninety. I loved her like the messenger who barely manages to creep as far as the queen’s feet and deliver the word to her before he dies. I loved her like an old circus elephant who’s seen too many seasons and too many trips around the ring. I loved her with the warmth of a coal stove which has stood for years in an empty house. And I hid my face between her legs so she wouldn’t see me crying.

Afterwards I rolled out of bed on to the floor and inched towards the whisky bottle under the table. Lay on my back and poured the rest of it into me. Then the fog rolled in, and something large and white bent down and tried to hoist me up while it cursed me up one side and down the other.

So it didn’t surprise me that she kicked me out. Even before I’d got dressed. I stood at the bottom of the stairway in the dark entrance hall, and struggled for what felt like hours to get myself into my trousers.

Some kids stopped me in the street, shoved me against a wall and took my wallet. I leaned against the wall and watched them take off with the remains of my cash. Couldn’t do a thing about it.

But I did make it home. Woke early. Said to myself: the only release that’s going to do you any good is finding out the truth.

Then I showered, shaved, put on clean clothes and was in
Officer Jakob E. Hamre’s office before nine o’clock. I wasn’t at my best. But at least I was there.