We Shall Inherit the Wind (3 page)

‘No. I checked that, of course. I got Kristoffer to pop up, but there was no one at home.’

‘Where do you live in Bergen?’

‘In Storhaugen.’

I had taken out my notebook, and she gave me the house number. Then I jotted down the home telephone number, Mons Mæland’s mobile number and hers.

‘And Kristoffer, where does he live?’

‘In Ole Irgens vei.’

‘Family?’

‘Has he got any? – a wife and two children, although I can’t see what that’s got to do with this case.’  

‘It hasn’t got anything to do with the case. It’s just to get a picture. The daughter?’

‘Else lives in Kronstad – in a student collective,’ she added with a sarcastic undertone.

‘And the address?’

‘Goodness me! Ibsens gate. But I’d rather you didn’t bother them with … this.’

‘They know about it though?’

‘I told you I asked Kristoffer to pop home to see if Mons was there, but, as I said, there’s no need to bother them.’

I looked at her. ‘Their father has gone missing, and you don’t want me to bother them with this?’

‘What I mean is they can’t know anything anyway.’

‘No? But it may turn out that … It may have been quite traumatic when they lost their mother. Else was only four years old, didn’t you say?’

‘Yes.’ She looked at Brekkhus. ‘And Kristoffer must have been, well, twelve, wasn’t he?’ He nodded, and she continued: ‘They don’t want to talk about it.’

Brekkhus coughed. ‘It was a shock for them, of course. But they weren’t here when it happened, fortunately.’

‘Where were they then?’

‘Well … in fact I can’t remember, but I think Kristoffer was on a hiking trip with a friend and his family, and Else had a sleep-over at a friend’s.’

‘In other words, the parents had a kind of free weekend. With a catastrophic outcome.’

‘Yes, that’s about the long and short of it.’

I turned my attention to Ranveig again. ‘How’s your relationship with your step-children?’

She hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘Quite … run of the mill. I’m not exactly the evil stepmother of fairy-tales, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

‘I’m not suggesting anything at all. I’ve just noted that you don’t want to bother them with this disappearance …’  

She sighed. ‘Of course you can talk to them. I didn’t mean it like that. But they have their own lives to lead. I can’t imagine they have anything to contribute. That was what I meant.’

I nodded. ‘Fine. So where do you think I should begin? Where are the company offices?’

‘In Drotningsvik. But …’

‘Perhaps you don’t want me to bother them, either?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll see Kristoffer there anyway. What I was thinking was … if anything should leak out about Mons being … missing. It’s a sensitive line of business.’

‘Mine, too. Especially when I’m not given anything to work on.’ I considered the matter. ‘What about Brennøy? Could he have gone there?’

She studied my face, unsure. ‘It’s just a plot of land. No houses.’

‘But that was what the row was about. He may have gone there to see the place with fresh eyes. Maybe see if he agreed with you after all. You and Kristoffer.’

‘Mm …’

‘There’s another question I have to ask you.’

‘Right.’ She gazed at me with apprehension, and I could feel a chill in her eyes.

‘Have you any cause to believe … Is it possible that there might be someone else?’

She heaved a deep sigh. ‘If there had been, well, fine – almost. That at least would have been an explanation. Somewhere to start looking. But no, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, Varg. I have no cause to believe any such thing.’

‘Disappoint? I don’t take that kind of case, so …’

A sudden silence descended over the gathering. I let my gaze wander from Ranveig Mæland to Bjørn Brekkhus – both had equally glum faces – and on to Karin, who also looked resigned.

As if to rid me of any last doubts, Ranveig said: ‘Of course you’ll be paid for your work. I can transfer the money as soon as I’m home. Just give me your account number and a figure.’  

She jotted them down without any indication of an impending nervous breakdown. Then looked around. ‘Everyone got what they need, coffee-wise?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ came the motley chorus from around the table.

‘I’ll just rinse the cups. Then we can go.’

‘I can help you,’ Karin said.

I caught Brekkhus’s eye. ‘Could we go outside for a moment?’

‘Dying for a fag?’ he said with an amused glint.

‘I don’t smoke. But there was something I …’

He nodded and got up, and we went out together. Ranveig watched us leave. She looked as if she would have liked to join us. What did I know? Perhaps she was dying for a fag herself?

It had begun to rain. The sea mist lay low over the countryside, and the island of Lygra had vanished in the grey haze. The heavy, vertical rain hit the ground with immense force. We stood in the porch to stay dry. Beneath us the boat bobbed up and down by the quay like a gluttonous gull weighed down with belly fat.

Brekkhus glanced at me expectantly.

‘Didn’t look like Ranveig placed much importance on what happened to Mæland’s first wife, Lea, did it.’

‘No.’

‘Could you fill me in with a few more details?’

He rocked his head from side to side. ‘There’s not a lot more than I’ve already said, and … well, I can’t see how it can have any bearing on this case.’

‘I’ll be the one to judge that.’

‘I’ve said that sentence many times myself.’

‘So you know how necessary it is. Well …’

His eyes wandered down to the boat, the quay and the small inlet. ‘As I said … They found her dressing gown and shoes down there. None of the boats was missing. Everything pointed to a drowning accident.’

‘But Ranveig mentioned something about bad bouts of depression.’

‘Yes. She’d had what doctors call post-natal depression. Both times.’

‘How serious was it?’

‘After the last round she was admitted to hospital – for a lengthy period.’

‘I see. So suicide wasn’t so unlikely …’

‘No, it wasn’t, which only underlined the gravity of the situation.’

‘But the body wasn’t found.’  

‘No, but the currents round here can be pretty dramatic.’

‘Yes, I know. But most bodies float to the surface at some point, don’t they?’

‘Of course. Over the years that followed we had reason to go back to her file on several occasions. In fact, the very next month, but the body we found was that of a much younger woman and there was no birthmark.’

‘Birthmark?’

‘Yes.’ He automatically touched the small of his back. ‘Lea Mæland apparently had a birthmark just here. Star-shaped we were told. I’d never seen it personally.’

‘And of course after a while it would be useless as a distinguishing mark.’

‘That goes without saying. Bodies that have been in the sea for more than a month … pretty drastic things happen to them and they’re often eaten.’

‘And still people call crab a delicacy.’

‘Yes, but then we don’t eat the crab’s stomach, do we.’

‘No, thank bloody Christ for that, as Martin Luther would say.’

He looked at me in surprise, a common reaction to townies’ attempts at humour around these parts.

‘Was Mons Mæland taken in for questioning during this case?’

‘We had to question him as a matter of form, but as Mons and I knew each other, someone else at the station had to take responsibility for the investigative side of the case.’

‘And the conclusion was …?’

‘No grounds for suspicion. He’d been fishing in the Lure fjord the night before and came home late. By then Lea had already gone to bed.’

‘No marital differences at the time?’

‘Not as far as we could gather, no.’

‘How well did you know each other, you and Mons?’

‘We’d met a few times when we were young, but it wasn’t until later … We became friends when we started taking our holidays here. I live over there.’ He pointed across the sound towards Lygra.

I was about to say something else when the door behind us opened and Karin came out. ‘Why are you standing out here?’

‘We’re waiting for Noah,’ I said.

She looked anxiously up at the heavens. ‘Yes, looks like the sluice gates have opened.’

‘And there’s no sign they’re going to be closed any time soon.’

Ranveig appeared behind her. ‘I was wondering if you wanted to see the annexe, Varg.’

I glanced towards the corner of the house. ‘Yes, why not? Any special reason?’

‘That’s where he has his office when we come here.’

‘OK, let’s take a peek,’ I said, stepping into the rain and pulling my jacket over my head as I dashed towards the small annexe we had seen from the sea. The others followed, both Ranveig and Karin having the foresight to carry an umbrella, Brekkhus the mettle to set off bareheaded, with water streaming down his neck. Within seconds the rain had flattened his hair, so much so that it looked painted on.

Ranveig was there first with the bunch of keys, she quickly found the right one and let us in. We ran inside shaking the water off us like stray dogs sheltering from a cloudburst.

She switched on the light and we looked about us. The annexe consisted of one room. A high table had been placed in front of the window. On it there were piles of paper, documents, writing implements and a stack of floppy discs. Along one wall there was a bunk bed, and in the corner an old-fashioned washstand in front of a small mirror. On a slim bureau there was a kettle, some mugs, a jar of instant coffee and a couple of packets of tea: English breakfast in one, green tea with lemon in the other.

‘No computer?’ I asked.

‘He uses a laptop … there.’ She pointed to the empty space between the piles of paper.

‘But he’s evidently taken it with him?’

She nodded. Brekkhus sent me an eloquent look.

‘Is there anything as advanced as an internet connection out here?’

‘No, of course not. But it wouldn’t surprise me if there was one day.’

‘So it was more like a portable typewriter, was it?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. But he could bring a whole heap of papers with him and sit working on them until he took them back home – or to the office – when the weekend was over.’

I went over to the desk and placed a hand on one pile. I looked at Ranveig. ‘May I …?’

‘By all means!’ She extended a hand.

I flicked through the top sheets of both piles. They were mostly job-related documents, which didn’t mean a lot to me. There were several property projects, among them a summer cabin to the north of Øygården and a major industrial venture in Gulen. The latter appeared to be connected with renewable energy: wind or wave power. I noticed one signature seemed to keep popping up. The name was Jarle Glosvik.

The document on top of the pile to the right was a letter adorned with a dynamic, blue logo, a windblown N merging with a P, furnished with the explanatory subtext, Norcraft Power. In the letter, which was addressed to Mæland Real Estate AS, attn. Mons Mæland, the signatory, Erik Utne, confirmed that the planned survey of Brennøy would take place as arranged on the ninth of September at twelve thirty. The company would be represented by a delegation consisting of four people, led by Utne himself.

‘He’s going to Brennøy on Wednesday,’ I said, holding up the sheet.

Ranveig took it and read. Then she nodded. ‘Let’s hope he gets there, eh?’

‘Yes … do you mean we should let the matter rest until then?’

‘No, I don’t mean that. But …’ She searched Brekkhus’s face, as if hoping for support from him.

‘What Ranveig means to say is that Mons probably should be at that meeting. If he isn’t, the whole deal could go down the plug hole.’

‘So if Mons doesn’t turn up …’

She met my eyes again. ‘Talk to Kristoffer,’ she said in a low voice.

‘There’s a lot to suggest that I should,’ I said. ‘Can I take this with me?’

She nodded.

I found nothing else of immediate interest on his provisional desk. I was given permission to open the drawers of the slim bureau as well, but all I found was a small collection of envelopes of various formats, several floppy disks with labels describing the contents, all of a work nature. Going though each of them would take time and, judging by their appearance, be of doubtful significance. In the bottom drawer I found something which gave me a stab of longing for my own office: half a bottle of aquavit, half full. But it wasn’t my favourite brand. This was Danish and had to be drunk chilled.

We left everything as it was. I cast a final glance around before leaving. On the wall there was a solitary landscape painting of the kind you inherit from parents with a simple taste in art. I had a couple myself, of Sunnfjord, where my father grew up, neither exactly masterpieces.

‘They used this place as living quarters while the cabin was being built, I suppose. Just before the war, I think it was,’ said Brekkhus.

‘His parents?’

‘No, no. Mons and Lea bought this when Kristoffer was small. Early 70s it must have been.’

‘I see.’

Then we left. The rain had let up. The light haze lay like a silk blanket over the countryside. High above us we glimpsed a white orb, the sun, like a beating heart, , still not strong enough to burst through.

While Ranveig locked the cabin I stood slightly apart with Brekkhus. ‘Tell me: What do you personally make of this disappearance?’

‘Personally?’

‘Yes, as a good friend. Do you think something has happened to him?’

Neither Ranveig nor Karin was within earshot. Nonetheless, he lowered his voice. ‘If you ask me, I think he’ll turn up again. My guess is he went underground – if I can put it like that – to avoid the unpleasant confrontation there might well be on Brennøy at this survey on Wednesday. Or …’

‘Yes?’  

‘Well … probably to avoid any improper attempts at persuasion.’

‘Are you thinking bribes?’

‘For example. But it’s impossible to know, of course. Only time will tell.’

‘And the mills of time grind slowly. As in Lea’s case.’

‘Well, the case was declared closed after a few years.’

‘She was declared dead?’

‘Yes.’

He had no more to add. Ten minutes later we were on board the boat and heading back. Brekkhus steered us safely into Feste, where a boat was moored at the quay taking on diesel, with the assistance of the helpful grocer, who checked us over one last time as we got into our cars. He was probably wondering what we were up to on the island. After all, not a lot happened in this area of Nordhordland on Monday mornings in September.

Before we went our separate ways, I said to Ranveig: ‘Could you ring Kristoffer and warn him I’ll be calling?’

‘Will do,’ she answered with a brief smile. ‘Good luck, Varg. I hope you find him before …’

‘Before what?’

‘Before the meeting on Wednesday.’

I nodded and smiled encouragingly, but even before I had got into the car the smile was gone and my mind was already churning. Or
before it’s too late
, I said to myself.

‘God knows how I’m going to find him with so little to go on,’ I said to Karin.

As we negotiated the narrow, winding road to Seim and then took the main road from Mongstad south to Bergen, I barely listened to what she said.

Before we had reached the roundabout at Knarvik my mobile rang. I gave it to Karin to answer. After a few words she looked at me. ‘It’s Ranveig. Kristoffer’s expecting you at half-past three. Is that OK?’

I looked at the clock in the car. It read 14.10. ‘So long as there are no unforeseen hold-ups … Tell her I’ll be there.’

She confirmed the arrangement, chatted for a while and then rang off.

As we drove onto Nordhordland Bridge the sun was beginning to break through the cloud. Stout beams of white sunshine fell diagonally across Byfjord, the contours of a colossal construction, erected to hold in place the safest source of energy known to man, provided that it kept burning.

I dropped Karin in Fløenbakken, after kissing her lightly on the lips and arranging a late dinner, then I drove on to Ytre Laksevåg and my first real engagement of the case so far.