‘So you’re the permanent go-between now, are you?’
He shrugged. ‘He prefers the shadows. I think it’s a thing he picked when he worked for MOSSAD. Have you got any coffee?’
I told him no and then asked if there was anything else.
‘Not from our side. Is there anything else you need?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve already proved my father did it so maybe I should just quit while I’m ahead.’
‘You can’t, not until you’ve found him.’
‘Look, if Bergström’s so friendly with the Israeli secret service then why the fuck does he need me?’
‘What makes you think he tells me anything?’ Tobias picked up the kettle and went through to the bathroom. ‘He’s always been the “need to know” sort and that’s to your benefit as well as his. If you’re caught then you can’t tell them anything. If he’s caught then you can deny knowing anything about it.’
If that was supposed to reassure me then it did exactly the opposite. What was I getting into that meant I should worry about getting caught? Tobias came back and plugged in the kettle. ‘I don’t suppose you have any lemon tea?’
I told him I’d already drunk all the lemon tea. He settled for a camomile. ‘What’s really bothering you, Brigit?’
‘I’m running errands for a mass murderer, and you have to ask.’
‘He kills Nazis, no one else.’
‘He wants to kill my father, and he’s not a Nazi.’
‘He’s a traitor, and that’s a hundred times worse.’
‘He didn’t do it.’
‘He confessed.’
‘He confessed to protect someone.’
He stopped drinking his tea and raised both eyebrows. ‘Now, this is a new twist. Who?’ But he didn’t need an answer. ‘You need to leave Silje Ohnstad out of this. She’s a fucking hero, and you’re… well, you’re you.’
‘I want to speak to Bergström.’
‘You can speak to him as much as you like after I’m gone.’ He reached into his jacket and took out a large white envelope. ‘Your pictures from Fólkvangr. Let him know if you find anything useful. Thanks for the tea.’
After he’d left I opened the envelope and spread the photographs across the bureau. There was a magnifying glass inside; I wasn’t sure if Bergström was trying to be helpful or sarcastic. I sat down and began examining each picture, without having much of an idea what I was looking for. Silje Ohnstad was in almost every one; it was as if she’d snapped her fingers one day and a whole village sprang from nowhere to give her life an attractive backdrop. I discarded most of the photographs quickly, but kept coming back to the last moments of Josef Kleppe.
I looked closely at Silje embracing her lover, both their dresses stained with the old man’s blood. Even without the magnifying glass I could see where Kleppe’s head had struck the stone monument as he fell. One of the stones had been dislodged and his blood had stained its lower edge. I guessed that the stone had come free and someone had replaced it upside down, though it seemed a strange thing to do while someone lay dying in the street. I looked again at Silje Ohnstad and decided that perhaps it wasn’t so strange. Everything I’ve read about her said she loved the monument as much as she loved her mother. But if she was so callous as to fix the stones while Josef Kleppe expired on the ground then surely she would have made a better job of it. I realised that Tobias was right about being focussed. I had documents, notebooks, photographs and God knows what else, but not a clue what to do with any of it. Most of the stuff didn’t make any sense to me, and even while I was trying to understand it there was a little voice inside my head repeating the single inescapable truth:
He confessed.
And that was all that mattered.
I thought about calling Bergström, telling him he might as well kill me now. Erik Brenna was as guilty as they come, but I wasn’t going to deliver my father to a serial killer. I picked up the phone and it rang in my hand. The receptionist connected me, and an unwelcome voice ruined my morning.
‘Miss Fossen.’
I hated it when he called me that. ‘Well, this is a surprise. Your delivery boy only left an hour ago.’
‘Yes, he called me. He said that you perhaps needed an incentive.’
‘What I need is for you to leave me alone.’
‘Fortunately, I foresaw this weakening in your resolve so I have taken steps.’
I could hear things in the background: bottles rattling, people talking, wheels creaking under dead weight. At first I thought he was in a bar, but then I heard someone say anthracycline. I felt my heart sink to my stomach. I asked him where he was, even though I already knew.
‘Someone would like to speak to you.’ The line crackled as he handed the phone to someone else.
‘Brigit?’ Her voice was quiet, frightened.
‘Doctor Nese. Are you all right? Has he—’
‘He hasn’t done anything.’
‘Is he alone?’
‘There are five people with him. One of them is carrying flowers, which is a lovely touch, don’t you think?’
Someone told her to be careful with her answers.
‘Thank you for remodelling my apartment by the way.’
I said I was sorry. ‘I was angry. I thought—’
‘I’m the one who should be sorry. Wish you hadn’t knocked holes in the walls though. The plasterer was curious; what did you use?’
‘Claw hammer.’
‘I didn’t even know I had one of those. How did you find it?’
I wiped my eyes. ‘I was looking for money.’
‘Right. Well, water under the bridge.’ I could hear it wasn’t.
‘Brigit, they want me to tell you that your mother is here.’
The world slowed to a halt.
‘Mr Bergström found her living on the streets, not too far from the hospital. He and his associates brought her back.’
‘Kicking and screaming.’
‘Well, she thought he was going to kill her.’
‘Can I speak to her?’
Someone whispered in her ear.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Sorry, not yet.’
Bergström took the phone from her, and spoke quietly. ‘As you can see, I have done you something of a service. I am hoping you will return the favour.’
‘I want to speak to her.’
‘All in good time.’
‘I want to speak to her now.’
‘Oh, it’s not me; it’s her. She doesn’t want to speak to you.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Perhaps she thinks you betrayed her to me. After all, you are helping me exact justice from her husband.’
‘Is that what you told her? Put her on the phone!’
‘As I said, all in good time. Now, how are you progressing?’
I answered promptly. ‘You need to find someone else.’
‘There is no one else. There was; now there’s only you.’
‘I’ve never done this before; I have no idea where to begin.’
‘You have already begun. You have gathered information. The answer to his whereabouts is somewhere on that desk.’
He was still watching me. The curtains were drawn, so there was a camera somewhere in the room.
‘I have some advice for you,’ he said. ‘The key to any investigation is to look at the information and find what doesn’t fit. You say your father didn’t do it? Then the first thing that doesn’t fit is his confession. The answer is in the things that don’t make sense.’
He hung up the phone, thinking he’d helped me.
I cried for one minute and then twisted a pinch of skin on my arm because Monica wasn’t there to do it for me. I had a shower, called room service and ordered a round of sandwiches and four bottles of water.
Then I started reading the notes again, from the very beginning.
Chapter 35
Look for things that don’t fit.
I stayed up for the rest of the ni
ght, slowly reading everything Klein had left me. I wrote things down, thought about them, crossed them off and wrote something else.
Things that didn’t fit.
Gruetzmacher was top of my list. He was anointed by Hitler himself; after Iscariot – whatever that was – he could have gone anywhere under the shadow of the Reich. He could have had his pick of commands but he chose a small harbour town in Norway. That didn’t fit.
And according to Klein’s notes his real decline into madness and alcoholism began soon after meeting Silje Ohnstad. He was in love with her, obviously. And his love for her destroyed him. But that didn’t make sense. He had a family, he was renowned as a formidable tactician and an exemplary leader of men. On the other hand he was a scientist who believed in witchcraft – and a paedophile.
Yes, Gruetzmacher was top of my list of things that didn’t fit.
The next misfit was a little closer to home: Bergström. He had resources, access to money and manpower. He was still working for MOSSAD so why did he need me? With the Israeli Secret Service at his back he could have dispatched my father years ago; he hadn’t. Why?
I rolled this over in my head while I showered, brushed my teeth and checked the holes where my wisdom teeth used to be. I thought about calling the hospital and talking to Doctor Nese. I sat down at the desk and munched my way slowly through three packets of biscuits.
Bergström hadn’t killed Erik Brenna because he knew he was innocent.
Ridiculous.
But unlike everything else, it seemed to fit.
I called Dagrun to make sure she was all right, and to put things right. She answered straight away, almost as if the phone was already next to her ear.
‘Brigit?’
‘I’m sorry about your apartment. It was stupid and selfish and I shouldn’t have done it. I wish I hadn’t. You’re the only person who has ever been kind to me.’
‘Oh Brigit, I’m sure that’s not true.’
‘Don’t patronise me. It is true. You’re my only friend and I don’t want you to stop being that, so I’m sorry. I’ll get a job and I’ll pay for the damage.’
‘Twenty thousand Krone?’
Shit. That’s a lot. ‘I don’t know; I’ll find the money.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to. If we’re going to be friends then I have to—’
‘We can’t be friends, and it’s not about the apartment. It wouldn’t be right. I’m your mother’s doctor and—’
‘Then fuck you.’
‘Excuse me?’
It’s funny how you can hear yourself saying things that you think are hurting other people when you know, deep down, you’re just gutting yourself. ‘You heard me.’
She hung up; I would have too.
I wanted to hit my head against the desk. In the end I punished myself with a cold shower which I took with my clothes on.
I gave her another hour to forgive me and then I tried calling her again. She didn’t pick up so I tried once more and gave up. I didn’t know what I was going to say anyway. Instead I called Bergström.
‘Yes?’
‘I need something.’
‘Go on.’
‘I need you to find Iscariot for me.’
He was silent for a few moments, then he said, ‘Iscariot?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing in here about it. All it says is that Gruetzmacher came to Norway from Iscariot. You asked me to look for things that didn’t fit. Gruetzmacher was a career soldier used to fighting on the front lines. He was a glory hound so why would he settle for Norway?’
‘You make it sound as though Norway was a pushover. I can assure you, Miss Fossen, that—’
‘The Germans didn’t expect us to give them a bloody nose. So if Gruetzmacher thought Norway would fall into line, then why would he waste his time coming here?’
‘Unless?’
‘Unless he came here for some other reason aside from the war. He was looking for something. If I trace back through his life then maybe I can figure out what it was and why he came here to get it.’
‘It sounds like a waste of time.’
‘I don’t think it is and I don’t think you think so either, because here’s something else that doesn’t make sense, Mr Bergström: you.’
He didn’t say anything; he just waited for me to make an even bigger fool of myself. ‘You could have found my father yourself, years ago. You didn’t and I know why.’
‘Surprise me, Miss Fossen.’
‘Because you don’t think he did this either.’
Again the silence; I waited for him to tell me what my life would be like now that I’d confronted him, disappointed him, laid out the truth as I saw it or how I wanted it to be. He could hound me across Norway. He could crush me. He could kill me.
I don’t think I’d ever felt more alive.
‘I will find you the information on Iscariot,’ he said, and then he was gone without another word. I exhaled and almost passed out. I’d looked inside Jesper Bergström and I wasn’t sure if that made me very brave or extraordinarily stupid.
Chapter 36
That night I dreamed of Nazis and orchids and saw my father hanging from an oak tree. I woke at eight, exhausted and drenched in my own sweat.
I got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. I managed a coffee, which I barely tasted, and left the rest untouched. The dining room started to shrink away from me, and I could feel a vein in my neck pulsing so hard it hurt.
I had to get back to Trondheim.
I needed to fix things with my mother and Dagrun. I needed to see them and make sure they were both okay.
I went back upstairs, packed all my things, and returned to settle the bill.
Outside the hotel, Jesper Bergström was waiting for me.
He was alone as far as I could tell, a huge man who curved his spine to tower over me. His eyes pierced me like needles; his stature, his presence – honed to make me believe he could kill me with a whisper.
‘Your mother is fine,’ he said, and then as an afterthought, he tried a smile.
It made my blood freeze.
‘You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to threaten them.’
‘You needed an incentive.’ The smile didn’t fade; I wished it would. He cast his eye over my rucksack, but didn’t ask me where I was going. ‘She’s back at the hospital now, instead of dying in a gutter somewhere. In many ways I’ve done you both a favour.’
He said it without a trace of irony. If I hadn’t been so terrified I would have laughed.
‘A favour? She’ll think I betrayed her, betrayed my father.’
‘Then once this is over you can go back and tell her how wrong she is.’
And there was the irony.
When I was very young, Monica told me that Cleaver was a dwarf troll, that he could make himself as big as a house, that he didn’t need to sleep and that he would materialise as soon as a child disobeyed its mother.
I wondered how he’d travelled here so fast.
‘I have something for you.’ He handed me a small envelope and quickly put his hand back in his pocket. Was he armed? I didn’t know. Probably.
‘What is this?’ I said. ‘I asked for stuff about Iscariot.’
‘You did.’ His cheek twitched; the smile was wearing him out.
‘This can’t be all of it.’
‘It isn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s none of it, in fact.’
I tore open the envelope and pulled out a small long booklet stuffed with slips of thin paper. I must’ve looked confused because he sighed loudly.
‘It’s a plane ticket. No one in the Norwegian government will talk to us about Iscariot, so I had to contact friends further afield.’
‘Where am I going?’ I said.
‘Germany. Dresden to be precise. There’s a man there who will tell you all about it if you ask him nicely. You do know how to ask nicely don’t you, Miss Fossen?’
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘I can’
t go to Germany, not right now. Just give me a few days in Trondheim, then I’ll go anywhere you—’
His smile vanished, and I was oddly grateful it had.
So, Germany then.
Chapter 37
When Jesper Bergström kicked open the door to Jon Ohnstad’s barn, he found Silje Ohnstad had not throttled the life from Freya Dorfmann as his young imagination had led him to believe. Instead, he discovered Silje standing inside, gazing up into the rafters, one hand holding her dress at her waist, the other laced tightly through Freya’s hair. Freya knelt in front of her, holding her firm by her wide, white hips.
Jesper froze on the spot, unable to comprehend this new, terrible form of Nazi humiliation Freya was being forced to endure. His eyes searched the twilight for a tool he could use as a weapon…
‘Jesper Bergström!’ Silje screamed. She stumbled back, crushing her father’s prize flowers, trying to pull her dress down over her knees. ‘What do you think you are doing?’
Freya cried out in surprise and jumped to her feet. ‘It is very ungentlemanly to spy on people, Jesper,’ she said, trying to keep her voice soft. She wiped the heel of her hand back and forth across her mouth, much as she does, Jesper thought, after we share an orange. Her actions on this occasion seemed more frantic, somewhat shamed… He thought perhaps the traitor had given her the orange and Freya had chosen to share it with her, instead of him.
This betrayal – from the woman whom he fully intended to marry when he reached the weathered age of twelve – was almost too much to bear. He swallowed, tears in his eyes. ‘I thought she would do you harm so I came to save you.’
‘My God, this again! How many times—’ Silje tried frantically to fasten the buttons on her dress. Her hands were trembling.
‘Silje, please.’ Freya turned to face the sound of Jesper’s breathing. ‘I have said this to you before, Jesper. Silje is my friend, my very best friend, and she would never—’
‘You said I was your best friend.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes,’ Silje said sourly, ‘did you?’
‘On your birthday you put your hands on my face because you said I was your best friend and you wanted to remember what all your friends looked like.’
The Quisling Orchid Page 34