Consorts of Death

by Gunnar Staalesen

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. She never made a move in that direction, either. I mean … when her husband was killed, Silje was five years old and at that time Trude was totally unfit to take care of her.’

  ‘A strange coincidence.’

  ‘What’s on your mind now?’

  ‘Listen. This Terje Hammersten, in both 1970 and 1974 he was sort of living with Jan Egil’s mother. His real mother. Furthermore, he’s Silje’s uncle, who was under suspicion of killing her father.’

  ‘Yes, and so what?’

  ‘In 1974 Jan Egil’s foster mother, Vibecke Skarnes, was sentenced to two and a half years’ imprisonment for having pushed her husband down a staircase during a row. She’s been out for ages now.’

  ‘But has this Terje Hammersten got anything to do with that case?’

  ‘Not at all, as far as I know.’

  She looked at me in desperation. ‘Now you’ve got me completely confused, Varg!’

  ‘Yes, but I can console you with the fact that I am no less confused myself. Now what I wanted to say was this … These two children, with their parallel fates, each end up on a farm in Angedalen … and today, at the police station here in Førde, where Jan Egil, from what I can see, is being charged with murder …’

  ‘But … do you think there’s some connection between all these events in Bygstad, Bergen and now Angedalen?’

  ‘For the time being I don’t think anything. But there are a conspicuous number of tangents meeting here, and the clearest of them all is Terje Hammersten.’

  ‘Right …’ She splayed open her arms. ‘Then I think you should tell the sergeant that.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking of doing, as soon as I’ve got my head straight.’

  We sat in silence for a while. Then I changed the topic. ‘But turning to you … I think the sergeant addressed you as fru …’

  She smirked again. ‘Yes, I suppose he did.’ After a short pause she added: ‘But I’m not any longer, even though I’ve kept the surname.’

  I nodded. ‘Then we’re in the same boat, too. Unless there was anything more dramatic than a divorce?’

  ‘Not at all! No brutal death on my farm, Varg.’

  She didn’t say any more, and I didn’t ask. From reception I heard a voice I recognised. Soon afterwards Hans Haavik joined us.

  I hadn’t seen him for some years, and he had put on a few more kilos. Otherwise he was the same, though in a somewhat emotional state. ‘Hi, Varg … Grethe …’ He shook hands with me, and Grethe received a hug. Then he fixed his eyes on me. ‘This is one hell of a situation, isn’t it. Have you any idea what happened?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing beyond the facts as they appear.’

  ‘And they are …?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know much more than what’s in the papers. But I went with them to get Johnny boy – Jan Egil – down from the mountain last night. For some reason it was me he had asked to talk to.’

  He grimaced and nodded. ‘He must have had positive memories of you from the last time. I came as fast as I could after Grethe called me yesterday. But the worst thing of all, do you know what that is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I was here last weekend and visited them. I’m going to be regarded as a bloody witness in the case.’

  ‘You visited them?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know if you remember, but Klaus was in fact my second cousin. I’ve always kept in touch with them. I’ve followed Jan Egil year on year, and it’s been a pleasure to observe his behaviour.’

  I hurled my arms in the air. ‘And there was I … imagining I would have to travel round the district to make enquiries, but here we have the main man in our very midst. Come on!’

  ‘Well, what should I say? There was nothing to suggest that there was anything brewing. As you know, it was me who arranged for Klaus and Kari to take him, but you can imagine what I think about that idea now!’

  ‘Yes, but no one could guess that something like this would happen.’

  ‘No, and he settled in quickly here. I’m sure you remember. I brought him here myself, in September that year. Later I popped by at least once every six months, even more often in the first years, to see how things were developing. And it was all positive. Of course, it could be pretty isolated here, especially in the winter, and there weren’t that many children of his age around, either. But after a while a girl turned up in one of the neighbouring farms, and of course there were a few others, too. After he started school. But … well, I won’t hide the fact that he was a struggle for them. Klaus and Kari, I mean. He was a restless fellow. Hyperactive you would call him nowadays, with huge emotional problems. Not much surprise, of course, with the trauma in his past, both from the children’s home, if we can use such a sophisticated term for it, and from – well, you know. But it got better bit by bit, and now he had started upper school, a year behind, chosen his career path. Electronics, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘And so you visited them that weekend?’

  ‘Yes, I drove here on Friday after work and returned on Sunday night. I hadn’t been here since around Easter time, but I finally pulled myself together and, well …’ He opened his palms. ‘I’m glad I did now. In fact it was the last time I saw them. Kari and Klaus.’

  ‘And you didn’t notice any cause for unease, an atmosphere?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Did you spend the night there?’

  ‘Yes, I always did. The only thing I can say … Jan Egil was hardly there at all. He came home on Friday evening, but then he stayed in his room as soon as we’d eaten. Said he was busy with something. On Saturday he went to a party and didn’t come home until late. I heard him climbing the stairs.’

  ‘Party?’

  ‘Yes. At the youth club. Nothing more than that, I believe.’

  ‘And on Sunday?’

  ‘He had a long lie-in. Until twelve o’clock. After we’d eaten he was off again. But this time he went out. He was going to Silje’s, he said.’

  ‘On Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘Yes. And I didn’t see any more of him. I left at about eight, not to get back home too late, and by then he hadn’t returned. You can imagine the shock I had when Grethe rang me on Tuesday and told me …’

  ‘Yes, same here. But … did you see anything of Silje that weekend?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘What’s the relationship between her and Jan Egil? Are they sweethearts?’

  He rocked his head back and shrugged. ‘Possible. They’ve played together since they were very small. They went to school together, if not in the same streams. You’ll have to ask …’ He caught himself, and I knew what he had been going to say. We couldn’t ask Klaus or Kari any more, though.

  ‘Do you know that she …?’ I stopped myself in the middle. As Hans Haavik had said himself it looked as though he was going to be a witness, and in that event it would be wrong of me to say too much. Instead I expressed myself as neutrally as possible. ‘This cousin of yours … what sort of person was he?’

  ‘Hmm, what can I say? They were very ordinary people, both Kari and Klaus. They ran their farm, and Kari did her night shifts at the central hospital here in Førde as a state registered nurse.’

  ‘Night shifts?’

  ‘That was the best way of combining work with the farm.’

  ‘What kind of farming was it?’

  ‘They had sheep, cows, calves, bit of fruit and berries. Milk subsidies were important, goes without saying. But they made ends meet. Why are we talking about this actually?’

  ‘So Klaus and Jan Egil were often alone then? At night, I mean.’

  He gave me an old-fashioned look. ‘I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are, Varg?’

  ‘I’m not insinuating anything at all. But my experience is that very few murders take place without some kind of motive and …’

  He interrupted me. ‘Oh yes! You don’t need to expand. I’ve got the point. But d
oes that explain why he killed Kari, too?’

  ‘No. It’s difficult to understand. Almost incomprehensible. But that’s precisely why … there must have been some strong emotions under the surface.’

  He sighed aloud and cast around desperately. ‘Well, I don’t know.’ He looked at Grethe. ‘Have you any ideas?’

  She shook her head. ‘None, Hans. None at all.’

  We sat in silence. I looked at my watch and stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment. I just have to see if I can make a call.’

  I went into reception, and, with extreme reluctance, the officer let me use his telephone. ‘Make it snappy though!’ he added with a stern glare.

  I dialled Cecilie’s number. When she answered, I said, half-turning to the officer: ‘We have to be quick – did you find anything?’

  ‘You won’t believe it, Varg.’

  I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach region. ‘Try me.’

  ‘Mette Olsen moved two years ago from Bergen to Sunnfjord.’

  ‘To Sunnfjord!’

  The policeman sent me a patronising look as though I didn’t know where it was.

  ‘Apparently to a disused farm belonging to the family.’

  ‘Yes, everyone has a brother or a sister living in the Sunnfjord district, we all know that. Whereabouts?’

  ‘It’s in Jølster. I’ve got hold of a detailed description. The farm’s called Leitet and is situated by Kjøsnes fjord. You turn off the main road at a place called Sunde.’

  ‘I know where it is.’

  ‘Well, you’ll find her there.’

  ‘As the crow flies, ten to twenty kilometres from where her son has lived for the last ten years … right, thank you very much. Did you find out anything else?’

  ‘You didn’t ask, but I checked out Terje Hammersten anyway.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He still lives in Bergen.’

  ‘OK. Thanks again. You’re a brick!’

  We rang off, and the officer behind the counter turned right round on the chair to face me. ‘I couldn’t help hearing what you said. You’ll have to tell him … in there.’ He signalled with his head towards the offices inside. ‘Tell Standal.’

  ‘Naturally. Have the KRIPOS officers come?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, but they went to the crime scene first.’

  ‘I see. Just tell Standal that I can talk to him when he’s free.’

  I walked slowly back to the others. Another surprising development to digest … But before I could say anything a door at the back opened and out they came in single file. Silje and what I assumed were her parents, a woman who must have been her solicitor, a policewoman, Reidar Ruset, Sergeant Standal, two further officers and bringing up the rear, Jens Langeland.

  Standal fixed his eyes on me and said: ‘He’s asking to talk to you, Veum. Alone.’

  26

  Jens Langeland came over to me and we shook hands. ‘Veum … Long time, no see. But I heard about your exploits yesterday. It sounds like you averted a disaster.’

  ‘Hmm. He must have trusted me for some reason.’

  ‘It’s not customary for us to let you slip in to see him on your own,’ Standal broke in. ‘But since he insisted with such vehemence, and because of what happened yesterday, we’ll take the risk.’

  ‘I’ll see what he has to say. May I exchange a couple of words with Langeland in private first?’

  Standal eyed me sceptically, and I added: ‘Well, after all, he is his solicitor, isn’t he.’

  ‘Fine, fine …’

  ‘I need a bit of background info before I go in.’

  Standal nodded, and Langeland and I walked off from the others.

  He had kept his characteristic wading-bird-like appearance: tall, lean and slightly stooped. His nose had a pronounced curve. His hair had thinned, with deep inroads, and there were the first signs of silvering around his ears.

  I had followed him from a distance. He had had a dazzling career, thus far. The talent I had seen sprouting when he defended Vibecke Skarnes had later blossomed. He achieved his great breakthrough in what was known as the Hilleren case in 1978. After confessing, a man was charged with murdering his neighbour. He indicated where he had dumped the body into the sea, but the body was never found, and Langeland had him acquitted, despite the fact that he maintained his guilt to the very end. Langeland’s final summing up of the case had gone down in court history as a dazzling defence plea using guilt and atonement as central concepts and emphasising the significance of avoiding a possible travesty of justice. After this Langeland was taken to the capital by a large firm of lawyers, and his career as a defence barrister had taken off in earnest. Today he belonged to the highest stratum of defence counsels, among the first to be called in when spectacular cases were mooted anywhere in the country. In this light, the double murder in Angedalen was not at all untypical, with the additional piquant minor detail that ten years earlier he had been the defence counsel for Jan Egil’s foster mother in another but nowhere near as sensational murder case.

  ‘I just have to ask you, Langeland. Vibecke Skarnes … how did she get on?’

  ‘I know very little about her, Veum. I managed to trace her this morning to tell her what had happened before she read it in the papers.’

  ‘You met her?’

  ‘No, I told her on the phone. She lives in Ski, just outside Oslo.’

  ‘How long has she been out?’

  ‘She was released after a year and a half, and since then hasn’t needed any legal help, to my knowledge.’

  ‘So she didn’t hire you for this case?’

  ‘No, not at all. I was, of course, Jan Egil’s solicitor even back then. It was quite a complicated case, let me tell you, from a purely legal point of view. Having a conviction did not relieve Vibecke Skarnes of the parental responsibility she had as a foster mother. Nevertheless, she chose not to insist on keeping it, primarily out of consideration for Jan Egil himself. She thought it would be untenable for Jan Egil to be looked after in a foster home in the intervening period and then return to her after she had served her sentence. That was why she asked me to take care of the case, both the legal and other aspects. I was myself here in Førde to assess the new foster home before it was approved.’

  ‘So you met the two – deceased?’

  ‘Yes, but just the once, in September 1974. Subsequently neither they nor Jan Egil had any need for my services until … well, now. The arrangement was that social services had registered my name, and they notified me last night about what had happened.’

  ‘Does that mean that you’ve been officially appointed to represent Jan Egil?’

  He flashed a quick smile. ‘I’m certainly taking the case, Veum. This is a boy I will do my utmost to help.’

  ‘Good. So we’re on the same team. If you should need my assistance …’

  He nodded and gave me a searching look. ‘Don’t rule out the possibility. Let’s come back to that as soon as we’ve been given a rough summary of the situation.’

  ‘So who actually has parental responsibility now?’

  ‘Officially, it’s still Vibecke Skarnes.’

  ‘But she …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m thinking about what happened in 1974 when she confessed to killing her husband …’

  ‘No, no. She always claimed that it was self-defence, that it was an accident …’

  ‘Yes, of course, but – Johnny boy – Jan Egil was the only person who was present at the incident, as far as we know. And now there is another murder – a double murder – here, again with Jan as the only person in the house at the time …’

  ‘We need further information about that particular point, Veum. He tells quite a different story.’

  ‘What does he say?’

  ‘I assume you will hear it if he’s asked to talk to you. Besides, there is, in fact, another person who has confessed.’

  ‘I know, and that was exactly why I wanted to ask you: is it conceivable that the
same thing has happened as in 1974?’

  ‘I’m not quite with you there.’

  ‘Is it conceivable that the mother assumed the guilt for what her own son – or adopted son, that is – had done that time, to spare him the psychological damage, in the same way that another girl is doing now?’

  ‘No, no. That’s just speculation, Veum. I thought you said we were on the same team?’

  ‘A last question, Langeland. Did Jan Egil ever find out that Vibecke Skarnes was not his real mother?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. The only person who can answer that is he himself. And I doubt if this is the right time to broach the matter.’

  ‘Right, but then … let’s talk later, Langeland.’

  ‘Let’s do that.’

  I nodded and turned to go. Silje and her parents had gone into another office, followed by Grethe, the woman I presumed was her solicitor and the policewoman. Standal and Ruset stood waiting for us to finish.

  ‘OK, Veum,’ said Standal. ‘Ready to go in?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘You did a good job up there last night. That’s why I’m permitting this. But I expect something in return.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A confession, Veum. It would be good if you could manage that.’

  Jens Langeland gave an admonitory cough behind us. ‘Er, I don’t think you should be leading Veum on, Standal.’

  Standal, peeved, glared at the nationally celebrated barrister. He had a fair inkling of what would be awaiting him if they ever met in court. ‘Of course not, herr advokat Langeland. We will take note.’

  Then he exerted his authority and led me to the partition door. And, without saying another word, escorted me in to see Jan Egil.

  27

  A uniformed officer stood to attention as we entered. Standal nodded to him. ‘It’s OK, Larsen. Veum may speak to the witness on his own. But I would like you to stay right outside. And, Veum, should you need assistance for some reason, all you have to do is say.’

  I nodded. The two policemen left the room and closed the door behind them. I was alone with Jan Egil.

  For the first time I had a decent look at him. The night before, up in Trodalen he had been wrapped up in an anorak and hood, and when we came back down to Angedalen he was put in the other police car. Now I saw an overgrown seventeen-year-old I would never have recognised if I had met him in the street. He seemed to be taller than me, even when he was sitting, with disproportionately long arms. He had red scars and fresh spots in the area around his mouth and down his neck, and his facial hair was blond and downy, which further strengthened the impression of a grumpy cockerel. It was the taut, slightly aggrieved, expression around his mouth that I seemed to recall, and when my eyes met his, I caught a glimpse of the demonstratively silent and aggressive Jan that was ingrained within him. He looked down with a scowl on his face. He sat hunched over the table with the palms of his hands on the surface as though he could launch himself any minute and dive forward. It was only when Standal and the other policeman had closed the door that some of the tension seemed to leave his body. He raised his head and scrutinised my face, perhaps in an attempt to raise me from his database, as I had done with him.