The Blue Ice

by Innes, Hammond;

  ‘Yes, herr direktör. They know nothing. It is a complete mystery.’

  ‘What catchers were in at the time?’ I asked.

  ‘Was it Hval Ti?’ Jorgensen’s voice was sharp, precise. He was dealing with a subordinate now and I suddenly knew I wouldn’t like to work for the man.

  But Kielland was unperturbed by his director’s tone. ‘Yes,’ he answered, a shade surprised. ‘Yes, it was Hval Ti. Lovaas brought that whale in. It was the first of the season. How did you know?’

  ‘Never mind how I knew,’ Jorgensen answered. ‘Come up to the office and we will talk.’ And he went off through the packing sheds.

  Kielland turned to me and smiled. ‘We had better follow,’ he said.

  Jill and Curtis had both come ashore. They joined me as I moved off after Jorgensen. ‘What a horrible smell,’ Jill said. She had a handkerchief held to her nose. The delicate scent of it was obliterated by the overpowering stench.

  ‘That is money,’ Kielland chuckled. ‘Money always smells on a whaling station.’

  ‘Thank God I don’t possess much of it then,’ Curtis said with a laugh. ‘I’ve never smelt anything as bad as this – not even in the desert, and the smell was pretty bad there sometimes.’

  We went through the packing sheds where whale meat was stocked on deep shelves, tier on tier, from floor to ceiling. Then we emerged into the charnel house of the flensing deck. This was a wood-floored yard surrounded by the factory buildings. To our left the slipway dropped into the sea. To our right were the winches, their greasy hawsers littering the deck. And opposite us was the main part of the factory with the hoists for raising the blubber to the vats for boiling. Great hunks of backbone, the meat hanging in red festoons from the enormous bones, were strewn all over the deck. Men in heavy boots slithered on the blood-soaked planking as they dragged the sections of bone on long steel hooks to the hoist. The wooden boards were covered in a thick film of oily grease. Jill caught my arm. It was very slippery. We went past the winches and up a cindered slope by the boiler house and the oil storage tanks to a huddle of wooden buildings perched on a flat rock.

  In the office the smell was less penetrating. The windows looked out to the smoking chimneys and over the corrugated iron roof of the factory to the sea. ‘So it was Lovaas who brought that whale in.’ Jorgensen seated himself at the desk by the radio equipment. ‘Was that on the 8th or 9th?’

  ‘The 9th,’ Kielland answered. He had pulled forward a chair for Jill. Curtis and I seated ourselves on the edge of a desk. ‘He came in at dawn. The meat was cut out, packed and away on the meat boat by the evening.’

  ‘When did Lovaas leave?’ Jorgensen asked.

  ‘Not till the evening. He required water and fuel.’

  ‘So the message could have been placed in the meat by anyone on the station or any of the crew of Hval Ti?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about your head packer? Why doesn’t he keep an eye on things?’

  ‘He does. But the packing sheds are too big to watch everyone who comes and goes. Besides, there is no reason for him to watch the men coming through from the deck to the quay.’

  ‘They might steal meat.’

  ‘They have no need. I allow them to take as much as they wish back to their homes.’

  ‘I see.’ Jorgensen stroked his chin, massaging the blue stubble with his fingertips. A gold signet ring glittered as it caught the light. ‘It could be almost anyone on the station then?’

  ‘That is so.’

  Kielland, I felt, was not being helpful. It was clear he resented this cross-examination. Jorgensen looked at his watch. ‘Just on nine,’ he murmured and turned to the radio. A moment later the familiar ‘Ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo Bovaagen Hval’ of the catchers reporting filled the office. Whale Two reported his position and then Whale Five reported whale. Jorgensen lifted the microphone and requested Whale Ten for his position. The voice of Captain Lovaas answered: ‘Vi passerer Utvaer Fyr, herr Jorgensen. Vi er fremme klokken ti.’

  ‘What’s Lovaas say?’ I whispered to Jill.

  ‘He say he’s just passing Utvaer lighthouse,’ she answered. ‘He will be in at ten o’clock this morning.’

  An hour to go. Just one hour and he would be here in this office. He might tell his story to Jorgensen and myself together. On the other hand, Jorgensen might get him alone and persuade him to keep his mouth shut. ‘Where’s Utvaer light?’ I asked Jill. ‘North of Bovaagen?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘About twenty miles north.’

  Jorgensen had switched off. He was sitting, staring out of the window, still rubbing his hand across his unshaven chin. I got to my feet. ‘Nothing we can do till Lovaas gets in,’ I said. ‘We’ll go and have breakfast.’ I gave Curtis a nod to get him moving. Jorgensen glanced up at me. ‘Will you have yours on board?’ I asked. ‘Or on the station?’

  ‘Thank you, I will have it here,’ he replied.

  I turned to Kielland. ‘By the way, what’s this Captain Lovaas like? Is he a good skipper?’

  ‘He’s a good skytter, if that’s what you mean,’ Kielland answered. And then as I looked puzzled he said, ‘Skytter is the same as your word shooter. We call our captains that because they always operate the harpoon gun. I am not interested in anything else. With Hval To and Hval Fem it is different. They are factory boats and I choose my captains. But Hval Ti belongs to Lovaas. He is his own master and sells his catches to us on a royalty basis.’

  ‘So he does what he likes?’ I said.

  ‘On board his own ship – yes.’

  ‘That explains it,’ I murmured.

  ‘Explains what, please?’ Kielland was watching me with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Some years ago I gather he was in trouble for killing a man.’

  He nodded. ‘I have heard something about it.’

  ‘This lady is the daughter of Walter Somers – Petersen and Somers, one of the Sandefjord companies,’ Jorgensen explained, nodding towards Jill.

  ‘So!’ Kielland’s glance moved from Jorgensen to Jill.

  ‘Mind if I use your telephone?’ I asked.

  ‘No – please.’ Kielland pushed the instrument across to me.

  ‘Jill,’ I said. ‘Will you get me Fjaerland. I want to speak to a man called Ulvik – Johan Ulvik. He’ll probably be staying at the hotel there.’ I was watching Jorgensen’s face and saw the sudden interest that leapt into his eyes at the mention of our representative’s name.

  She picked up the receiver and asked for Fjaerland. There was a short silence. Jorgensen began to tap with his fingers on the blotting paper that covered the desk. ‘Er det Boya Hotel?’ Jill asked. ‘Kunne de si meg om der bor en herr Johan Ulvik der? Utmerket. Jeg vil gjeme snakke med ham. Takk.’ As she waited she straightened up and gazed out of the window. He face was set and firm. This was a different Jill. This was the girl who had worked for the Linge Company during the war. And I realised suddenly that besides being attractive, she was also very efficient. She bent down quickly as a voice crackled in the receiver. ‘Er det herr Ulvik?’ And then in English. ‘Hold the line, please. Mr Gansert wishes to speak to you.’

  As I took the receiver from her, I said, ‘You and Curtis go down and stir up breakfast. I’ll be along in a minute.’ I glanced at Curtis to make sure he’d got the point. Then I went to the telephone. ‘That you, Mr Ulvik?’ I asked.

  ‘Ulvik speaking.’ The voice was thick and faint over the telephone.

  ‘This is Gansert,’ I said. ‘Sir Clinton Mann has been in touch with you?’

  ‘Yes. That is why I am at Fjaerland.’

  ‘Good. Now listen,’ I went on. ‘I want the body of George Farnell, which is buried at Fjaerland, to be exhumed. I want a post-mortem. Is there any difficulty about that?’

  ‘The police will have to be informed of a reason.’

  ‘Tell them we have reason to believe that his death was not an accident.’ I glanced across at Jorgensen. He was gazing out of the window. But he had stopped
drumming with his fingers. He was tense and listening to every word. ‘Arrange for the exhumation to be carried out as soon as possible. Can you manage that?’

  ‘It will be difficult,’ was the answer. ‘Have you any proof to support the view that it was not an accident?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I am hoping that we shall find the proof on the body – signs of a struggle or something.’

  ‘From what I have gathered the body was a little damaged when they brought it down.’

  ‘Who signed the death certificate?’ I asked then. ‘A local doctor?’

  ‘Yes. From Leikanger.’

  ‘Then get hold of him. Put the fear of God into him. Get him to support your application for a postmortem. Tell the police that there was another man with Farnell when he fell.’

  ‘Have you spoken to this other man?’ Ulvik asked. ‘The police would be much more likely to view with sympathy our application if they—’

  ‘The name of the man who was with Farnell was Hans Schreuder, a metallurgist at one time employed by D.N.S.,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. But he’s alive and he’s been trying to get out of the country. Now get hold of that doctor and go to work on the police. I want an exhumation order signed by the time I reach Fjaerland tomorrow evening.’

  ‘But Mr Gansert – such a short time – things do not move so fast.’

  ‘I’m relying on you, Mr Ulvik,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t care how you get the exhumation order or what it costs – but get it. Do you understand?’ I put down the receiver.

  ‘So you are going to have a look at your precious Farnell, eh?’ Jorgensen said, smiling.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If it’s murder, God help those who were behind it.’ He was still smiling. ‘Maybe we’ll know more about it when Lovaas gets in.’ I turned towards the door. ‘I’m going to get some breakfast now. I’m damned hungry.’

  I went out into the sunlight and turned down the cinder track to the factory. I wanted to hurry. But I knew they would be watching me from the office window and I forced myself to walk slowly. Not until I was across the flensing deck and in the shadow of the packing sheds did I look behind me. Nobody was following me. Apparently they didn’t suspect anything.

  Curtis emerged from the companionway as I vaulted over the rail. ‘Breakfast is ready,’ he said.

  ‘To hell with breakfast,’ I answered. ‘Let go the fore and aft warps.’ I pushed past him to the hatch. ‘Carter!’ I called down.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Get the engine started – and quick.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  Curtis, without waiting to think out the reason for my order, had jumped on to the quay and tossed the for’ard warp on to the deck. The after warp followed. ‘What’s the idea?’ he asked as he clambered on board again.

  ‘Lovaas,’ I said. ‘I want to see him before Jorgensen has a chance to get to work on him.’

  The engine roared into life. ‘Half ahead,’ I ordered into the speaking tube. The propellers threshed the filthy water under our stern. The quays began to glide by. I put the wheel over. The bowsprit swung out towards the sheltering islands. And then Jorgensen emerged from the packing sheds. He’d tumbled to my plan. But too late. Already there was a gap between us and the quay and as he ran forward, it widened. ‘I’m going to have a word with Lovaas,’ I called to him. ‘On my own.’

  He stopped. His face was dark with anger. He said nothing but turned on his heel and walked back through the packing sheds. At full ahead we glided out between the islands into the milky haze of the North Ocean and headed for Utvaer Fyr. Right ahead of us two small boats were moored. One was an ordinary Norwegian fishing boat. The other attracted my attention because of its strange appearance. It looked as though it had been clumsily converted into a house boat. Two men were standing for’ard of the square deck house and steps led down into the water. As we passed bubbles broke the surface and the round helmet of a diver emerged. ‘What’s down below?’ hailed Dick, who was leaning against the starboard rail.

  Back came the reply in English, ‘An aircraft engine.’

  ‘Does everybody speak English here?’ I asked Dahler, who was in the chartroom where he had remained all the time we had been at Bovaagen Hval.

  ‘Most of them,’ he replied. ‘Any man who had a boat, you know, got across to England during the war. They even attempted to cross in rowing boats.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Some of them reached the Shetlands. Others were less fortunate. And then, of course, so many have served on English or American merchant ships, you know. Only the old men and the farmers speak no English.’ He pulled himself up into the cockpit. ‘So you go to see Lovaas?’ He leaned back and gazed out ahead. ‘I have met him once. He wished to captain one of my coastal boats. I will stay below,’ he added. ‘I do not wish to meet the man.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ I asked.

  ‘Lovaas?’ He turned his head and stared at me for a moment. ‘He is an eel.’ His lips spread into a tight, crooked smile. ‘But he does not look like one. Oh, dear me, no. He is a short man with a big stomach. He laughs a lot, but his eyes do not laugh and men are afraid of him. He has no wife or family. He lives for himself alone, you know. How much money are you prepared to offer for what Schreuder can tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t thought about it.’

  ‘If Lovaas has the information you and Jorgensen want – then he will ask a great deal.’

  ‘Perhaps he won’t know the value of the information?’ I suggested.

  Dahler laughed. ‘Lovaas always knows the value of things.’

  I sat silent after that, wondering how I was going to handle this whaling skipper. And as we glided northward over the flat calm of the sea, the haze gradually increased, until the sun was no more than an iridescent light and it began to grow cold. Visibility was being gradually reduced as the mist formed and I began to fear we might miss Lovaas.

  But ten minutes later Curtis hailed me from the bows. ‘Ship on the port quarter, skipper.’

  I peered into the opaque void that made sea and sky appear one and saw a vague shape catching the light about a point to port. I put the wheel over and as our bows swung towards it the shape became a ship. It was not unlike a small Fleet sweeper – high bows dropping to a low deck that ran level with the water to the stern, and a single raked-back funnel. She was cutting through the water at considerable speed, throwing up a high bow wave and trailing a black line of smoke from her funnel. A catwalk ran from the bridge to a level platform set right in the bows. On that platform was a gun – a harpoon gun. I swung Diviner farther to port and ran to intercept. When I was almost across her bows, I turned in to a parallel course and hailed her as she came surging past. ‘Captain Lovaas!’ I called. ‘Can I come aboard?’

  I heard the engine-room telegraph bell ring and then a man emerged on the catwalk. He was short and fat with a peaked cap set at an angle and a green jacket with silver buttons that twinkled in the strong light. ‘Who are you, please?’ he roared.

  ‘The man who described George Farnell to you,’ I answered.

  He turned and gave an order. The engine-room telegraph sounded again and the engines of the catcher died away. ‘Please come alongside,’ he called across. ‘Alongside here.’ And he pointed to the side of his ship.

  ‘I’ll handle this alone,’ I told Curtis as I closed with the other ship. ‘Keep the others on board.’ The catcher was so low built, presumably for speed, that when our fenders bumped against her iron sides I could climb on to her deck with ease. Lovaas came down on to the deck to greet me. He was, as Dahler had said, a short man with a big stomach. His bottle green jacket flapped open as he walked and the serge trousers of the same colour were stretched taut. Only a wide leather belt with a silver buckle seemed to hold his huge belly in place.

  ‘My name is Gansert,’ I said.

  He held out a big hand covered with sandy hairs. ‘I am Lovaas,’ he said. ‘We have met before, eh – as voices.’ He la
ughed. It was a fat chuckle that rumbled up from his stomach. ‘Voices,’ he repeated as though pleased. ‘You like a little drink, eh? Come on.’ He took hold of my arm. ‘Nobody come on board my boat and not have a little drink.’ He glanced down at the yacht. ‘We will tie your boat, eh? Then we proceed and waste no time while we talk. Hei! Jan! Henrik! Fortöy denne baten!’ As the two men doubled to their task, he pushed me for’ard. ‘Good boat you have,’ he said. ‘Good sea boat, eh? This is mine, too.’ He waved his hand round the ship. ‘All mine – very cheap. I could sell her for three times what I give.’ He chuckled and pressed my arm. ‘Good profit, eh? Good profit. Twice I have been with the factory ships to the Antarctic. But no more. This is better. I can do as I wish. I do not work for any damned whaling company. I work for myself and they pay me for what I bring them. Better, eh? Better, isn’t it?’ He had a way of repeating himself as though pleased over a word. ‘In here,’ he said as we reached the top of the ladder that led to the accommodation below the bridge. ‘Halvorsen!’ he called up. ‘Full fart forover sa snart den andre baten er fortöyet.’

  ‘Ja,’ came the reply.

  ‘In here, please.’ Lovaas pushed open a door. ‘My cabin,’ he said. ‘Always a damn’ disorder. No woman, you know. Never have a woman on board. Have ’em ashore, but never on board, eh? Here they are.’ He pointed to the photographs pinned to the wall above his bunk. ‘Hilda. Martha. Solveig.’ He slapped his desk. ‘I have one whole drawer full. You would not believe that, eh – a man as big as me?’ And he patted his stomach. ‘Now. You like aquavit, eh? Or brandy? I have French brandy – no duty, good stuff.’

  ‘What’s aquavit?’ I asked. I’d always heard of it as a Norwegian drink, but I’d never had it.

  ‘Never had aquavit, eh?’ He roared with laughter and slapped my arm. ‘Then you will have aquavit.’ He stooped down with a grunt and brought a bottle and two glasses out of a cupboard below the desk. Above our heads the engine-room telegraph rang and the engines throbbed into life. ‘There,’ he said, holding up the bottle. ‘Real line aquavit. See the inside of the label? The name of the ship it crossed the Line in, going south, and the name of the ship that brought it back. All good aquavit must cross the equator twice.’