The Red Mitten

by Stuart Montgomery

  “We mean he spent time in a Scottish prison -”

  Cally was already on her feet. “You just can’t be serious! Richard was the most law-abiding man I’ve ever met -”

  The anger in her voice provoked the policeman into saying perhaps more than he should have. “Your friend killed a man - and spent time in jail as a consequence.”

  Cally had heard enough of this shite. “We have been chased all over the mountains by mad people who have been trying to kill us - who have killed our friend. But you obviously don’t believe anything we’ve told you. And now you think that we are the bad guys, and that our friend was a murderer? Use your heads!”

  She walked over to the window and then turned around, her face scarlet with fury. “When I first met Richard I was a resident in a home for what were called “disturbed children”. Richard was a volunteer helper. We were the hard cases, the kids they called “impossible to place”. Some of us were angry. Some of us were violent. All of us were fucked-up. And every single one of us was vulnerable. Anyone working with us would have been police-checked to the highest level. You are wasting your time - chasing the wrong person.”

  The police officers were impassive, as if they were waiting to see what else Cally would tell them.

  Neep spoke into the silence. They all had to strain to make out his words. “It’s obvious what has been happening. The people who attacked us are the same people who tried to blow up Vesterheim hotel last night. And they also killed Hawkeye. He worked for the road company and was probably stealing explosives from it.”

  Cally was taken by surprise. Where the hell had Neep got that from, the stuff about stealing explosives?

  The older policeman said, “The facts do not support what either of you has just said. In the first place, your missing friend’s prison record was flagged up on our computer system - and it is a valid record. Another fact is that your friend stayed at Vesterheim hotel on the night that slogans were painted there. He has also had recent access to Espedalen church and to a hostel in Slangenseter, and in both of those places anti-immigrant slogans have been painted. And finally there is the fact that the explosive found in Vesterheim was of a different type to that used by the road company. It is probably part of a consignment that was stolen some time ago from Svalbard - which is in northern Norway.”

  Inspector Dahle, perhaps feeling vindicated by the recent turn of events, was clearly enjoying his moment. He paused for effect and then turned to Cally. “So I suggest you now sit down and cooperate, and answer our questions in full.”

  Chapter 36

  It took Martha Skaugen twenty-five minutes to get to the house shown in the photograph, the house with the young girl standing in front of it, the clever girl who had surprised all her class-mates by quitting school at the age of fifteen and leaving the valley, telling everyone she was going to work in a mission school in Africa.

  Martha could have driven to the house in fifteen minutes. But she stopped at the filling station near the Slangenseter turn-off, and after topping up with fuel she made a discreet enquiry about the present occupant of the old manse that was situated on the side-road that sloped down to Olstappen lake. The attendant confirmed it was now owned by a woman who had moved back to the valley a few years ago, the daughter of the former pastor, the stern old man whose sermons had always frightened the school kids. The attendant knew a plumber who had recently done some work there and he had told her that the place was still furnished exactly as it had been in the old man’s day.

  Before getting out of her car at the house, Martha checked the photo. It was unmistakably the same place. She rang the bell and waited, then rang it again.

  There was no answer, even though a car was parked on the driveway.

  She tried the bell a third time, and when there was still no reply she scribbled a note: I know about you and Håkon - about Uganda, and the child you had, Håkon’s child. I think you know where my brother is now. I need to talk to you. Martha Skaugen.

  She added her phone number before pushing the note into the mailbox beside the door. Then she drove away, back to her brother’s house, to meet the present pastor – and to try the key that she had found in the elk head. Since leaving Håkon’s place earlier she had been thinking about it, and she thought she knew what it opened.

  * * *

  Agnes Tvete waited several minutes after hearing Martha Skaugen drive off. Then she walked painfully to the door and checked her mailbox. After reading the note she went back into the house and got her phone, a cheap pay-as-you-go model that she had bought with cash. She chose a number from her contacts.

  “We may have a problem,” she said. “Observe usual care in talking on a public network, please, but it looks like someone has found something at our old friend’s place.”

  “But I searched it only yesterday – for the second time.”

  “It doesn’t matter. But I think you should make sure the Lillehammer premises are clean, as a precaution. There is some material there that should be moved right away.”

  “Surely this job is not going to get even messier? It was all supposed to be so easy.”

  “Be careful what you say. And keep the faith. It’s been a long time, but we’re almost there.”

  “Okay, I can handle Lillehammer. I’m in the car now. I was on my way to you - I thought you couldn’t manage.”

  “I’ll just have to manage. Anyway, the others will do all the physical work. How long will it take you to get to Lillehammer?”

  “Three-quarters of an hour, I expect.”

  “Try to do it in less. Do you have the uniform with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wear it. You’ll seem less suspicious.”

  Chapter 37

  Elin Olsen stood outside the hospital entrance, glad to be in the fresh air. She had paced back and forth for ten minutes, taking deep breaths to calm herself down, before using her mobile phone to call for a taxi. Now, while she waited for the car to arrive, she checked for new text messages.

  She hoped there would be something from Kari Gaustad. She had tried repeatedly to contact the councillor during the night, to tell her about the hotel closure and to offer what help she could. But she had received no new texts at all; nothing since the one from Ash yesterday afternoon: On train to Oslo. Missing you already. Jotunheim flight not worthwhile - no sign of hunter.

  She would see Ash in a few days. With luck the hotel would be open again by then, and this nightmare would be over. Or, at least, the nightmare would have entered a new phase – for who would want to come and stay at Vesterheim now, after a bomb threat? Especially when there had been an actual explosion in a cabin just along the valley.

  She was still no wiser as to why these Scottish people had got caught up in that explosion. All sorts of rumours were circulating. The Scottish girl had clearly not wanted to talk about it. But it almost seemed as if the police were treating the Scots like prisoners. When Elin had walked past the two officers on her way out of the ward, they had glared at her as if she herself was a criminal.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her taxi, a garish green Subaru driven by a bearded young man wearing sunglasses. He seemed to be on a mission to prove to the world that driving a taxi around Lillehammer was the coolest thing imaginable.

  She got into the car and said, “Can you take me up to Gamle Liensvegen please? It’s near Messenlivegen.”

  “Yep, I know it. South-east quadrant. Just off the 216.”

  If he had added Ten-four, good buddy it would have sounded just right.

  Elin was relieved when he kept silent during the drive up the hill. She realised she must look too dull and boring to be worthy of his conversation.

  Soon after they had gone past the big S-bend that marked the boundary between town and suburb, they had to wait behind a bus when it stopped to pick up some cross-country skiers. Elin knew they would be on their way to the tracks up at Sjusjøen, keen to enjoy the good snow.

  She had
a flash of memory, of high-school ski races, of a time when she’d been fit enough to do the long-distance events as well as the biathlon. A lot of years had passed since then, she thought ruefully, and a lot of kilos had been added.

  Then the taxi was held up again, this time by a woman at a pedestrian crossing. She was pushing a pram, a chunky off-road model with big matter-of-fact wheels that seemed to be the woman’s way of making a statement: No way is motherhood going to slow me down - I’m still me. Being a mother around here must be pretty easy, Elin thought. Nice area. Good schools. No dismembered animals or fake executions. No bombs. No need to come up with an answer to the question the bank manager would soon be asking: What now?

  Maybe Ash was right. It wouldn’t be such a bad life.

  When they reached the street where Ash lived, Elin could see that the snow-blower hadn’t yet been along it. So after she paid the taxi driver and watched him speed noisily off to his next glamorous mission, she decided to move her car out of the garage right away. Get it on to the main road before the blower arrived and dumped a ton of snow over the driveway.

  She went into the big double-garage, using the outside keypad to open the door and then the inside keypad to disarm the klaxon alarm. Ash had such a thing about protecting his expensive car.

  She backed her own car out on to the street and drove it round the corner to a little lay-by. A red van was already there. The postman clearly also wanted to avoid the snow-blower. As she walked back to the house Elin could see him in his red jacket, delivering to a property on the other side of the road. He waved, and seemed to want her to stop, so she stood beside Ash’s mail box and waited for him.

  “Morning, Mrs Olsen. Nicer weather today”, he said as he handed her a few letters. Then he went into his bag and brought out a larger envelope. “And this one as well. It would have been too big for your mailbox. Sorry I’m later than usual but there was a bit of a back-log after yesterday’s disruption”.

  “Thank you”, Elin said. “But how do you know my name?”

  “Well, it is written on all your letters”, the postman said with a smile, as if it was a silly question, then went back across the road to pick up where he had left off.

  Elin looked at the large envelope. It was franked as airmail from the United Kingdom and it was correctly addressed to Mr A. Kumar at 1, Gamle Liensvegen, Lillehammer. The smaller letters were also addressed to Ash.

  Puzzled by the postman’s words, Elin put the letters in her shoulder bag and went back into the garage, locking the door behind her. As she went past Ash’s car she noticed a big cardboard box on the rear seat, and thought it was probably some new piece of equipment for the helicopter. Then she used her key to open the connecting door to the house.

  The kitchen was stuffy, so she punched the code into the key-safe in the cupboard and took out the big ring that held Ash’s spare keys. She unlocked the back door and opened it, then left it open to let the air change. Intending to lock it again soon, she put the keys on the table, beside her bag. She kicked off her boots, then filled the kettle and switched it on. Then she came back to her bag and took out the letters and put them in an obvious place on the worktop bedside the fridge, so that Ash would see them when he got home.

  She went through to the back bedroom and opened the wardrobe where she kept some clothes. While she took out a clean top, she heard the kettle click off in the kitchen, and then in the quiet she could hear the sound of the snow-blower working its way along the street. Moving her car had been the right thing to do.

  She took off her top and was about to put on a clean one when she changed her mind. She stripped naked and went to take a shower.

  The hot water was good; it seemed to ease some of the tension in her shoulders, put her back in control. Generally she thought of herself as a strong and capable woman but she realised that in the last few days her emotions had been swinging wildly, probably because of this illness that she had picked up. Several times she had even felt close to tears, and that just wasn’t like her.

  As she dried off after the shower she felt almost ready to face the rest of the day. She knew that a decent breakfast would help her face it even better. Whatever happened up at the sports weekend’s new venue, she was going to have a busy time.

  She went through to the kitchen, one towel wrapped around her body and another over her hair, and was about to open the fridge when she caught sight of Ash’s mail lying on the worktop. She thought again about what the postman had said, about her name being on her letters. Maybe Ash was planning one of his surprises, the gift he’d been hinting at for her birthday next month. On a whim she went through to the main bedroom and opened the cabinet on his side of the bed. But there was nothing unusual.

  Her interest aroused, she tried the little front room that Ash used as an office. As she fished around in his desk, she felt furtive. He usually kept the bottom drawer locked but today she could open it. There were two unsealed envelopes and then underneath them a big envelope and a small rectangular package. The big envelope was similar to the one the postman had handed to her. It was franked as airmail from the United Kingdom, and the label said Mrs E. Olsen, 1 Gamle Liensvegen, Lillehammer, Norway. The smaller package was also for Mrs E. Olsen, again at Ash’s address.

  Both items were unopened.

  Suddenly she felt a cold draught, and remembered that she had left the kitchen door wide open. She put the packages back in the drawer, went through to the kitchen and closed the outside door. She was just about to lock it when she changed her mind and went back through to Ash’s desk. There were too many mysteries in her life these days. She wanted to get to the bottom of this one.

  She took out the big letter and the package and put them on top of the desk. The letter seemed the easier target. By the look of it she would be able to prise open the flap without tearing it. Afterwards, a dab with a glue-stick would make it look like new again.

  It took her just a minute to get the letter open. She carefully withdrew the papers and saw with surprise the heading Share purchase confirmation in English. She studied the writing below it. “This is to confirm that we have purchased on your behalf 20,000 shares in Lamechson Plc.”

  She was puzzled. Maybe it was a present. But she would have expected something more romantic, knowing Ash. Now wishing that she hadn’t opened it, she carefully pushed the papers back inside the envelope, then sealed it with the glue-stick.

  Out of curiosity she picked up one of the unsealed envelopes. Inside it there was something soft, rubbery almost. She was just about to take it out when she heard a car draw up outside.

  She put down the envelope, crossed to the window and peered through the net curtain. In front of the house there was a big, black four-wheel-drive. A uniformed policeman got out of it. His head was totally bald, strikingly so, and Elin recognised him as the officer who had come to the hotel the other day, in connection with Hawkeye’s case.

  She was just about to rush through to the bedroom and throw some clothes on, when she saw the man move to the garage and punch a number into the keypad.

  What was going on?

  Instinctively she pulled away from the window, just as the man let himself into the garage.

  The hair on her neck rose when she remembered that she hadn’t locked the door between the garage and the kitchen. She waited, not daring to move, naked apart from a couple of towels, feeling vulnerable. She didn’t know what was wrong. But she was certain that something was wrong.

  After what seemed like an age she saw the policeman go back out, this time carrying something. It looked like the box that had been in Ash’s car.

  But Ash always kept his car locked. He was obsessive about it.

  Now she hurried through to the bedroom, grabbed her clothes and went back into the front room. Hidden behind the net curtain she dressed quickly, all the time watching the policeman. After he put the box in the back of his car he went to the mailbox and opened it.

  A policeman has a key to Ash’s m
ailbox?

  The policeman was looking along the street and Elin knew he must be watching the postman, who would by now be making on his way back, delivering to the houses on this side.

  She rushed to the kitchen again and struggled quickly into her boots, then came carefully back to her position behind the net curtain.

  The two men were talking. The postman was pointing toward the house. The policeman smiled and clapped the postman on the shoulder. The postman laughed and started back toward his van. The policeman turned to look at the house. His smile had gone.

  He moved toward the garage door. His hand was loosening his jacket, reaching for something.

  Elin panicked.

  From the desk she took the two packages addressed to her and hurried into the kitchen. She put the packages in her bag, grabbed her jacket and opened the door. She turned back for the key ring and then went outside. As quietly as possible she locked the door behind her.

  And then she was running, making for the gap in the trees at the end of the garden, running through the deep snow. She knew she was leaving footprints, but what was the alternative?

  The fence slowed her down – she cursed her lack of fitness. But finally she got over it and slid painfully down into the neighbour’s garden. Then she ran round to the main road and got into her car and drove off, her tyres spinning on the hard-packed snow.

  The main road was peaceful, deserted. Elin forced herself to slow down. Her fear seemed out of place. She hoped she hadn’t over-reacted to something that would turn out to have been innocent.

  But when she looked in her mirror the black car was there.

  It was making no attempt to catch her. Instead, it kept a respectable distance away.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  The road was taking her back toward the centre of town, and for now all she could do was follow it. She drove sedately down the first section, the straight one. Then when the big S-bend came she increased her speed. But when she got to the bottom, the black car was still in her mirror and the gap between them was no greater. So it had speeded up, too.