The Consorts of Death

by Gunnar Staalesen

‘Let me remind you what the lawyers Langeland and Bråtet told us yesterday. That Silje Tveiten, as she is still called, is Ansgår Tveiten’s daughter. And I know that her uncle, Terje Hammersten, was on the police radar at that time, although nothing decisive was to come of it.’

  ‘We know that, Veum!’ he said impatiently. ‘I thought you said you had something to tell me.’

  ‘Well, listen to this then. Rumour has it that the deceased Klaus Libakk was involved in the same contraband operation. He distributed the goods to people in Angedalen. Did you know that?’

  ‘He wasn’t down on our records, at any rate. I’ll have to regard this as idle gossip for the moment.’

  ‘Odd. That his name isn’t in your records, I mean.’

  ‘It was a complicated case. With lots of ramifications. And when this murder came to light the investigators had to concentrate on that aspect.’

  ‘With not much success, it has to be said.’

  ‘Get to the point!’

  ‘Alright. I’d like to inform you that the said Terje Hammersten is in the immediate vicinity of Førde right now, and has been since Monday evening.’

  ‘Monday evening. Uhuh. Anything else?’

  ‘He stayed with a woman who’s lived in Jølster for the last couple of years. Her name’s Mette Olsen and she is the biological mother of Jan Egil.’

  ‘Hang on there, Veum. Let me take a note of that. Mette Olsen. Where does she live, did you say?’

  I explained.

  ‘And this Terje Hammersten … do they live together or what?’

  ‘They did at some point. Something like that. And he has a sister who lives in Dale. Trude Tveiten, who was married to Ansgår Tveiten. In other words, Tveiten was his brother-in-law.’

  ‘This is beginning to become pretty entangled, I have to say. But I still don’t understand what you’re driving at.’

  ‘Then listen here. Let’s suppose that, just as a theory, of course, let’s suppose that Klaus Libakk was involved in the murder of Ansgår Tveiten in 1973. Unless Hammersten committed the murder at that time, that would give him a motive for exacting revenge on Libakk today. On behalf of the family, so to speak. He is hot-tempered and stands on his honour, I can assure you.’

  ‘But what about Kari Libakk? We’re not just talking about one murder victim here, Veum.’

  ‘No, but she may simply have been unlucky enough to have been married to the wrong person at that time in her life.’

  ‘And what can you put forward as evidence for all of this?’

  ‘We-ell … I suppose primarily we’re talking circumstantial evidence. But now we have Silje, who has in fact confessed …’

  He interrupted me. ‘That confession is threadbare. I would even go so far as to say that the thread has worn through.’

  ‘And now we have Hammersten who could have a motive and who we can also assume to be handy with weapons and, furthermore, the capacity to undertake such a brutal act. Maybe his connection with Mette Olsen is another motive we should examine.’

  ‘And how do you explain away Jan Egil Skarnes grabbing a weapon, taking a hostage and fleeing up to Trodalen as soon as he sees a police officer in the yard?’

  ‘He didn’t take a hostage. They both deny that.’

  ‘OK, OK. So maybe they were playing Bonnie and Clyde, were they? Nevertheless. Him clearing off like that is a very strong piece of evidence in our eyes. Not to mention all the forensic evidence we’re painstakingly gathering. Let me make this absolutely clear, Veum. At this stage we have already passed the case up to the Public Prosecutor. I would be very surprised if charges are not drawn up by tomorrow. And they won’t be in the name of this Hammersten.’

  ‘So you’ve gone that far?’

  ‘To tell the truth … we’ve gone a lot further, Veum. Was there anything else you wanted?’

  ‘You should call him in though. For questioning, at least.’

  ‘Who are you talking about now?’

  ‘Hammersten.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve made a note. We’re not stupid, Veum. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’

  ‘Then I’ll bid you a good evening, Veum.’

  ‘Thank you and the same to you.’

  I rang off. Then I tried Grethe’s number again. As she didn’t reply this time either, I went downstairs to eat. In the dining room I saw Jens Langeland sitting alone at one of the tables. I went over and asked if I could keep him company.

  He brightened up. ‘Naturally! And now I hope you have some good cards up your sleeve, Veum, for otherwise I’m afraid things are looking grim, in all ways.’

  ‘I’ve got something anyway,’ I said, fetching a menu, pulling out a chair and joining him.

  34

  I ordered sea trout in a cream sauce with cucumber salad and Norwegian almond potatoes. To drink, I treated myself to half a bottle of white wine. ‘I’ll put it on the bill,’ I said to Langeland and winked.

  He nonchalantly waved the matter aside. It wouldn’t be him paying it, anyway. ‘Let me hear what you’ve found out, Veum.’

  I gave him a brief summary of what I had been doing, told him about my visits to Mette Olsen and Trude Tveiten, as well as Terje Hammersten in a not insignificant supporting role.

  He listened with particular interest when I came to the part about Ansgår Tveiten. ‘We can use this, Veum! This is brilliant! A connection between the murder in 1973 and the current double murder, linked by the smuggling in which both Tveiten and Klaus Libakk were involved. And this Hammersten, he turned up in Jølster on Monday evening, did he?’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Is it possible to find out when he came to Sunnfjord? And, for example, if he had been there the night before?’

  ‘It’s possible to make enquiries, anyway.’

  ‘So let’s do that! We need everything that can point in the opposite direction to the path the police chose quite some time ago.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just spoken to Standal. He indicated that charges would be drawn up tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, that wouldn’t surprise me. But they can’t hold him in custody much longer, so …’

  ‘Are the pathologist’s and the forensic reports through yet?’

  ‘I haven’t been given them, if they are. But forget that! With what you’ve unearthed we already have a good hand.’ He was positively exploding with renewed energy. ‘This will create problems for them. Ha!’ He thrust his finger forward in the way that a torero delivers the coup de grâce to a bull at the festive table the day afterwards.

  ‘You show an impressive commitment to the case. I must say that …’

  ‘My goodness, Veum! I’ve been following Jan … Jan Egil since he was born, so to speak.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard you were Mette Olsen’s solicitor back in 1966.’

  ‘No, no. I was just a solicitor’s clerk then. But I remember the case well. It was a tragic story. Her friend took his life while in prison.’

  ‘Jan’s father.’

  ‘What? Oh, yes, exactly.’ He ruminated before continuing. ‘A tragic story, as I said. Now and then you wonder what makes otherwise talented individuals take such decisions. My God! I think it was close on half a kilo’s worth of hash he was carrying when he was arrested. And she …’

  ‘… knew nothing, you had persuaded her to say.’

  ‘Right.’ He raised both hands in defence. ‘He was the one carrying all the dope. What purpose would it serve if she also went to prison for knowing all about it?’

  ‘Hmm … That’s one way of looking at it.’

  He leaned closer. ‘Mette Olsen was not like she is now, Veum. I can assure you of that! She was a gifted young girl, sweet and charming. But she had made a fatal decision, too. She went to Copenhagen, played the hippie and got a taste for – well, this and that. We did what we could to get her back on an even keel. Believe me … This was one of the very first of my cases, and I was committed to it even though Bakke was in charge. A High C
ourt barrister, if I may …’

  ‘So you wash your hands of it?’

  He splayed them. ‘Yes, in fact I do. All that transpired later was beyond our jurisdiction. But tiny Johnny boy, I’ve always done what I can to help him, right from the very first moment.’

  I nodded. ‘Well … that’s admirable, that is, anyway.’

  ‘And this business with Terje Hammersten, I’ll get the police onto that. They won’t get away with it. But you check it out, too, Veum. I’m paying!’ He stood up. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to retire. I have to make a few calls. This is not the only case I have, unfortunately. I wish you a pleasant evening …’

  He walked to the door. As if on cue, Hans Haavik appeared in the foyer. He and Langeland exchanged a few words as they passed each other. Langeland left and Hans looked around the room, as I had done.

  Catching sight of me, he came over to the table. ‘Hi, Varg. Can I join you?’

  I motioned towards the used napkin on the other side of the table. ‘Langeland’s just gone. Someone’ll come and set the table if you ask them.’

  The efficient waiter was already at hand. The place was cleared and Hans sat down with a bump on his side of the table. He ordered the same as I had, except for the wine. He made do with a jug of water. I was now on dessert, a hot blueberry tart with ice cream.

  ‘One thing I’d like to ask you, Hans, since you were a relative of the deceased. Who is the heir? Have you any opinion on that?’

  He stared into middle distance, lost in thought. ‘They had no children of their own, so if they haven’t written a will, I suppose everything will go to the nearest relative.’

  ‘Would Jan Egil qualify?’

  ‘Not as a foster child. Not without being mentioned in a will. He might have been, though, of course. Then, on the other hand … if he’s convicted of killing them, I’m afraid it will be declared invalid. In any case, legal proceedings are bound to be instituted.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Well, that’s it. Klaus Libakk and Klara Almelid were brother and sister.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Silje called him Uncle Klaus.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She called him an old pig, too. Did I ask you about that?’

  The food arrived on the table and he waited until the waiter had gone before answering. ‘Yes, I heard from Jens that there had been some such suggestion. But it seems quite improbable to me. Did she say straight out that he’d tried it on her?’

  ‘Tried it on her or had his way. The whole thing is extremely unclear. She definitely called him an old pig.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He ate.

  ‘Now you know yourself from all your years in social services that this type of thing tends to happen behind very closed doors, Hans. Behind the most decorative Christian façades unmentionable things can happen with small children and young people.’

  ‘Mm, yes, yes.’ He swallowed and stretched a hand out for a glass of water. ‘I’ll buy that. But then it’s often with a member of the family. Silje, after all, came from a different farm, which immediately made it a riskier venture.’

  ‘But she was, well, if she wasn’t his niece by family, then in a way she was. He’d known her from the time she was small. She visited their farm, was with them in the cowshed, that sort of thing. Trusted them. Trusted him, in this case.’

  ‘So you don’t hold Kari liable, I take it?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘I …’

  ‘She was killed too, you know. What about …?’ He sent me an inquisitorial look. ‘If we’re letting our imaginations run wild, I mean.’

  ‘Yes? It’s not at all unusual for the partner to know but to keep quiet, not to intervene, thus making themselves an accessory to the crime. We’ve experienced that several times, haven’t we.’

  He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘You don’t believe this, I can see.’

  ‘Not for one second, Varg.’

  ‘So who do you think did it?’

  A sad look crossed his face. ‘I wish there were another explanation. That there were some tramps who happened by this farm. I mean … That sort of thing goes on all the time. But generally with people older than Klaus and Kari. On the other hand … it took place at night, didn’t it? Burglars? I don’t know.’

  ‘That’s what Jan Egil claims.’

  ‘However,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I’m afraid that isn’t good enough. I’m afraid the whole business is the way it appears. That it was Jan Egil who did it. But the motive … Look, it may have something to do with Silje, if we assume that your speculation in this regard is correct. It’s difficult to see any other motive, though.’

  ‘In other words, that he killed Klaus and Kari because of what Klaus might have done to Silje?’

  He stared down at his plate with an expression that suggested that all of a sudden he had lost his appetite. ‘Something like that.’

  I drained the last dregs of wine. ‘But … back to the inheritance. Klara is the nearest heir then?’

  He peered up. ‘Yes, that’s not beyond the realms of possibility. There was another brother, but he died young. Lost at sea while herring fishing one year.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘So perhaps we should jog the sergeant’s memory. Tell him to have a chat with Klara, too?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone has killed to gain benefits from the will, anyway.’

  ‘But I doubt with such brutality, eh? Klara Almelid with a smoking rifle, standing like Calamity Jane over the body of her brother and sister-in-law? I can’t exactly see that … Besides Kari must have some family, I would assume.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Well, I think I’m going to have a coffee with a little something in the bar. See you there?’

  ‘Maybe. Have to see.’

  I went into the bar. The number of press people was much reduced from the evening before, probably because the case in the eyes of most was so clear cut that it no longer held their attention.

  I ordered the same as the previous evening, coffee and Line aquavit, and found myself an unoccupied table. I had hardly sat down when I noticed the Bergensian from the day before, still as drunk and with his eyes fixed on the base of my neck, as if imagining a tie he could grab onto so as to steady himself. He floated across the room, stood swaying in front of my table and said: ‘Could I join you for a bit? I think we have mutual friends.’

  I frowned with scepticism. ‘And who might they be?’

  Without answering, he flopped down on the chair.

  The bartender had followed him with a glass of beer on a tray. He placed the beer on the table and looked at me, abashed. ‘I hope he isn’t bothering you?’

  ‘Let’s see how things develop. As far as I can see, he must have had enough several days ago.’

  ‘He won’t get anything stronger than this, either,’ the bartender mumbled, pointing to the beer glass. ‘And that’s the last,’ he added, eyeing my new acquaintance with severity.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ he replied, reaching for the glass. His hair was dark, bristly, combed to make it stand up. His face bore the signs of many years of over-indulgence, and he was struggling to focus. On eventually locating me, he held out his hand and introduced himself. ‘Harald Dale,’ he said, as if that explained everything.

  I shook his hand and said my own name.

  ‘I couldn’t help hearing what you and the others were talking about in here last night.’

  ‘I kind of noticed. But you said something about … mutual friends.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps not friends, more …’

  ‘More …?’

  ‘I heard you talking about this double murder. About Klaus Libakk and the smuggling and all that stuff.’

  My ears pricked up. ‘Right. Did you know Libakk?’

  He put on a foolish grin. ‘If I knew Libakk? Are you asking me if I knew Libakk? I was his contact person for Christ’s sake. The missing link …’

  ‘The missing link between …?’

  ‘Between
Libakk and Skarnes, of course!’

  That seared through me like an electric shock. ‘What did you just say? Not Svein Skarnes?’

  ‘Yes! That’s what I said.’ Again he held out his hand. ‘Harald Dale. Ex-technician for Skarnes Import. I often came here for work reasons – and others.’

  The penny dropped. ‘Yes, now I remember … you even had a kind of celebration dinner here …’ I looked around. ‘Here at the hotel, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yep!’ he said with a broad grin. ‘That was when I met Solfrid. She checked me out here in the bar. Well, after we’d eaten. And she and I, we certainly had mutual friends …’

  ‘Solfrid…?’

  ‘The missus. We got married two years afterwards, and I moved up here. Tveiten, her name was then.’

  ‘Tveiten!’

  ‘Yes, sister to someone called Ansgår who was killed when the whole shebang disintegrated.’

  ‘Right. Little Silje’s aunt in Angedalen when …’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Something like that. But they don’t have any contact. Not a lot anyway. So much has happened in that family.’ He was grinning so much his loose lips were almost flapping in the air. ‘Yes, we don’t have much contact any more, either, Solfrid and I, so to speak.’

  ‘Well, I can almost … You’re divorced?’

  ‘Se-par-ated,’ he said, with difficulty. ‘Sepa … yeah. After I lost my job, there was too much … joy juice.’

  ‘I see. But I’d like to go back to … You mentioned Svein Skarnes. Was he involved, too? In the smuggling?’

  ‘That’s what I’m telling you! I thought it’d surprise you. I heard you talking about his missus. We called her the dolly. I wouldn’t’ve minded a round with her in the sack, at some point. But she held her nose in the air and never looked in my direction. Svein and I, on the other hand, we were good mates, and both did our own thing.’

  ‘So when he fell down the stairs …’

  ‘You know … There was so much going off at that time. The bubble burst in 1973. First of all, it was the fishing smack that was boarded by the customs officers somewhere at sea. Laden with booze. A few days later Ansgår was beaten to death, and the police here as good as rounded up the whole gang.’