The Consorts of Death

by Gunnar Staalesen

  I didn’t waste any time. ‘Ready to go?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘No! Not yet.’

  ‘Listen … We can do this in two ways, frøken Bråtet.’

  ‘It’s fru.’

  ‘Nonetheless. I can call on Silje and her foster parents on my own, or I can do it in your company. Which would you prefer?’

  ‘Or I can have you arrested by the police.’

  ‘For what?’

  That stumped her, and we ended up travelling to Angedalen together, though each in our own car with neither of us feeling much pleasure at being reunited as we parked in the yard at Almelid Farm and got out.

  38

  Almelid was a well maintained farm, both on the outside and the inside. The walls of the sitting room were white and smooth with just a few pictures up. There was a collection of family photos, an aerial photo of the farm and a landscape picture of the classic kind: a fjord in the evening light with the sun low over the shiny sea.

  The crockery Klara Almelid used was white with small pink flowers and a gold edge. Within ten minutes she had made coffee, put out a bowl of biscuits, cut up a small malt loaf and spread golden farm butter and genuine goat’s cheese on the slices. She was small with an efficient, ferret-like nature. Her darting eyes took in most of what was happening in the sitting room and the kitchen.

  Silje sat by a little nest of tables by the window, sullen. Øygunn Bråtet had taken a seat on the stool beside her while quietly telling her what had been said at the press conference and explaining to her what the next steps would be.

  For the first time I had a chance to study the young girl in peace. She was wearing tight, faded jeans and a dark blue V-necked sweater with a short flower-patterned scarf around her neck. Her dark blonde hair was collected in a ponytail, but when I searched for some resemblance with Trude Tveiten, there was not much I could detect; perhaps the way she held her head, that was all, though. She had nodded sulkily when she saw me, before seeking Øygunn Bråtet’s eyes like a drowning person desperate for something at hand to grab.

  The front door opened, and heavy steps resounded in the hall. Klara Almelid left quickly to explain the situation to her husband. He growled an answer. A door closed and straight after there was a rushing sound in the heating pipes.

  When Lars Almelid came in and stood in the doorway, he had taken off his outdoor clothing and changed his trousers. He had house shoes on his feet, a flannel shirt open at the neck and he smelt of soap. His complexion was fresh and red with a distinct pattern of small, thin blood vessels under both ears. His hair was thinning, but he had large, bushy eyebrows. His eyes were blue, determined, as was the set of his lips.

  I stood up and we shook hands. He scrutinised me carefully. ‘And how may I help you?’

  ‘To be frank, I’d like a little chat with Silje.’

  ‘Frank?’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to hear her version.’

  ‘I understood that, but I believe you said frank? From that I conclude there is something else you’re after.’

  I glanced at Silje and her solicitor. Øygunn Bråtet returned a mocking look. I lowered my voice. ‘Can we go into the kitchen?’

  He nodded silently. We went out and I closed the door behind me. Klara and Lars Almelid were standing by the worktop on the other side of the room, positioned beside each other as if for a family photo.

  I looked at Klara. ‘You are the sister of the late Klaus Libakk, I understand …?’

  She gave a doleful nod. ‘Yes, I was.’ She faced the window. ‘I grew up on Libakk Farm too.’ Her dialect was as broad as her husband’s.

  ‘Were there any other brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Yes, we had a brother. Sigurd. But he was lost at sea when he was very young. So then it was just Klaus and I.’

  ‘But Kari, she must have had family, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, there must be some relatives. But she wasn’t from here, you know. She came from somewhere on the Møre coast. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters, though. That much I’m sure of.’

  ‘So perhaps it’ll be you who takes it over then?’

  She glanced at her husband. ‘Yes, I suppose it might be. If they don’t find a will.’

  ‘How was the relationship between you and your brother?’

  ‘It was good, I think. We weren’t very similar, though.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, you know …’

  ‘Here on the farm we’ve stuck to our childhood faith, for example,’ said Lars Almelid in a sonorous voice.

  ‘And they didn’t at Libakk Farm?’

  ‘At least they never went to … either the church or the chapel.’

  ‘We never spoke about it,’ Klara said quietly. ‘But we had our own views.’

  ‘What about … it’s rumoured that Klaus Libakk was involved in the great smuggling ring that operated in the early seventies.’

  Her face scrunched up around a tiny pursed mouth while his face darkened even further. He was the one who answered: ‘We’ve also heard the rumours.’

  ‘But they were just rumours?’

  ‘We never talked about it,’ Klara repeated.

  ‘But we saw the vehicles that came to visit now and then,’ said Lars. ‘And they weren’t such small loads he carried in his vehicle, either, a big Hiace, it was.’

  ‘But you never dealt with him?’

  ‘We don’t touch that sort of thing!’

  ‘No … but you know of course who Silje’s father was.’

  Klara nodded. ‘Yes, we obviously know that.’

  ‘Could he have been here – at Libakk, I mean?’

  She looked at her husband. He shrugged his shoulders slowly and stiffly. ‘He might’ve been,’ he answered. ‘But that was a long time before Silje came here. He’s dead, too, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Yes, I do. But the mother popped round now and then?’

  It was Klara who answered this time. ‘Yes, but not that often. She lives right out in Dale, she does.’

  ‘That’s not so far.’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t like her coming?’

  She straightened her back a little. ‘We don’t think it does Silje any good, if I may put it like that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because!’ Klaus said in a strong, clear voice.

  For a moment we sat chewing on that. Then I decided to change the topic. ‘Of course you must’ve heard what Silje said about … Klaus and her.’

  Klara had a violent reaction, and I saw her grip the edge of the worktop to prevent herself from falling. ‘It’s … impossible,’ she said in a low, intense voice.

  Lars looked at me with fire in his eyes. ‘Whatsoever you have done unto these the least of My brethren you have done unto Me,’ he quoted.

  ‘And by that you mean …?’

  ‘If what Silje said is true, he’s going to burn in hell until eternity!’

  ‘So you don’t know any more about it?’

  ‘She never said anything to us,’ Klara said. ‘Not a single word.’

  I nodded. ‘Well, perhaps then …’ I motioned that we could join the others again. Klara took the coffee pot and began to fill the cups. Silje was asked if she wanted a glass of juice, but she responded with a shake of the head.

  Øygunn Bråtet was sitting on the stool with a cup of coffee in her hand. I was sitting at the table with Klara and Lars. Silje was staring at the floor, cowed into silence by this cheerless assembly.

  Klara and Lars folded their hands and said grace quickly before Klara passed round a dish of the malt bread sandwiches, then the biscuits.

  No one said anything.

  I looked at Øygunn Bråtet. She met my eyes; her gaze was measured and cool.

  In the end, I spoke up. ‘Silje …’

  She peered up with a start, then looked down again.

  ‘We met in the valley on Tuesday evening. Since then I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. But I�
�m trying to help Jan Egil as much as I can. That’s why it would be very helpful if you could tell me – in your own words – what happened.’

  She mumbled something indistinct.

  ‘Pardon? I didn’t hear what you said.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said in a quiet voice, but more distinct now.

  ‘You had a lot to say up in Trodalen. And afterwards, too, I’m led to believe.’

  ‘That was just something I said.’

  I leaned forward. ‘Something you said? All of it? Or just parts of it?’

  She didn’t answer.

  As I started formulating a new question, she interrupted me. ‘Do they have to be here?’

  ‘Do you mean Lars and Klara?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I glanced at her two foster parents. Klara looked desperate, Lars as if he were about to explode. In a low voice I said: ‘This is not an unusual situation. Children or teenagers don’t want to say their opinions in front of their parents.’

  ‘They’re not my parents!’

  Øygunn Bråtet placed a small, reassuring hand on Silje’s arm.

  ‘We can go out! If that’s how it has to be.’ Lars’s voice was brusque. ‘We don’t want to impose. We’ve just cared for the girl, we have. Since she was five years old and alone in the world.’

  ‘I wasn’t alone! I had my mum!’

  Lars ignored her. ‘Oh yes, she had her mum. And we could all see what she’d done for her.’

  Klara gripped him. ‘Lars … Don’t … If she doesn’t want us here, that’s …’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. We can go outside. By all means. Can we take our cups of coffee with us?’

  Klara sent us an apologetic smile as she shooed Lars into the kitchen and gestured that we should help ourselves.

  I got up and closed the door after them. ‘Now you can speak, Silje.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say, I told you.’

  ‘There must be something. Tell me about Jan Egil and you when …’

  She said sulkily: ‘We were good friends. We grew up together, didn’t we! And then he was my boyfriend.’

  ‘In every sense?’

  She straightened up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I mean …’ I glanced over at Øygunn Bråtet, who refused to give me any kind of support. ‘Had you been to bed together?’

  She stared at me with wide open eyes, as if it were inexcusable to ask questions of that nature. Her face went crimson. Then she jerked a nod. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Many times.’

  ‘… Mm, did you use any, er, contraception?’

  ‘We did, yes,’ she jeered, without going into detail. It wasn’t important, anyway.

  I responded with a friendly expression, to imply that it was sensible of them. Øygunn Bråtet sent me a condescending glare.

  ‘And last weekend … Sunday night. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, it is. They asked me the same at the police station. I don’t know what’s so …’ She broke off.

  ‘… important about it? Oh yes, you do. After all, a double murder took place that night.’

  ‘Right, but Jan Egil was here with me!’

  ‘All night?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Absolutely sure? You were asleep, weren’t you? I assume you weren’t at it all night?’

  Øygunn Bråtet gave an admonitory cough. I thrust forward my chin in an apologetic manner.

  ‘He was asleep, too, I think.’

  ‘But he nipped home before you went to school, he said.’ As she didn’t respond, I went on: ‘Weren’t you afraid of being found out? By your … by Lars and Klara, I mean?’

  ‘They never looked in at night. We heard them hitting the hay, and so we went the other way, through the barn. I’ve got a room at the other end of the house from them,’ she explained.

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘You know what happened! On Monday we had so much schoolwork that we didn’t see each other, and he didn’t go to school on Tuesday. That was why I went to see him at home. But I should never have done that.’

  ‘Did you see them? Kari and Klaus?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘But how did you come to say … what you did up there in the valley and afterwards?’

  Then the tears flowed. ‘It was for his sake! How many times do I have to tell you? I did it for his sake. But that doesn’t mean I think he did it. I just … he’s my boyfriend. I wanted to help him …’

  ‘And you did that by calling Klaus Libakk an old pig, with all that that might imply?’

  She put on a defiant look through the tears.

  ‘Was he?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Had he made approaches to you?’

  As she still refused to answer, I said: ‘Why don’t you answer? Because it was all fabrication? You made it up to explain why you’d done something you hadn’t? Or have you realised now … that this, in fact, also gives Jan Egil a motive? A very strong motive, some would say.’

  But she had gone into a new mode. For some reason she had decided not to say another word.

  I sent Bråtet a quizzical look, but she just shrugged. She had nothing to add.

  Was it something I had said? Something she had reacted to?

  At length, I stood up and said: ‘Well … I suppose then I have no more questions. I hope you get over this, Silje, and I wish you all the best in your life.’

  She peered up, tossed her head and stared at me stiffly with tears in her eyes. I waited for a moment, but she had no more to say. I left her in Øygunn Bråtet’s hands and went into the kitchen.

  Klara and Lars were sitting on opposite sides of the table with a cup of cold coffee in front of them. Neither of them had tasted it, as far as I could see. Lars was staring into the middle distance; Klara looked up nervously when I came in.

  ‘Did you know that Silje and Jan Egil were girlfriend and boyfriend?’

  Lars’s mouth twitched. Klara answered: ‘Yes. No. Of course we saw that they were together a lot.’

  ‘She says he spent the night here last Sunday. In her bedroom.’

  Lars’s face darkened. Klara said: ‘Yes, we’ve been told. But we had no idea that was going on! We would’ve intervened straightaway.’

  ‘I hope you won’t tell her off for that now. She’s been put under colossal pressure.’

  She nodded. Neither of them spoke.

  ‘What impression did you have of Jan Egil?’

  ‘I’ve never liked him!’ Lars snarled. ‘There was something about him right from the very beginning.’

  ‘When they were small, they played together so well,’ Klara said. ‘But in recent time they’ve met in places other than here. I think we lost contact with him over the years.’

  Lars nodded in agreement.

  Øygunn Bråtet came through the door from the sitting room. She looked at me. ‘You can leave, but I’ll stay here for a while. I’d like to talk a bit more with Silje.’

  The two at the kitchen table nodded.

  ‘I’ll do that then,’ I said. No one seemed upset to see me go.

  No one accompanied me out into the farmyard, either. Before getting into the car, I had a look around. Surrounded by high mountains, Angedalen lay like a paradise on earth, a landscape exuding peace and tolerance, a striking contrast to the dramatic events that had taken place here in the last week.

  I contemplated Trodalen and thought about what had happened up there, in the past and now. In a strange way the two seemed to reflect each other, the two unhappy couples: Mads Andersen and Maria Hansdottir in 1839, Jan Egil Skarnes and Silje Tveiten in 1984. Birds floating on the wind, transfixed by the sun, with death as the only way out after a long period of imprisonment for others’ crimes; death as the centre around which the whole solar system rotated.

  39

  Back in Førde again, I tried to get in touch with Jens Langeland. It was impossible. He was with Jan Egil and had made it quite clear
that they were not to be disturbed. Not by anyone.

  Instead I went for a last offensive against Sergeant Standal. I said I had something to tell him, something that might shed some light on the case. He therefore insisted on having a KRIPOS representative present.

  It was the same well-built, cropped detective who had attended the press conference. ‘Tor Frydenberg’ he introduced himself as, with a robust handshake and a look of curiosity, before taking up a position against one wall with his arms crossed, ready to hear what I had to say.

  I told them everything I had discovered about a possible connection between the smuggling affair of 1973 and the events of this week. I told them about Terje Hammersten, the connection with Svein Skarnes and the alleged stash of money Klaus Libakk had been keeping on his farm.

  They listened patiently. After I had finished, Standal said: ‘You brought this Terje Hammersten to our attention yesterday. I can reassure you that orders have been drawn up to hold him for the purposes of questioning. But we have examined the conclusion they came to in 1973.’

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘He was in Bergen the day the murder took place.’

  ‘Who with? His associates?’

  ‘His alibi was accepted by the investigators at the time. It was impossible to disprove, at any rate.’

  ‘And what about now? Did he also have an alibi last Sunday?’

  ‘We haven’t got that far yet. However, as I said, we’re picking him up for questioning. We won’t leave anything untried. Anything else you wished to present?’

  ‘Let me come back to Klaus Libakk’s stash. Have you observed any unusually high spending behaviour from Libakk since 1973?’

  ‘As I told you a day or two ago, Veum, Klaus Libakk was never on our records.’

  ‘Strange. But you agree it could be a motive?’

  ‘If the money really existed, yes. So far, though, we have no evidence of it. And there was no sign of a burglary in the house.’

  ‘Isn’t it normal in these parts for people to sleep with their doors unlocked?’