Death on Pilot Hill (An Inspector Harald Sohlberg Mystery)

by Jens Amundsen

  ~ ~ ~

  The eighth big lie. For that he chews off her left index finger.

  Or should he buy a pet rat to chew her finger off by putting the rat into a tube and then lighting a blowtorch behind the rat and letting the rat chew through her bone and flesh?

  Or should he use the rat to chew through her nose and cheeks or through her ribs or stomach?

  The eighth lie was one of her worst and most damaging lies. She trapped him forever with that lie. She would have her hand inside his pockets for the next twenty years paying child support if they divorced.

  The eighth lie had been so so clever.

  “I can’t have more children. The doctor said my tubes and uterus are scarred beyond repair from a bad infection I got from my IUD . . . my intrauterine device almost killed me. Anyway I take the pill just to make sure.”

  Her pregnancy almost two years ago left him stunned and in a daze for weeks. He was beyond surprised because she made him think that there was absolutely no way that they were going to have children. She often left the circular birth control pill dispenser on the bathroom counter so that he was sure to see it.

  When he no longer saw the pill dispenser on the bathroom she told him:

  “Oh honey . . . I forgot to tell you . . . I switched to Implanon . . . it’s even more effective than the pill . . . the nurse put the little plastic rod in my arm a week ago . . . just under my skin . . . kind of hurt a little . . . the slow and steady drug release lasts three years. We won’t have to worry anymore about my forgetting to take the pill. Now you take your clothes off and come into bed right now so we can celebrate my little rod with your big rod!”

  The baby.

  She changed even more after the baby than she did with the bodybuilding. After the baby she had no patience and lots of explosive temper with my son and her son. The baby turned her world upside down. She was no longer in control. The baby controlled her and everyone else.

  Why was she so angry about the baby?

  Aren’t babies supposed to change you from selfish to altruistic?

  Aren’t babies supposed to make you grow into a better adult?

  No. Not with her. Her moods only got worse and worse.

  Was it postpartum depression as she claimed or was that just another lie to avoid responsibility?

  Right after having the baby is when she started getting on the Internet for hours and hooking up with all of her old boyfriends. The worst was finding out with his key logging software that she put herself out on many websites for singles and for people looking for relationships. Trolling for men hour after hour. Sending them lewd disgusting messages and nude pictures.

  Why have a baby if you start acting like you hate the baby?

  Her moods. They left no room for error. She got nasty even with her son and of course with my son.

  Should I have let her be so strict with the two boys especially with my son?

  Who wouldn’t have let her have her way if they had heard her arguing all the time about disciplining the boys especially my son?

  He decides then and there that the torture sessions will include him forcing caustic lye down her throat to let her feel what it was like hearing her rant on and on every day about how she was an educator a trained professional who knew how to handle children.

  ~ ~ ~

  He finishes mowing the yard and planning her torture and he walks into the kitchen exhausted and dripping in sweat.

  “Are you going to feed the baby?” she says in her surly bad-mood voice.

  “Sure . . . but I was going to clean the deck and then prune the driveway bushes. Why can’t you—”

  She walks out of the room. “I’m going to the gym. I need a break!”

  She’s too far away to hear him say:

  “Yeah bitch . . . I’ll give you a break . . . break your neck!”

  He realizes that there’s no way he’s going to wait a full year before exterminating her. He’s got to do it sooner. If not he’ll go absolutely stark raving mad. He calls his parents.

  “Hiya . . . good . . . I wanted to see if I can use Grandpa’s old barn for a painting project. Ja . . . I’ve got several things I need to spray-paint.”

  He hangs up and closes his eyes. The old barn. The pervert. The molestations. The violations. Bad bad memories.

  Can a building attract bad people doing bad things?

  He’s gonna do bad bad things. Just like in the old days.

  PART TWO: THE INVESTIGATION

  It is better to go to a house of mourning

  Than to go to a house of feasting,

  Because that is the end of every man,

  And the living takes it to heart.

  . . .

  The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning;

  but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.

  — Ecclesiastes 7:1, 4 [1-New American Standard Bible, 4-King James Bible]

  Chapter 7/Syv

  MORNING OF 1 YEAR AND 24 DAYS

  AFTER THE DAY, FRIDAY, JUNE 4

  Sohlberg and Wangelin met at 9:00 AM in his cubicle on the seventh floor. To Sohlberg’s surprise the cubicle had window views of the city and it was large enough to accommodate a small sofa and a round table for six. The cubicle’s wall panels did not have the cheap and depressing gray fabric that Sohlberg hated as a rookie cop. Instead this new form of cubicle offered pleasing and tasteful walls of wood and glass. Sohlberg wondered how much the new cubicles cost the taxpayer.

  “Good morning Chief Inspector.”

  “Good morning Constable Wangelin. Let’s sit at the table and go over your executive summary. Were you able to talk with all members of the team?”

  “I’m still waiting for a few call-backs . . . lots of people are on summer vacation.”

  “Find them . . . call them at home if necessary. Get everyone’s feedback two days from now at the latest. Who hasn’t called you back?”

  “A couple of constables who interviewed witnesses . . . and two KRIPOS experts . . . one on cellphones and computers and the other one on D.N.A.”

  “Did you ask everyone to tell you about anything unusual . . . or anything that they wish that they or someone else had done differently?”

  “Ja. I did as you told me.”

  “Good . . . proceed.”

  She gave copies of the two pages to Sohlberg.

  “Friday June the Fourth was not a regular school day but a special day for Karl Haugen and all the children at Grindbakken Skole. He and his classmates had a science fair in the morning before class began. The regular first period class was moved back by one hour to nine o’clock so that the principal could look at the exhibits and rank them. He was to award prizes later that day.”

  “So . . . it was an unusual day.”

  “Right. And there’s more on how unusual the day actually turned to be. The media is wrong when they paint Karl Haugen as simply having vanished from school during a regular school day when the children are carefully looked after and accounted for.”

  “Excellent. Proceed.”

  “The science fair meant that the children and their parents or guardians had to arrive early at school to set up each child’s science project or exhibit. Therefore instead of taking the school bus as usual Karl Haugen came to school with his stepmother Agnes Haugen in the family car . . . a Toyota Hilux.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a monstrous four-door pickup . . . I looked it up . . . in America it’s the Toyota Tundra.”

  “I see . . . I just can’t believe that Norwegians now drive those types of cars.”

  “Ja. Everyone likes the big cars that Americans drive . . . even if they’re made by the Japanese.”

  “They cost a small fortune to fill up at the gas station. Go on . . . what else?”

  “This white pickup is also unusual.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s not the stepmother’s regular car. Her car is an Audi sports car . . . a red T.T. coupe.”

 
“Why did she drive the pickup?”

  “She said that she drove the pickup because Karl Haugen’s science project would not fit in her sports car. Those Audi sports cars are very small . . . they really have no space in the back.”

  “Hhhmm . . . interesting,” said Sohlberg. He took out his favorite pen — a Waterman Phileas fountain pen filled with green ink. He pulled the cap off and drew a rectangle around the words ‘science project’ and ‘Audi sports car’ in the summary. He drew the same rectangle around the words ‘white pickup’ before putting the cap back on the fat pen from France.

  “Who’s the owner of the pickup?”

  “Her husband. The boy’s father.”

  “How did he get to work? What does he use the pickup for . . . does he own a business that requires a van or a pickup?”

  “No. He’s a highly-paid engineer at Nokia . . . the cell phone company from Finland. He’s in charge of a team that designs some of their computer chips.”

  “Yes . . . Nokia . . . I’ve heard of them. They’re in the U.S.A. too. Does she work?”

  “No. She’s a stay at-home mother. She and Karl Haugen’s father have a nineteen-month-old baby daughter.”

  “And this business with the school bus. In my day we all walked to school . . . are children in Norway now taking school buses?”

  “In the suburbs yes because of the distances.”

  “Huh! When he was a kid my father walked almost two miles to school. Alright. Keep reading. . . .”

  “On a normal day the school opens at eight thirty-five in the morning and the final bell to start classes rings ten minutes later. That Friday however because of the science fair the school opened early at eight o’clock. Karl Haugen and his stepmother and most of the students and their parents or family members showed up a little before eight to set up the children’s exhibits and walk around looking at everyone else’s exhibits at the fair. Dozens of children and parents and teachers saw the boy and the stepmother arrive at the fair at eight o’clock and stay there until quarter to nine.”

  “So they were seen for a total of forty-five minutes inside the school?”

  “Ja.”

  “Continue.”

  “Karl and his stepmother arrived at the school two or three minutes after the school opened at eight in the morning. They first went to his classroom where they dropped off his backpack. Then they went to set up his exhibit . . . on the red-eye tree frog . . . in the auditorium with the other exhibits.”

  “His backpack,” said Sohlberg. “Where is it?”

  “Good question. I’m not sure. It may be in the evidence room. I’m pretty sure we still have custody.”

  “Good. Please find it as soon as you can. I’d like to take a look at it.”

  “Or . . . we may’ve returned it and left it at his home with his parents.”

  “Not good.” He took the cap off his Waterman fountain pen and drew a rectangle around the words ‘backpack’ in the summary. “Alright. What else?”

  “The stepmother took a picture of Karl Haugen and his science project. They had worked a lot of hours together on the project. When she got home later that day she posted the picture on her Facebook page.”

  Somewhat amused Constable Wangelin studied Sohlberg and his routine with the Waterman pen as he drew another rectangle around the words ‘science project’ in the summary. She noticed that he had also drawn a small star on the left margin by each of his green ink rectangles.

  “Keep on. What happened next?”

  “After taking the photograph she and the boy looked at other projects in the auditorium. That day exactly three hundred-and-two students attended school and all of them contributed exhibits to the science fair. After checking carefully it appears that a total of two hundred thirty-five adults visited the science fair as parents or relatives or guardians of the children. No one observed any strangers inside the school building that day.

  “Not even during the science fair?”

  “No.”

  “Any vendors or people delivering supplies or picking something up . . . anything like that?’

  “Not that day.”

  “Did any teachers or staff or administrators or volunteers call in sick that day?”

  “No.”

  “Did any school employee have any periods of time that day when they should have been somewhere but were not?”

  “No.”

  “Do any of those people have criminal records?”

  “No convictions other than . . . three drunk driving guilty pleas . . . and five convictions for marijuana possession. Karl Haugen’s mother was one of the drunk driving convictions.”

  “I want everything on those convictions. And I mean everything.”

  “Ja. But why—”

  “Because I know how very sloppy and extremely careless Nilsen and Thorsen have always been when conducting investigations. Constable Wangelin . . . did anyone in the team go through the files we have on the drunk driving and marijuana possession cases?”

  “No.”

  “Did the team call every witness and judge and lawyer in the convictions for drunk driving and marijuana possession?”

  “No.”

  “That’s your number one job this week.”

  “I’ll do it as soon as possible. Definitely it should’ve been done. Also . . . you should know that three years ago a man in his late twenties early thirties molested five girls at Grindbakken Skole.”

  “What?”

  “He just walked into the playground . . . posing as a volunteer . . . before anyone knew or had time to react he took three girls one by one into the bushes and forest around the school and fondled them. He did the same to twelve little girls at other Oslo elementary schools in Ullevål and Huseby.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “What? . . . No arrest?”

  “No.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I don’t know. I was not here then. You’d have to check with Commissioner Thorsen.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “It’s . . . well . . . between you and me. . . .”

  “Ja?”

  “The talk I heard among the older investigators was that Commissioner Thorsen got orders from the higher-ups to not investigate too thoroughly . . . or make an arrest.”

  “What? . . . Why not?”

  “The suspect was a dark-skinned man. That was the summer when anti-immigrant feelings started running high and boiling over.” Wangelin noticed a blank look on Sohlberg’s face so she filled him in on the details. “That was the summer when two Pakistani drug gangs had a shoot-out in Aker Brygge . . . in the cross-fire they killed a tourist from Sweden and a grandmother from Trondheim.”

  “Are you kidding me? A shoot-out in Aker Brygge? . . . Where they have a Prada boutique and an Ermenegildo Zegna store?”

  “Used to . . . Chief Inspector. Prada closed the store and the men’s clothing store with Zegna products moved to Bogstadveien . . . where it splits into Valkyriegata . . . a very exclusive neighborhood as I remember.”

  “Criminal gangs shooting away at Aker Brygge? . . . That’s like a gang shooting in Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills . . . or Fifth Avenue in New York. Hard to believe. Norway certainly isn’t the cozy little isolated spot of paradise it once was . . . eh?”

  Sohlberg could not accept that a shootout was possible in Aker Brygge which is an elegant and pricey urban redevelopment zone in what used to be the derelict eyesore of the old and abandoned shipyards of downtown Oslo.

  “Alright. What else do you have for me Constable Wangelin?”

  “Agnes Haugen the stepmother . . . she’s a volunteer at the school . . . she went back with Karl Haugen to the boy’s classroom at about eight forty-five. The mother and the boy’s teacher agree on that fact. However the teacher says that a few minutes later something or someone in the hallway caught the boy’s attention and that he then walked out of the classroom as if someone was
waiting for him or wanting to talk to him. Another teacher declared that she saw Karl Haugen leave his classroom and walk down the hallway more or less at the same time.”