It was a strange situation. Two old friends meeting face to face then looking away, as a result of their own and the other’s discomfort. It was Lena who reacted. She wriggled past without saying a word. She took a few steps, stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
Ingrid Kobro was watching her from where she stood.
‘Surely things haven’t got that bad between us, have they?’ Ingrid said. ‘We can still say hi, can’t we?’
Lena looked down. ‘Hi,’ she said without any warmth.
Ingrid nodded. ‘And hi to you, too.’ Ingrid appeared to be searching for words.
‘Is anything the matter?’ Lena asked.
It was Ingrid’s turn to look away. ‘I hear you’ve made an arrest.’
Lena nodded. ‘Sorry to be so direct,’ she said, ‘but it’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and almost midnight now…’
Ingrid Kobro nodded.
‘What are you actually doing here?’ Lena asked.
Ingrid put on a thoughtful expression.
‘Is it because we’ve made an arrest?’
Ingrid just looked at her.
Lena couldn’t be bothered to wait for an answer. She turned and went back into the observation room.
On the screen, Gunnarstranda asked: ‘Who is Stian Rømer?’
Steffen’s face replied: ‘A pal. We grew up in the same street.’
Lena sat down.
Shortly afterwards someone fumbled at the observation-room door. It opened.
In the doorway Ingrid Kobro was struggling with a cup of coffee in each hand. ‘Can you help me?’
Lena stood up and held the door for her.
Ingrid Kobro sat down, smiled warmly and said: ‘Almost like in the cinema, isn’t it?’ She nodded towards one cup of coffee. ‘That’s for you.’
Lena was rigidly watching the screen.
Steffen’s head said: ‘After school I studied political science at Blindern. Stian did his military service and went into the forces. He signed up, serving first in Bosnia and Kosovo, afterwards in Afghanistan. Then left to start his own business. Since then it’s been all action for Stian. He’s been in South America and North Africa a lot. That was where we met, quite by chance a few weeks ago. I was doing some research for a series about Norwegian state finance and was travelling through Morocco, Mauritania and Western Sahara. I stayed at the Kenzi Farah Hotel in Marrakech – pretty posh. I was lying there by the pool, on a sunbed, relaxing. I open my eyes and see Stian, my old pal, at the bar. At first I thought it was a chance encounter. But it wasn’t. Anyway. Stian and I had a few jars and he explained he was working in security now for several companies there. He was organising big surveillance and intelligence operations. Two evenings later he turned up again, at my hotel room, with his pockets full of dollars this time. He would pay if he could dictate what I wrote.’
Steffen changed his sitting position. ‘The whole of Stian’s plan was crazy. I said so, too. “I’m a journalist,” I said. “I don’t write for money,” I said. But Stian was a soldier and didn’t understand things like that.
‘On the sixth of December I arrived back in Oslo. A day or two passed and up he popped again, this time in Oslo. Full paramilitary deal – undercover, the whole business. I told Stian I didn’t want his money.’
Gunnarstranda coughed. ‘When he offered you money in Marrakech was that on behalf of this company, MacFarrell?’
Steffen shook his head. ‘Stian would never have told me who was behind it.’
‘But the article he asked you to write was about this company’s activities?’
‘Yes.’
‘Frikk Råholt says he asked you to take photos of Adeler’s meeting with Polisario and Aud Helen Vestgård.’
Steffen nodded.
‘Say it out loud,’ Gunnarstranda said, ‘for the tape recorder.’
‘Yes,’ Steffen said in a clear voice and breathed in deeply with his eyes closed.
‘Are we talking about Wednesday, the ninth of December?’ Gunnarstranda asked.
‘Yes. He needed photos and a spread in the paper to smear Adeler and the projects he was working on in Western Sahara.’
‘And you took the photos outside a restaurant in Grefsen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who was with you?’
‘Stian Rømer.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
‘Stian had a hire car. We waited in it. At about eleven, the three of them finished their meeting. They came out, shook hands and left. Good atmosphere. They were good photos, too. Two of them – Vestgård and Shamoun – got into a taxi and went. Adeler stood around for a few minutes. He hailed a taxi that was dropping someone off. Stian and I followed the taxi into town. It came to a stop in Bygdøy allé. Adeler walked to a door and rang the bell. Stian got out of the car and pretended he was visiting someone in the same building. He stood beside Adeler. When the automatic lock buzzed for Adeler, they both went in. A little later Stian came back. He said Adeler was visiting a woman. The name on the door was Lisbet Enderud. So what should I do? In any case I had to confront Adeler with the restaurant visit – show him the photos and demand a comment. But I had no idea how long he would be with the woman. I considered ringing the bell there and then, but decided to wait to talk to him alone. Stian found a parking spot with a view of the front door. We both sat waiting in the car. Time passed. Adeler was there for ages. Stian woke me at a bit past five in the morning. Adeler was by the front door. I was groggy, but I got out, intending to talk to him. As I crossed the street, he was a long way off, way down the hill. I followed him, but it was easier said than done. Eventually, though, he slowed down and I caught him up by the quays. We continued side by side and he asked what I wanted. I was polite – I said I had photos of the meeting at the restaurant and only wanted to know what was being discussed. He refused to answer. But he had spoken to me first, so I pushed a little harder. I asked why the man from Polisario was backed up by a top Norwegian politican during the interview. Was he doing research or what? I asked if Vestgård’s party affiliations would invalidate his report. Could the public rely on everything being above board? I asked who paid for the meal, if he’d received an offer from Polisario, money for example. His face went paler with each question. He understood the gravity of the matter, that was for sure. The man changed personality. He lost his temper and started to threaten me. Which was quite frightening because he was a powerful man. Then I said – and it was true – that the newspaper was going to run the story whatever. It was his decision not to say anything, but it would be stupid, I said, because then he couldn’t influence what I wrote, could he.’
Steffen leaned forwards. He tapped his forefinger on the table to emphasise his point: ‘Adeler flew at me. I did nothing. But Stian was there. Stian had followed us. When Adeler came at me, Stian was there instantly. I didn’t see what happened. I only know Adeler was splashing in the water when he should have been on land. Do you hear me? The fact that Adeler fell into the sea was his own fault. And I was unable to prevent what happened. I ran up the pier next to the quay to find a lifebuoy. It was a long way down to the water and Adeler wouldn’t have had a chance in that temperature. I had to find a lifebuoy. But what happened then? I ran straight into that junkie woman. “Help me”, I said, but she just stood there watching, perplexed.’
‘Where did you run?’ Gunnarstranda asked.
‘Up the pier. I bumped into that woman.’
‘Which pier?’
The question caused Steffen to lose his composure. ‘What do you mean, which pier?’
Steffen ended up not answering the question, but continuing the account.
‘I ran straight into her. “Where are the lifebuoys?” I shouted, but the woman just backed away from me. I cast around. Couldn’t see any lifebuoys, couldn’t see anything. Usually there are lifebuoys hanging on the quay, aren’t there? But I couldn’t see any. I ran back and still couldn’t see any. Stian had gone. The junkie had gone and Adeler wasn’t moving. He
was floating on his stomach, dead as a dodo. What could I do? Nothing. So I left.’
Gunnarstranda coughed.
Steffen looked at him.
‘Was that the pier closest to the fortress?’
Steffen considered the question. ‘Yes.’
‘Sure?’
‘What difference does it make which pier it was?’
‘Your credibility makes a difference, especially because you’ve demanded another account in return.’
Steffen again lost his composure. ‘Yes, it was the pier closest to the fortress. I’m sure. Can we move on?’
‘And you ran straight into Nina Stenshagen?’
‘I don’t know what her name was.’
Gunnarstranda rummaged through his papers. He pushed a piece of paper across the table. ‘I think you know what her name was. You’ve interviewed her. But…’ Gunnarstranda raised a hand to nip the man’s reaction in the bud. ‘Let’s just clarify these events. You ran down the pier nearest the fortress and collided with this woman. That’s what you said, didn’t you?’
Steffen looked at the photo Gunnarstranda was indicating.
‘Yes.’
Gunnarstranda cut a sceptical grimace.
‘What is it now?’ Steffen asked impatiently.
‘I can’t make this add up. You see, we’ve reconstructed the course of events to some extent, and we can document that the woman was on the pier to Quay 2, the next quay.’
Steffen fell quiet.
Lena used the opportunity to sip her coffee, which had no taste at all. She glanced at Ingrid, who said: ‘Decaff, sorry.’ Ingrid motioned to the screen. ‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’
Lena didn’t answer. Her whole body was tied in knots, but she wasn’t about to announce that.
On the screen, Steffen’s face spoke. ‘You’re wrong,’ he said.
Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘As I mentioned, we’ve reconstructed what happened. The person who pushed Adeler in grabbed a plank from the pier to Quay 1. Which he used to force Adeler under the water. You’re claiming Rømer did that.’
‘I am not!’ Steffen riposted.
‘Who did then?’ Gunnarstranda asked. ‘You’ve just said there were three of you. Adeler, Rømer and you.’
‘What I meant was he didn’t use a plank.’
‘But now you’re contradicting yourself. You just said you didn’t see what happened.’
Steffen fell quiet again.
‘One of you did it,’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘Your reconstruction’s wrong.’
Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘I believe a lot of what you’ve told me,’ he said. ‘For example, I believe you and Rømer were waiting in the car while Adeler was visiting a woman. I believe you fell asleep and you ran after Adeler. I believe you did catch him up,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘I believe Rømer followed you and Adeler. I believe he saw you two arguing about something. But I don’t believe it was Rømer who pushed Adeler into the harbour. I think he saw you do it. Then he reacted and ran up the pier to Quay 2, perhaps to find a lifebuoy. There he bumped into Nina Stenshagen. She and Rømer watched you forcing Adeler under the water. Nina Stenshagen ran off and Rømer followed her.’
Steffen shook his head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘Alright,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘You admit at least that you were on the quay between five and half past. A few hours later you’re back there when Lena Stigersand and Emil Yttergjerde from Oslo PD arrive at the crime scene. What did you do in the meantime?’
Steffen responded with a vacant stare.
‘You’ve already admitted you spent part of this time writing a threatening letter. Why did you do that?’
Steffen shrugged. ‘For fun.’
Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘Remember everything you say affects your credibility. I believe this is why you wrote the letter.’ He pushed a pile of papers across the table and turned them so that the front sheet was visible. It was Adeler’s report.
‘What is it?’
‘This is the report Adeler wrote about MacFarrell.’
Steffen blinked. He eyed the report and blinked again.
Lena was brought back to reality by low, crunching noises. Ingrid was eating cinnamon biscuits from a dish on the table.
A sound from the screen drowned the crunching. It was Steffen grabbing the papers and placing them back down on the table.
‘You asked why I wrote the letter. Well, Adeler was floating on the surface of the water. He was dead, that much was obvious. So there was no point writing an article about the meeting the evening before. I needed a new angle.’
‘Angle for what?’
‘For the story. Of how a Norwegian politician was using her power and influence to steamroller the neutrality of the Ethics Council. Well, Adeler had been with this woman that night. The point was that the letter connected Lisbet Enderud’s name with Aud Helen Vestgård. If I uncovered that story first I could follow up with the meeting and everything else bit by bit. Investigative journalism, pure and simple. First the link between Lisbet Enderud and Adeler and afterwards the photos of Adeler, Vestgård and Shamoun.’
‘Goodness me,’ said Ingrid, taking another biscuit from the plate. ‘We’ve got a cool customer here. A murderer who likes to construct his own news.’
Lena reached out for her coffee. But her hand was shaking. So she gave up.
‘You waited outside Lisbet Enderud’s flat later that morning,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘When Axel Rise came along you asked him not to interview the woman about the letter. Why did you do that?’
Steffen splayed his arms. ‘I’d been thinking. The letter was a hasty solution. It was clumsy. I was out of control. First of all I couldn’t know for certain if the threat would be made public or leaked to the press. If it was, the story could travel on different routes from those I wanted.’
‘So you’d found a better angle?’
‘You could put it like that.’
‘What sort of angle?’
‘I’d got to know Lena Stigersand.’
Ingrid and Lena exchanged glances.
‘How did you get to know her so quickly?’
‘It was chance. I met her when she went to Adeler’s flat. I took the initiative. She seemed OK, we found the vibe, and she seemed keen.’
Gunnarstranda sat up on his chair. ‘Gjerstad, you’re going to be charged with murder.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Steffen repeated once more.
‘It’s my belief you killed Adeler for your own personal benefit. You killed Adeler because that morning, while you were at the harbour, he told you he’d already handed in the MacFarrell report. You hadn’t anticipated that. As he’d already written his report, the splash in the papers you’d planned was of no value. On top of losing a scoop you would lose a lucrative number that Råholt was offering you. I believe you killed Adeler to shut him up. With Adeler dead you could still run the story. With him dead he wasn’t in a position to deny or disprove the contents of your big splash – that said he’d been bought and paid for by one of the parties in a conflict zone. In that way you’d still be able to do the job for Råholt and earn the cash you’d been promised.
‘You’ve admitted being at the crime scene where Adeler was murdered. The eyewitness Nina Stenshagen was shot and killed by your friend Stian Rømer. This eyewitness had spent the night on City Hall Quay with another eyewitness – Stig Eriksen. Both of them were shot and killed with the same weapon. I believe Stig Eriksen contacted you after I told him Nina had been murdered. And when he did, you decided it was time to get rid of him. Rømer shot him at your behest.’
Gunnarstranda turned and picked up a box from the floor. He put it on the table between them and removed the lid. ‘Both Nina Stenshagen and Stig Eriksen were shot and killed with this weapon – which belongs to Stian Rømer.’
He took a semi-automatic gun from the box and put it on the table. ‘Have you seen this gun before?’
Steffen scrutinised the
gun without a word.
In the observation room Ingrid stood up. ‘That must be my signal,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’d better watch, Lena, and give me a grade afterwards.’
Ingrid Kobro went out.
Lena studied the screen. Someone knew more than her in this case. That was clear enough.
The door of the interview room opened.
Ingrid entered, carrying a briefcase. She sat down.
Steffen was still so engaged by the weapon that he barely reacted.
Ingrid stretched out her arm and switched off the tape recorder.
Steffen followed her hand with his eyes.
‘My name’s Ingrid Kobro and I work in PST, the Police Security Service. Don’t worry. We’ll run the tape recorder again soon. The weapon on the table belongs to your friend Stian Rømer. Of that there is absolutely no doubt. He was in possession of this weapon when it was seized in Kadettangen outside Oslo a few days ago. Here’s my offer to you: you just heard what the police consider to be your role in this affair. The Director of Public Prosecutions is willing to waive some points in the charges against you on certain conditions.’
Steffen, silent, watched her.
‘You can, of course, reject this deal. You can deny you killed Adeler with malice aforethought and possibly avoid imprisonment. But even if you do deny this charge you’ll probably find it hard to wriggle out of being an accessory to murder. It would be the DPP’s word against yours. To refute the charge of complicity, there will be more than the charge of murder to face. You’ve already admitted taking part in a conspiracy against an MP. You’ve admitted sending a death threat to the same MP. Even if you didn’t personally hold the gun that was fired, you conspired in the premeditated murders of Nina Stenshagen and Stig Eriksen. Furthermore, you conspired against a police officer – Lena Stigersand. You and Stian Rømer planned an assault on her in your flat. Rømer carried out the attack after you’d left the premises. I’d like you to take a look at these photos.’
Lena was startled. How could Ingrid know this?
Ingrid opened her briefcase like a woman on a market stall opening her purse. At length she had a wad of photos in her hand. Lena got up from her chair, but it was impossible to see the pictures on the screen.
The Ice Swimmer Page 32