We Shall Inherit the Wind

by Gunnar Staalesen

  The spectre still haunted her eyes. ‘No, I suppose there isn’t.’

  Karin, beside her, coughed. ‘Perhaps we should go and eat? The soup’s ready.’

  We stood up and went into the dining room, where the table was already set with elegant mats and deep dishes. There were slices of French bread in a basket and knobs of butter on small plates. Ranveig and I sat down while Karin went to the kitchen and entered through a side-door, holding a substantial steaming tureen. It smelled strongly of beef and diced vegetables: carrot, swede, celeriac and leek. I could feel it had been a long time since breakfast.

  We ate in silence.

  ‘You haven’t heard from either Else or Kristoffer yet, I understand?’

  Ranveig looked up from her plate. ‘No, and I can’t say I’m exactly looking forward to hearing from them, either.’

  ‘No?’

  She looked past me this time. ‘I’ll probably be blamed for this, too.’

  ‘This, too?’

  ‘Yes. Surely you don’t believe there could be anyone else to blame for their mother disappearing that time? They were able to forgive their father after a while, when they became older. But they’ve never been able to stand me. Mons and I got together after the mother’s death far too quickly, they said.’

  ‘But you said yourself that you knew each other … before Lea disappeared.’

  ‘Yes, so?’ For the first time she showed a bit of temperament. ‘That was precisely why he came to me – for comfort. Someone he already knew well.’

  ‘Mm.’ I nodded and took a few more spoonfuls. ‘But tell me: You had to divide the estate, did you?’

  ‘Yes, we had to when we got married. The whole of their mother’s inheritance had to be transferred to the children, but with Mons as the guardian until they came of age. Everything, cash and property.’

  ‘He had to sell up, too, did he?’

  ‘Lea and he had a very good life insurance policy covering both of them.’

  ‘How good?’

  ‘I don’t remember. Million and a half, two, maybe three …’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘You mustn’t forget he was running a large company, with a lot of employees. They had a lot of responsibility – people to look after.’

  ‘Nevertheless, did she have anything to do with the company?’

  ‘No, but if anything had happened to Mons, all the responsibility would have fallen on Lea until Kristoffer was old enough.’

  ‘So you could say – and please don’t take this amiss – he made money from Lea’s death?’

  She sent him an icy stare. ‘It meant he had to go several rounds with the insurance company, but in the end they came to an agreement on certain terms and conditions.’

  ‘And they were?’

  ‘Well, purely hypothetically, if it turned out that Lea wasn’t dead …’

  ‘… then the insurance pay-out would have to be returned?’

  ‘Yes, that doesn’t so unreasonable, does it?’

  ‘No, no, no. Not at all.’

  Another silence punctuated the conversation. I was scraping the bottom of my dish, but said no when Karin offered me more soup from the tureen. Ranveig pushed her dish to the side after the first helping.

  ‘Now of course there will be another parcelling up of the estate,’ she sighed. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.’

  ‘Do you think it might be tricky?’

  ‘Yes. Now Kristoffer’s at the heart of the company and probably regards the majority of the projects they’re dealing with as his personal property. Else has a major shareholding in the company as well, even though she’s young; and of course, I’m entitled to my part of the shares Mons was sitting on.’

  ‘Fifty per cent, I’ve been told.’

  ‘And we’re barely on speaking terms …’ She sat looking into the middle distance, more worried now than grieving, as far as I could judge.

  ‘That wasn’t the impression you gave me earlier.’

  ‘No, maybe not. However, that’s the way it is.’

  When the meal was over we went back into the sitting room.

  ‘More coffee?’ Ranveig asked.

  ‘Just a drop, please.’

  She looked at Karin, who squeezed a cup from the silver pot. ‘I don’t know how hot it is,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ I said. ‘One more thing, Ranveig …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Out of curiosity.’ Karin rolled her eyes. ‘I’m afraid, that’s how I am.’ When she didn’t object I continued: ‘You and Mons got married in 1984, is that right?’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘And he bought the property on Brennøy in 1988, I’ve found out. Do you remember the circumstances surrounding the purchase?’

  She looked at me, puzzled. ‘The circumstances? No, honestly, I don’t. He never talked about that kind of thing at home. But I do remember he went to examine the property and that later he went to … Eivindvik, it must have been – to get the contract signed.’

  ‘Bjørn Brekkhus, who at that time was Chief of Police in Lindås, was one of the two people who witnessed the signing …’

  ‘Was he? That’s not so strange. Mons and he had known each other since boyhood.’

  ‘The other witness was a nurse at the institution where the seller was admitted. Her name was Gunvor Matte. Does that name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Not at all. What’s roused your curiosity?’

  I reflected. ‘Well, since now you’ll become a co-owner of the property on Brennøy I can inform you that the sale in 1988 will be contested and that the matter, as far as I can judge, will end up in court.’

  She was still puzzled. ‘And?’

  ‘Stein Svenson, who’s one of the campaigners against the wind farm, is related – distantly – to Per Nordbø, who sold the land. He died shortly after the sale, by the way, and Stein Svenson’s solicitor, the not entirely unknown herr Bringeland, will claim that he was not of sound mind when the contract was signed.’

  ‘Well!’ She sighed with exasperation. ‘There you have a sample of what I can expect in the weeks to come. Is it any wonder I’m desperate?’

  ‘I appreciate the loss of your husband has driven you to despair, yes.’

  Karin sent me an admonitory glare, but Ranveig didn’t seem to have registered what I had said.

  ‘Well …’ She took a sip of her coffee and put the cup down with a determined air. ‘You’d better send me your invoice, Varg. I’m afraid I won’t be writing to thank you for a satisfactorily completed job.’

  ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘I can understand that.’ I got up. ‘Should, however, there be anything I can do, you know where to find me.’

  ‘Yes, thank you …’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Karin followed me out. After I had put on my coat I leaned towards her and whispered: ‘There’s something she’s not telling us.’

  Karin raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Are you sleeping here tonight?’

  ‘Yes, she asked me if I would.’

  ‘If she’s in the right mood, see if you can get her to open up.’

  She looked at me disapprovingly. ‘If she does, don’t rely on me passing anything on to you.’

  ‘OK, OK … but there is something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it. Well …’ I glanced towards the sitting room and grinned. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ I leaned over and lightly kissed her on the mouth.

  She smiled and stroked my cheek. ‘And you? What are you going to do?’

  ‘Drive home.’

  But I didn’t. As I got into my car, my mobile phone rang. It was Stine Sagvåg, and she got straight down to brass tacks. ‘Veum? I told you I’d like a word. Is this a good time?’

  ‘It is. Where can I find you?’

  ‘In the bar one floor above your office. I saw your sign down below when I arrived.�
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  I chuckled. ‘Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.’

  I had to find a parking spot first. Somewhere to leave my car overnight. If I was being invited to a bar there was a distinct possibility I would be there for a while.

  18

  She was sitting at a table by the window facing Vågen. When she saw me she nodded, as if to say, yes, you’ve come to the right place.

  I nodded to the owner, a jovial guy with smooth, dark hair, a pear-shaped face, white shirt and bright-red braces. ‘The usual?’ he asked.

  I glanced over at Stine Sagvåg. She had a green drink in a cocktail glass. I definitely didn’t want anything like that. ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

  I went over to her table. She had changed into an evening outfit: a short, black skirt with a tightly fitted top in black shot with gold, which revealed that there wasn’t a gram too much on her body, except where it counted most. Her muscular but slim upper arms testified to the regular use of weights. When she got up to greet me her handshake was firm and resolute, and her beautiful smile came as if cut out of a glossy fashion magazine that retailed at more money than I had in my account. ‘What can I offer you, Veum?’

  ‘I’ve ordered, thank you.’

  Her face was lean, her red hair with grey streaks fashionably dishevelled, and she radiated a strength that made me think of a female marathon runner crossing the finishing line with consummate ease.

  The bartender came over with a round tray in one hand, placed a glass of dark-brown Hansa and a small glass of Simers Taffel aquavit on the table in front of me, said ‘Enjoy’ and retired discreetly with an amused smile. The bar was quite new, a couple of years old, and had raised the standard of the hotel on the fourth and fifth floors by several notches. It was located by the hotel reception area, and the view of the fish market and adjacent splendours did not diminish the attraction. The owner was a pleasant man who liked to chat with his customers, but he knew when to withdraw if the situation required.

  On a Wednesday evening in September the place wasn’t exactly jam-packed, but we weren’t the only customers, either. There was a middle-aged couple sitting at one table, a group of three, well-dressed young ladies at another, two of them with immense cigars in their mouths, and from the side room I heard loud laughter coming from a party of men out on the town to celebrate something, most probably being out on the town.

  Stine Sagvåg raised her glass and looked at me invitingly. ‘Skål …’

  I chose the dram, skål-ed her, sipped the aquavit and felt the taste of caraway ripple reassuringly through my body. ‘Skål.’

  From a small handbag she took a gold case, opened it and held it out for me. ‘Cigarette, Veum?’

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke.’

  She arched her eyebrows with a questioning expression.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Don’t mind me.’

  She nodded thanks, plucked out a cigarette, placed it between her lips and waited for as many seconds as it took her to realise that I didn’t walk around with matches on me, either. Then she took out a lighter and lit the cigarette herself. She inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs, and the image of her as a marathon runner slipped.

  ‘You may be wondering why I’ve invited you here.’

  ‘Yes, I cannot deny that.’

  She turned her face to the side and considerately blew the smoke in that direction. ‘What happened on the island was absolutely terrible.’

  ‘We can all agree on that. You were questioned by the police as well, were you?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But what could I tell them? Erik Utne of Norcraft deals with Mæland Real Estate.’

  ‘So why were you at the survey?’

  She smiled indulgently. ‘TWO, whom I represent, has substantial property interests in Norcraft. We’re obviously interested in following up our investments, also at close quarters. Especially when a fairly controversial venture such as a wind farm in virtually untouched nature is concerned.’

  ‘There’s a beating heart for the environment in TWO as well?’

  ‘A controversial investment can soon become a poor investment. Our owners’ main concern is a foreseeable profit.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise! But you had met Mons Mæland, hadn’t you?’

  ‘Only peripherally, eighteen months ago, when we seriously began to get interested in this case.’

  ‘In fact, I’ve come across TWO before.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘You’ve checked up on me, I imagine.’

  ‘I always check up on people I rendez-vous with.’

  ‘A rendez-vous? Is that what this is?’

  She smiled enigmatically.

  ‘Did you speak to Halvorsen or Kristoffersen?’

  ‘I didn’t speak to anyone, Veum. I found you in our archives.’

  ‘Wow! You don’t have a copy of my file, do you?’

  ‘It wasn’t that thick,’ she said, demonstratively flaring her nostrils.

  ‘Thick enough,’ I said, taking a sip of beer.

  She waited until I had put the glass down. ‘We have an assignment for you, in fact.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Tell me more.’

  ‘You probably heard what Johannes Bringeland said on the island. The claims he made about the sale of the property – in 1988, I think it must have been.’

  ‘Yes. His client Stein Svenson was given a bit of rough treatment on Brennøy. Professional job.’

  She waited for me to follow up.

  ‘I don’t know if you noticed one of the others at the survey. A certain Trond Tangenes …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You didn’t hire him, did you?’

  ‘Trond Tangenes? I don’t recognise the name. In what capacity, might I ask?’

  ‘I see.’ I shrugged. ‘He has a background as a debt collector, bodyguard, that kind of thing. Have persuasive manner, will travel. If you know what I mean.’

  She raised one hand. ‘If you’re trying to imply that we would have anything to do with that kind of activity I can definitively reject it. At TWO we do not take recourse to such methods.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  For a while there was an invisible arc of tension between us that could have caught fire at any moment. Then I put a damper on the atmosphere. ‘I saw him talking to Jarle Glosvik, the district council man, most of the time.’

  ‘Then ask him!’

  ‘I will do if the opportunity presents itself. But back to … What is it you want me to do?’

  ‘Yes. When the murder … When whatever happened to Mons Mæland has been cleared up we want to get cracking with the project as soon as is advisable.’

  ‘You literally want the wind in your sails.’

  ‘Yes. Can we count on you?’

  I took another sip of the aquavit. ‘If I understand you correctly, you’re asking me to investigate what happened in 1988 when the land on Brennøy was transferred from one Per Nordbø to Mons Mæland with the Chief of Police in Lindås as one of the witnesses. That’s all?’

  ‘In brief outline.’

  ‘Perhaps not the greatest intellectual challenge I’ve had, but we all have to live.’ I nodded. ‘I can try. Do you know how Svenson is?’

  ‘No idea. A doctor arrived, and they went into a different room. The rest of us were discharged once the police had finished with us.’

  ‘Who did you talk to?’

  ‘Solheim, I think he was called.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Sweet guy.’

  I took note. I would have to remember to tell him the next time we met.

  ‘You’re very sweet, too, Veum …’

  Or maybe not.

  The bartender was at their table again. ‘Everything alright?’ By which, I now knew, he meant: ‘Anything else to drink?’

  Her glass was empty. ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘One more of the same.’

  I drained my beer. ‘I’ll keep you company. Two more of the same.’

  ‘My treat
,’ she said.

  ‘Can you write it off against my assignment?’

  ‘That sort of thing.’

  ‘What is it you’re drinking? Broccoli juice?’

  ‘Grasshopper. Pleasant taste of peppermint, if you have a taste for it.’

  I leaned back in my chair. ‘And what is an attractive girl like you doing at the top of TWO?’

  ‘Attractive girls do what they want after a while. Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘In directors’ offices, too?’

  ‘I’ve got a degree and a business school diploma.’

  ‘Not just attractive but clever with it?’

  Her tongue came out and ran along her top teeth. ‘Very clever,’ she said as the new round from the bar arrived.

  ‘But you’re not from Bergen …’

  ‘You have a keen ear, Veum. You can hear the difference between Bergen and Trondheim, in other words.’

  ‘Refined version.’

  ‘Trondheim Posh, as it’s called. Though it’s never been a problem so far.’

  ‘TWO isn’t exactly well known for its environmental credentials …’

  Her eyebrows shot up and she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Are we back to business? No, not historically maybe. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the potential to improve. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Absolutely. And is that what you’re doing now? Wind power and other renewables?’

  ‘We want to become an environmental beacon, Varg. May I call you that?’

  ‘Of course. A beacon with maximum profit?’

  She leaned forward, spreading a fragrance that was discreet and cool. She was like a perfumed glacier. ‘That’s where the future lies. At the cutting edge of technological development. Take Toyota, for example. They brought out the first hybrid car, and I’ll guarantee you that in ten to fifteen years’ time at least fifty per cent of all cars off the conveyor belts will have environmental features.’

  ‘And you want to be part of this?’

  ‘Not car manufacturing, but in our specialities: shipping, energy, and I’m not just thinking of oil, I’m thinking wind, wave …’ She extended an arm in a circle above us. ‘The sun … We want to be there, Varg, and leading from the front.’

  ‘With all your money? And the profit …’

  She smiled. ‘That, too. All our prognoses point in the same direction. The environment is tomorrow’s investment objective number one. Have you ever seen a wind farm?’