The furniture in the small sitting room, which I assumed from the presence of a bed doubled as a bedroom, looked as if it had come with the house when he bought it: shabby, painted chairs – two of them overturned on the floor – and a wooden table that had seen its best years. The room was dominated by the piles of reading material, most of it on the floor: newspapers, magazines and books. On the table there was a laptop and a portable radio. That was the extent of the modern technology.
Svenson was waiting for me. He was unshaven. His short, red hair was tucked under a large bandage, and he was wearing a faded, dark-blue T-shirt over deep-green combat trousers. His face was not a pleasant sight. Swellings had appeared where Trond Tangenes’ punches had struck home and he stood swaying in the middle of the floor, as if dizzy.
I watched and waited. When nothing was forthcoming, I said: ‘What about: thanks for your help?’
‘No one invited you, did they.’
‘You would have preferred him to finish the job, would you?’
He sighed involuntarily and gasped for breath. Then he made an attempt to pull himself together. ‘I need some coffee. Find something to sit on.’
He walked past me into the kitchen, and I could hear that he was running water into a kettle. I flipped up the two chairs with my foot and placed one of them at the table. The other I carried to the window where I stood for a while making sure that Tangenes didn’t reappear.
As the water was heating he came to the kitchen door and glared at me. ‘Who are you, actually?’
‘We met on Brennøy. I was one of the people who found you after you’d been trussed up.’
He pinched the bridge of this nose. ‘Yes, I remember you. You’re from TWO, aren’t you?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because you keep trying to deny it.’
‘I’m not sure I understand the logic, but …’
‘And your name …?’
‘Veum. Varg Veum. I’m a private investigator.’
‘Right?’ He appeared unable to absorb this. Then the water boiled and he went back into the kitchen. He clattered around, then returned with a mug in each hand. ‘Only got instant, and nothing to put in it.’
‘That’s fine.’ I took the mug. He made a move towards the table. I checked the window for a last time. All looked nice and peaceful. We sat down on the wooden chairs; his didn’t seem comfortable, either. ‘What did Tangenes want from you?’
‘Tangenes?’
‘The guy we turfed out.’
His eyes wandered. ‘He said we should drop the lawsuit.’
‘The land deal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything about the wind farm?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did he say who’d sent him?’
He started to shake his head, but stopped and groaned. ‘Shit!’
‘Sore head?’
‘Well deduced. No, he didn’t say who’d sent him, and I don’t give a rat shit.’
‘Are you going to follow his advice?’
He stared at me defiantly. ‘You clearly don’t know Stein Svenson. I don’t buckle that easily.’
‘Do you think it was him who attacked you on Brennøy?’
Carefully, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Don’t ask me. I don’t remember a thing.’ He held the back of his head. ‘But I do know this. Whoever it was, came from behind.’
‘I should tell you something. The night before, I was woken by a heated argument outside my window. When I went to see who it was, I saw you and Ole Rørdal having a go at each other …’
‘Oh, yes? So? Are you trying to say that it was Ole who …?’ He pointed to his head and raised his eyebrows.
‘You slept on the boat, and when Ole and Else passed underneath my window I heard Ole say very clearly: “We aren’t terrorists!”’
‘Right, and?’
‘My conclusion is that the disagreement between you and Ole was about something he called “terrorism”.’ As he didn’t respond, I added: ‘Others might call it drastic action.’
His eyes were heavy and sad. ‘I still don’t understand where this is going …’
‘The murder of Mons Mæland, for example.’
‘The murder of … Are you out of your mind? Do you think anyone in an environmental organisation would go that far to promote their cause?’
‘That’s one of the main theories in the papers today.’
‘The papers! Pah! Surely you don’t bloody believe what they write? They’ve been after us ever since we set up.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re not house-trained enough. We barge in where others fear to tread. We’re the only bloody people who dare to say what these wind farms along the coast will really do.’
‘There have been other critical voices, too …’
‘Yes, but we … We take action, right?’
‘Yes, exactly.’ I leaned forward. ‘And what sort?’
He sighed. ‘Yes, drastic action. But murder? You’re way off target.’
‘Well, give me examples of the action you’ve planned then!’
‘Why should I? So that you can run off to TWO and warn them?’
‘I don’t represent …’ But upon mature reflection, that was exactly what I was doing. Instead, I changed the topic. ‘This land deal, where did the idea come from?’
‘Are we back to that?’
I nodded. ‘Glosvik and Tangenes are not the only ones preoccupied by it, you know.’
‘So? That could be called pretty drastic action, couldn’t it?’
‘Hardly drastic enough for it to be called terrorism. It would have to be something like hijacking a plane after sending an application in triplicate two weeks in advance.’
‘You’ll see – it will delay the whole process long enough for people to see the light before the farm is completed.’
‘See the light about what?’
‘Wind turbines! Isn’t that what this is about?’
‘Yes, probably.’
‘Probably?’
‘How did you get onto this land deal idea?’
‘Get onto? We trawled through public documents and then this name cropped up. Per Nordbø. I knew we had someone called Nordbø in the family, so I kept at it and then we realised that, well, in fact I had a claim.’
‘But the assertion that Per Nordbø was not of sound mind when he signed …’
‘Yes, that was Bringe– …’ He caught himself too late.
I nodded. ‘That was Bringeland’s idea. Thought so. How much commission have you agreed if the land ends up in your hands?’
He wouldn’t answer the question. Instead he said: ‘You can interview the people who signed the purchase agreement. The crown witnesses.’
‘Bjørn Brekkhus and Gunvor Matre?’
‘Yeah. Think that’s their names … maybe.’
‘I’ll follow your advice. I’ll talk to them.’
‘Have fun!’
I took a sip of coffee. He did the same. We sat staring at each other.
‘There’s one other matter I was wondering about, Svenson. The first two times we met you asked if I was from Norcraft. Why?’
His eyes narrowed again. ‘I asked, that was all.’ I waited for him to go on, and he was unable to resist. ‘I had a suspicion.’
‘A suspicion about what?’
‘That they would try to buy him off.’
‘Buy whom off? Ole Rørdal?’
‘It was likely they would try anyway, and Ole … Well, perhaps, he’s not quite as strong as he appears.’
‘Was this what was behind your disagreement?’
‘Probably, yes. He’d suddenly started to lose his steel. Wasn’t willing to go as far as … some of us wanted.’
‘You suspected he’d been bought?’
He shrugged. ‘How can I know? Anything can happen in this dirty business.’
I opened my mouth, but he interrupted. ‘I’ve got nothing else to say.’
‘Fine. So what now? Are you going to report the assault to the police?’
His eyes went walkabout. ‘This today?’
‘Yes, I wasn’t thinking of the previous occasion. They already know about that one.’
‘And what use would it be? Do you think they would be interested?’
I made a vague gesture with my hands. ‘If it’s relevant to the other case, they …’
‘The Mons Mæland case, you mean?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll chew on it.’
‘If you don’t report it, I might. He threatened me as well.’
Svenson eyed me, undecided. ‘OK. You can do what you like.’
‘One last question, Svenson. Who do you think would have wanted to kill Mæland?’
‘It’d be better to ask me who didn’t have a reason to kill him.’
‘Give me a clue. I never met him.’
‘I’ve said what I’m going to say to the cops. They’re investigating the case, aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Face the facts, Veum. You’re fighting against the wind turbines, too. As long as you’re employed by TWO, anyway.’
‘Svenson, they’re for the wind farm, in case you haven’t sussed it yet.’
He sent me a look that was an appropriate mixture of disdain and contempt. And, yes, maybe he was right. But I didn’t need his sort to tell me so.
Before getting into the car, I rang Hamre. Surprisingly, he came through in no time. I told him what had happened, about the assault on Svenson and the threats Tangenes had made, both to me and to ‘my girlfriend’.
‘Come on now, Veum,’ Hamre barked. ‘Don’t tell me you’re investigating this case!’
‘No, no. I’ve been hired to investigate the 1988 land sale contract, if you remember that?’
‘I see. All right. Sounds harmless enough, but you keep your paws off the murder case.’
‘Back to Tangenes.’
‘Yes, I made a mental note. We’ll send some patrol cars round a bit more often, in Fløenbakken and up at your place. Ring us if he turns up, Veum. Don’t take the law into your own hands. You’ve never been much good at keeping off limits.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
I felt far from reassured. I immediately rang Karin at work. It was a while before she answered. ‘Yes? Varg? I’m busy right now. Can you ring back later?’
‘Yes. But don’t leave the office until you’ve spoken to me. OK?’
‘OK.’
We rang off. I opened the car door and got in behind the wheel. Frightened, Veum? Yes. But not for myself. If anything happened to Karin, however …
I started up and drove towards town, slightly above the speed limit, but I was busy and if I was stopped and waved into the side I would have to pass on my regards to Hamre. That might help. It might not.
21
I left my car in the multi-storey car park in Markeveien, went down to my office, booted up the computer and started searching for the telephone numbers I didn’t have. While I was at it I went into the Kvasir search engine and hunted for interesting names. Mons Mæland came up hundreds of times, Jarle Glosvik closer to thousands of times. I found a nice portrait photo of Stine Sagvåg, while Bjørn Brekkhus only featured in a few newspaper articles from the time when he was still Chief of Police. Ole Rørdal was high on the list, whereas Stein Svenson had only a few entries. Kristoffer had nowhere near as many mentions as his father, Else only a few and I couldn’t find Ranveig anywhere. Neither Lars nor Kristine Rørdal produced anything of interest.
Finally I searched for Gunvor Matre. The sole entry for her was a brief address: 5970 Byrknesøy. There was ample evidence to suggest I should make another trip to Lindås and Gulen.
I sat staring into the distance, musing. Again I was haunted by the image of Mons Mæland hanging from the cross. There was something so graphic and brutal about this act that I was reminded of far more extreme action groups than those we were used to in Norway, with the exception of the neo-Nazis, and the remnants of that movement had never been interested in environmental politics, from my observation.
Religious fanatics had taken recourse to robust methods when the fight against the abortion law was at its peak, but, to the best of my memory, there had been no crucifixion. Lars Rørdal had been committed enough in his condemnation of the wind farm project, but I couldn’t imagine he would ever go as far as stringing up one of his main adversaries. In addition, his consternation at the discovery of the body had seemed genuine enough.
Mons Mæland had been undergoing a change of heart, but those who were fighting for the wind farm wouldn’t have gone to such extremes, either. Even a man like Trond Tangenes would have used far more subtle methods. A drowning accident, a hit and run, that kind of malarkey.
Could the motive lie somewhere else entirely? Someone settling one of life’s outstanding debts?
I tried another name in the search box. Lea Mæland. But the result was negative. Not a single entry. She was definitively dead and buried, in Kvasir and everywhere else.
I would have liked to know what progress the police had made in their inquiries. The only person I could ring there was Atle Helleve, but I felt fairly sure that not even he would be very talkative at this stage.
I established the facts of the case. Mons Mæland had disappeared from his cabin on Radøy late Saturday night. On Sunday his boat was found drifting in the Radsund. On Monday I was given an assignment to track him down. On Wednesday we all found him, with Lars Rørdal as the first on the crime scene.
But how long had he been dead, and who had hung him on the cross? Was it one person or could there have been more?
Also, who had knocked Stein Svenson unconscious and tied him up? My main suspect was still Trond Tangenes, but could it have been someone else? And could he or someone else have hung Mons Mæland on the cross, if so? Was there any connection between these two events at all? Were there any other motives other than the dispute about the wind farm?
Could what happened when the land was sold – perhaps unlawfully – to Mæland in 1988 have been motive enough? In which case it would have to be Stein Svenson. But how did that explain the fact that it was him who had been assaulted and rendered hors de combat roughly at the same time?
So, when was Mons Mæland hung up on the cross? Wednesday morning? The night before? If the body was transported there, was it by boat, or some other way? Boat was the most likely option; it would have been far more difficult over land. But, of course, the police were checking this now, and they certainly would not answer any of the questions I might like to ask.
It was almost three o’clock when I rang Karin again.
‘Oh, hiya,’ she said, somewhat absent-mindedly.
‘Can you speak now?’
‘Yes, yes. No problem.’
‘How is she?’
‘She was pale but composed when I left her this morning. Kristoffer rang last night, and they agreed to have a kind of family council this evening. They have to plan the funeral of course.’
‘It will probably take some time before forensics has finished with him.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it will. But there must be other things they would like to discuss as well.’
‘My understanding was that she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. You didn’t …? She didn’t confide in you at all after I’d gone?’
‘No, Varg, she didn’t. We sat chatting, but … Nothing that would interest you anyway, I can assure you. And after Kristoffer rang she had all that on her mind.’
‘Hm. Are you meeting her today?’
‘No, but I told her she only had to ring if there was anything. What about you? Are you busy?’
‘Not today. But it looks like I might have to go to Gulen again tomorrow.’ I told her about the assignment I had been given by Stine Sagvåg.
‘Are you going to come up and see me?’
‘Love to. My car’s in Markeveien. We can meet there when you’ve
finished.’
We arranged to meet and I clicked off. Then I rang Bjørn Brekkhus’ mobile number. The only answer I got was a voicemail saying his phone was switched off or he was in an area without coverage.
When I rang his home number a woman answered. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, I’d like to talk to Bjørn Brekkhus.’
‘OK. Who’s that?’ I tried to place her dialect, but all I knew for certain was that she was from Eastern Norway.
‘My name’s Veum.’
‘I’m afraid he isn’t at home.’
‘I’ve tried his mobile phone.’
‘He often forgets to switch it on. The coverage where he is, is poor, too.’
‘Where is he?’
‘At sea, as usual. Can I ask him to ring you when he gets home?’
‘Yes, please do. We met on Monday, so he knows who I am and what this is about.’
‘Veum, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ I gave her my telephone number.
‘Got it.’
‘Thank you.’
I met Karin outside the multi-storey car park in Markeveien. As we drove to Fløenbakken I kept an eye open to check we weren’t being followed, but I couldn’t see anyone. After parking outside her block I told her to wait while I opened the door. I got out and scanned the area. Then I beckoned to her.
She looked at me with a worried expression. ‘What is it, Varg? You seem so tense.’
‘I don’t want to worry you unduly, but … Let’s go in first.’
Upstairs in her flat, I told her about Trond Tangenes and the threats he had made. Finally I gave her a detailed description of his appearance. ‘If anyone rings at the door, don’t open up unless you’re sure you know who it is. And if you see someone vaguely resembling him, look for somewhere safe as soon as possible, talk to other people around you and ring me – or maybe just as good, the police. Hamre knows.’
She stared at me with big eyes and a grimace. ‘I hope this isn’t going to last long, Varg.’
‘No, no,’ I said, trying to make my tone lighter than I felt. ‘In all probability they’re just empty threats. His main aim was to do exactly this. To make us feel unsafe.’ I patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’ll pass, sooner than you imagine.’
We Shall Inherit the Wind Page 14