After almost twenty minutes the vehicle came to a halt, the ignition was switched off and a door opened. A garage door was already drawn up beside them. A piercing light flooded the van interior, and he recognised the driver as one of the four members of the Paneriai Quartet. Algirdas Skvernelis.
Wisting stepped from the van. Swallowing, he wiped the sweat from his upper lip and tried not to show his fear.
They were in a disused warehouse. The air was cold and raw, but smelled of straw and hay. They were probably in the countryside.
Muravjev approached a steel door. The noise echoed in the immense space when he shoved the large bolts to one side, and fragments of rust fell onto the floor. They followed a maze of corridors and stairs before arriving in a cramped, brightly lit room with fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It was furnished as a sort of living room, with a worn out three-piece suite, a few broken chairs and a small table in front of a television set. Along the wall were rows of old wardrobes. The stink of sweat stung his nostrils.
A door opened at the back of the room, and a burly man with a thick neck, flat nose and tiny eyes entered, leaving the door open behind him. Wisting recognised him from Ahlberg’s photographs as the third man in the group. Closing the door behind him, he came across, shaking hands and introducing himself. Teodor Milosz spoke good English and invited Wisting to sit.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ he said, sitting opposite, but this situation we’ve landed in is making us feel insecure and unsafe.’
‘I understand,’ Wisting said. His nervousness had increased from the moment he arrived at the deserted sports ground.
‘What has brought you to Vilnius?’
Wisting concentrated on his breathing. Calming down allowed him to think more clearly. ‘I’m investigating the murder of Darius Plater.’
Silence fell in the room. Somewhere in the building a fan hummed. ‘Tell us how he died,’ Teodor Milosz said.
‘We found him in a boat. He had been shot twice in the stomach. We believe he was fleeing from something and hid on board. He died of blood loss.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘We don’t know who or why.’
Muravjev interrupted in Lithuanian. Teodor Milosz exchanged a few words with him before addressing Wisting again. ‘Why have you come here? What do you want from us?’
‘You were there when he died. I want to know what happened.’
Teodor Milosz translated. Muravjev gestured with his arms as he spoke. ‘What will happen to us?’ Teodor Milosz interpreted once more.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Are we to be punished?’
‘You are suspected of several instances of aggravated burglary from cottages in the area, but that’s not why I’m here. That’s not what this case is concerned with. It’s about justice for Darius.’
This answer was translated and a fresh exchange of opinions followed.
‘What are the Norwegian police intending to do about the theft cases?’
‘I can’t provide you with any kind of amnesty. If you come back to Norway, you risk being punished.’
Muravjev rose to his feet, placing both hands on his head. His voice was full of bewilderment as he spoke.
Teodor Milosz relayed: ‘Will we have to go to Norway if there is a trial?’
‘Yes you will, but I’m sure the state prosecutor will be kindly disposed if you contribute towards the solving of this case.’
Muravjev’s voice was raised now. ‘But we don’t know anything!’
‘You know more than we do. You were there when it happened. I need someone who can speak for Darius.’
The three men held a discussion in their own language until, finally, Muravjev shook his head and sat down. Teodor Milosz rested his forearms on his knees, leaning forward in his chair. ‘I will tell you,’ he said.
56
One of the filthy fluorescent light tubes on the ceiling flickered and hummed faintly before going out. Teodor Milosz’ face fell into shadow. ‘It’s true that we stole from the cottages,’ he began. ‘We had been into six of them and were on our way to the last when we realised we were not alone in the woods.’
He straightened up before continuing. ‘It was dark, with only a little light on the outside of the cottage wall. We sat among the trees, perhaps twenty metres away, and waited to be sure that there was nobody there. Besides, we were not entirely sure whether to break into that one. The cottage was old and looked as though it wasn’t occupied.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘We heard him before we saw him. He was careless and clumsy, breaking branches from the trees, even though he was walking along the path. When he approached the cottage, we saw that he was wearing a hood, and that he was carrying a bag.’
Teodor Milosz used his hands to indicate the size of the bag. ‘He looked around before placing it on a box on the verandah. The kind of box lots of people have for storing the cushions they use with their outdoor furniture.’
Wisting nodded that he understood, although Milosz’ English pronunciation was poor.
‘We lay totally silent for ten minutes,’ the Lithuanian continued, his voice lowered. ‘Then Darius crept forward on his own. He opened the lid of the box, lifted out the bag and opened it.’ The dusty light tube above him blinked a couple of times before coming to life again, giving his face sharp shadows and hollow cheeks. “Piniga!” he shouted up to us. “Money!”’
The two other Lithuanians in the room exchanged glances, as though the story brought back bad memories.
‘He held up a whole fistful,’ Milosz said, demonstrating with his hand. ‘Then he stuffed it back and hoisted the bag over his shoulder.’
Wisting leaned back. The account was so obvious he ought to have thought of it himself. The Lithuanians had been on a thieving foray in the cottages and by chance had stumbled on Rudi Muller’s showdown with the cocaine dealers. The cushion box was probably a prearranged delivery location.
‘Then everything happened so fast, and in the dark,’ Teodor Milosz said. ‘Two masked men came running from the woods, shouting. Darius ran the other way, towards the sea.’
Rudi Muller and Trond Holmberg had been lying hidden in the woods, waiting for the bag to be exchanged for cocaine.
‘We ran after them, but everything was in darkness. We had flashlights, of course, but they were of little use. They only lit up a small area in front of us, and after that you see even less than before. Also, it gives away your position.’ Teodor Milosz brushed aside his digression with a hand gesture. ‘Valdas ran first,’ he said, nodding towards the man who had ambushed Wisting. ‘Algirdas and I were right behind, but Algirdas tripped and fell, and Valdas disappeared into the darkness ahead of us.’
Valdas Muravjev made a remark that was not translated. Teodor Milosz stood up and took a few paces backwards and forwards across the floor before resuming. ‘Then we heard shots,’ he said. ‘Many shots.’
‘Did Darius have a gun?’
Milosz stared at Wisting without responding.
‘The one you stole from one of the cottages at Tjøme two days before,’ Wisting said. ‘We’ve found it. It was in the boat with Darius.’
Teodor Milosz nodded wearily. ‘It was Darius who found it. It was lying in the drawer of a bedside table, but he wasn’t the only one who fired. The shots went back and forth, just ahead of us.’ He waved his arms about to demonstrate how there had been an exchange of gunfire. ‘Algirdas and I sought cover away from the path. We were not armed, so there was nothing we could do.’
Valdas Muravjev interrupted the conversation once more. Wisting’s attacker obviously found it easier to understand what was said in English than to speak the language himself.
‘Valdas thought he saw Darius in front of him on the path,’ Teodor Milosz translated.
‘A man with a bag,’ Muravjev clarified. His wide-open eyes gave his features a confused, desperate expression.
Sitting down again, Milosz held up his hand, as if to say that he wo
uld tell the story at his own speed. ‘Valdas crouched beside the path and came forward to meet him when the man was directly facing him, but it was not Darius. It was another man.’
Muravjev made another attempt: ‘There was a fight. I was strongest, but the man ran into the forest. I did not follow him.’
‘One of the men who chased Darius?’
Muravjev shook his head furiously. ‘It was not either of them. He was wearing different clothes, and did not have a hood over his face.’
The details of this account could be woven into the existing information. The man on the path was probably the narcotics courier who was carrying ten kilos of cocaine.
‘I was the one who had the keys for the van,’ Teodor Milosz continued. ‘Algirdas and I went back. We thought that both Darius and Valdas might have done the same, and we were in a hurry to drive away, but they weren’t there.’
‘Was there any other vehicle there?’
The Lithuanian nodded. ‘In a space a little further away, another car was parked. A Golf, I think.’ He turned to Algirdas and asked him. The other man nodded. ‘Yes, it was a black Volkswagen Golf.’
Wisting swallowed. That was Line’s car.
‘Darius’ phone was lying in the van, so we couldn’t call him,’ Teodor Milosz said. ‘But we spoke to Valdas. He said he would continue to search for Darius, and we should wait for them in the van on the main road.’
Muravjev made several more comments that were not translated.
‘We had been waiting a long time, maybe an hour or so, when a police car arrived. We had to leave. The idea was that Valdas would hide in the woods and wait until we had emptied the van and could come back for him.’
Muravjev interjected several sentences in his mother tongue.
‘He came up to the main road and waited beside a tree,’ Milosz translated. ‘But then more police cars turned up, this time with dogs and a helicopter. He couldn’t wait any longer.’
Muravjev fixed his gaze on Wisting. ‘I am sorry. I took your car.’
Wisting brushed this aside. Teodor Milosz’ story was coming to its end.
‘We have an agreement,’ Milosz explained. ‘If anything happens and we get separated, we have to phone and leave a message. All Darius had to do was get hold of a phone and call us.’ He lowered his eyes. ‘He never did.’
Wisting stretched out. The pieces had fallen into place, but there were still many unanswered questions. ‘Where is the bag of money?’
‘No idea,’ Teodor Milosz replied. ‘We thought perhaps you had found it when you found Darius.’
Wisting shook his head.
Algirdas spoke for the first time. ‘Who is the dead man in the cottage?’ Teodor Milosz translated.
‘A Norwegian,’ Wisting replied.
‘Do you think Darius shot him?’
Wisting had to reflect for a moment before answering. It was likely that Darius Plater had shot and injured Trond Holmberg, and also that it was Holmberg and Muller who had inflicted the fatal gunshot wounds on Darius Plater before fleeing from the scene. If it was Rudi Muller there with Trond Holmberg.
‘It’s too early to come to a conclusion,’ he said, without mentioning that the man in the cottage had probably died not from gunshot wounds, as had been reported, but from a blow to the head.
‘Where are the items you stole from the cottages?’ he asked.
Milosz threw out his arms expressively. ‘You were at the market, weren’t you?’ he answered. ‘Most of it has been sold.’
‘Most of it?’
Teodor Milosz got to his feet and stepped across to one of the metal cupboards lining the wall. Opening it, he waved Wisting over.
A portable computer sat on a shelf beside a DVD player. Underneath were a couple of car stereos, and a number of MP3 players and mobile phones. At the bottom of the cupboard lay several candlesticks and other bric-a-brac. Light fell diagonally onto the shelves, and was reflected on coloured glass.
Wisting hunkered down and picked out a pendant-shaped glass object about the size and shape of a fist. The light played on it as he held it up. The transitions of the different colours were almost imperceptible, changing according to the direction and intensity of the light. The colours and luminescence brought the glass to life, and it was easy to imagine it as a dewdrop filled with dreams, thoughts and hopes. ‘I know the owner of this,’ he said.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Milosz nodded. ‘It was Darius who wanted it, even though it’s not worth much. At least, not here in Lithuania.’ He shut the cupboard door. ‘We waited another day for him to phone, but then we read on the internet that a dead man had been found in a boat. We thought it must be Darius and came home.’
Wisting tucked the glass droplet into his pocket. ‘I’m grateful for all you have told me,’ he said, ‘but we must formalise it through an interview at the police station.’
‘There is someone else here who wants to meet you,’ Teodor Milosz interrupted him.
The Lithuanian strode to the door through which he had entered. ‘Wait here,’ he said.
57
The woman who appeared in the door opening was in her mid-twenties, with a round face and blonde curls. Her eyes, more grey than blue, were red around the edges. She wore a buttoned brown coat with sleeves that were too short. Wisting recognised her instantly as the woman whose photograph Darius Plater had been carrying.
‘This is Anna,’ Teodor Milosz explained.
Wisting rose to his feet. ‘You’re Darius’ girlfriend,’ he said, introducing himself as a police detective from Norway. ‘My condolences.’
‘Thanks,’ the woman whispered.
‘Anna has been listening to our conversation,’ Teodor Milosz said. ‘But she wanted to meet you.’
‘I don’t want you to think of Darius as a thief,’ she said. ‘He loved Norway. He talked about all his experiences there. He had seen mountains and waterfalls along the roadsides, and described all the buildings that were both practical and beautiful. Norwegians were clever at making beautiful things, he told me.’
‘You speak good English,’ Wisting said.
‘Anna’s a university student,’ Milosz explained.
They sat down again, and Wisting listened to the woman. She had a great deal to tell him.
‘We have the same sun and the same moon in Norway and Lithuania,’ she said. ‘We live on the same earth, but our world is split in two. We are poor. You are rich.’
Wisting could not do other than agree.
‘Darius did not dream of being rich, but he did dream of a good life. For himself, for me and for the child we talked about creating. When people from poor countries like ours come to work or steal in your country, it’s not to become rich, but to gain enough money to stand on our own two feet. Of course it’s wrong, but poor people must always think of themselves. At one time, you Norwegians were poor as well. I think you have forgotten that, but you are so proud of your Vikings that you build museums for them. They were a hundred times worse than the Lithuanian people. They plundered, raped and killed, but now everyone thinks of them as heroes.’
‘Why did you go to Norway?’ Wisting asked, glancing across at Teodor Milosz. ‘Why not travel to Germany, or stop in Sweden?’
‘When you are going to do things that are wrong, it’s important that what you do is as little wrong as possible,’ Milosz said. ‘It’s better to steal from Norway, because it’s a wealthy country, than a poor country where people don’t have so much. Norway doesn’t notice if a person steals a hundred thousand kroner.’
‘What would you do if someone stole from you?’ Wisting countered.
‘I would be angry,’ was the reply. ‘But eventually I would think that the person who did it was desperate and needed money. People who have their belongings stolen must not take it personally. It’s only chance that it happens to them.’
Wisting looked at the three pale men in turn. In the annual reports about trends and tendencies in crime developments they wer
e described as cynical members of organised gangs of burglars from the east. There probably were such people, but from what these men had told him and what Wisting himself had witnessed in this country, they represented a type of criminality that arose from necessity rather than immorality. It was easy to understand where criminality came from, but it was not a justification.
After Wisting embarked on his career in the police, the Norwegian economy had grown enormously. With the development of the welfare state, there were fewer poor people in Norway but, at the same time, crime had increased dramatically. The causes of criminality were considerably more complex, with elements other than poverty and need. However, the crime statistics in Norway would certainly look very different if the economy of Eastern Europe showed improvement.
‘When is he coming home?’ the slightly built woman asked, rousing him from his thoughts.
‘Sometime next week.’
Silence descended on the room once again. Teodor Milosz coughed. ‘We’ll drive you back,’ he said, giving instructions in Lithuanian.
Algirdas handed Wisting’s mobile phone, passport and wallet back to him.
‘I can take a taxi,’ Wisting said, as he stood up.
‘There are no taxis out here. We’ll take you back to your hotel.’
‘Wait,’ pleaded the woman who had been Darius Plater’s girlfriend. Wisting waited for the difficult question. ‘Will you get him?’ Will you catch the man who killed Darius?’
‘That’s my job.’
58
The breakfast room was filled with the smells of newly baked bread and percolated coffee. Martin Ahlberg sat at a table by the window and had almost finished eating. Wisting helped himself to orange juice and a large portion of bacon, egg and toast before sitting opposite his colleague.
‘I’m going home today,’ he said. ‘There’s a SAS flight via Copenhagen as early as eleven o’clock.’
Ahlberg set his cup down on the table but, before he managed to say anything, Wisting continued: ‘Teodor Milosz, Valdas Muravjev and Algirdas Skvernlis will come to the police station at twelve to provide formal statements. They’ll bring the stolen goods that haven’t already been sold.’
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