Closed for Winter

by Jorn Lier Horst

  He looked down at his papers again. It had pained him to get that out, but at the same time it was a relief. As far as Line’s car being linked to the case was concerned, he would take that up with Nils Hammer in private before the witness statements arrived from Lithuania.

  He was about to continue when Benjamin Fjeld thrust his hand in the air. ‘Is Tommy Kvanter not originally Danish?’

  ‘Yes.’ Wisting let a question hang in the air with this confirmation.

  ‘There is obviously a Denmark connection here,’ Benjamin Fjeld said. ‘Do we know whether he has any association with Klaus Bang or Malte Ancher?’

  Wisting was surprised that Benjamin Fjeld had such intimate knowledge of his daughter’s private life, but the possible link was so obvious he could not comprehend why his own thoughts had not taken him in that direction. All the same, he managed to respond positively. ‘The intelligence section in Oslo is following that line.’

  He scanned the faces around the table without detecting any sign of discomfort, stood up and stepped forward to the whiteboard at one end of the room. ‘So, now we know a great deal about what happened,’ he said, introducing the fourth segment of the meeting. At that moment, his mobile phone vibrated again – another call from Leif Malm. ‘The Danes travel across the Skagerrak to deliver ten kilos of cocaine,’ he said, allowing it to ring out. ‘It’s a regular route, and they send a prearranged text message when they arrive.’

  He illustrated his theory by using a blue marker pen to sketch a boat with two matchstick men.

  ‘The recipients are Rudi Muller and his prospective brother-in-law, Trond Holmberg,’ he continued, selecting a green marker pen before drawing a car with two men. ‘The transfer occurs at a regular location.’ This time he sketched a cottage. ‘Chance circumstances cause the four itinerant burglars from Lithuania to be hidden witnesses to the transaction.’

  Four red matchstick men were lined along the board.

  ‘One of them takes the bag of money, but is chased by Muller and Holmberg. Both parties carry firearms, and both make use of them. Darius is hit by two bullets, but manages to hide from his pursuers in an old rowing boat. It drifts off to sea and he dies of his wounds.’

  One of the red men now lies horizontal on the board.

  ‘Trond Holmberg is also shot, and seeks refuge in the nearest cottage.’ He drew another cottage and placed one of the green matchstick men lying prone inside. ‘The three other Lithuanians search for Darius, and bump into one of the Danes.’

  ‘Malte Ancher,’ Mortensen said, and Wisting crossed out one of the blue men.

  ‘He flees into the woodland with the bag of cocaine and plunges to his death.’ He sketched the new position of Malte Ancher.

  ‘Klaus Bang waits in the boat, but has to return to Denmark on his own. The three remaining Lithuanians retreat when the police start to appear. Rudi Muller must also leave the crime scene and, when he discovers from the media that Trond Holmberg is dead, he does all he can to avoid being drawn into the case that now involves not only aggravated drugs offences, but also murder. He steals Holmberg’s body and places it in his flat before setting it on fire.’

  Wisting replaced the lid of the marker pen. The board outlined a simple, intelligible chain of events. As he envisioned it, there were still two important questions remaining. He turned again to the board, this time with a black marker pen.

  ‘Who killed Trond Holmberg?’ He drew a question mark above the green matchstick man. ‘And what’s happened to the bag of money?’

  Several people spoke at once. Wisting, making an effort to steer the discussion, invited one of the investigators drafted from another district to speak.

  ‘Has Thomas Rønningen been eliminated?’ he asked, pointing to the cottage Wisting had sketched on the board.

  ‘His girlfriend has given him an alibi.’

  ‘Does that check out? He might have been there and surprised the housebreaker.’

  ‘It checks out until we know otherwise,’ Wisting replied. ‘Besides, Trond Holmberg wasn’t the housebreaker. The Lithuanians confirm that they emptied the cottage before Holmberg and Muller turned up.’

  Christine Thiis spoke without waiting to be asked. ‘Do we actually know that it was Muller who was there with Holmberg?’

  Wisting shook his head. ‘We’re basing that on the assumptions of the informant and the fact that Muller would hardly have hijacked the hearse, killed the driver and desecrated the body of his girlfriend’s little brother except to conceal his involvement in the case.’

  ‘But do we know it was Muller who stole the hearse?’

  ‘It’s still just a theory,’ Wisting said. ‘If we could prove it, Rudi Muller would be under arrest.’

  Several of the detectives wanted to voice opinions and questions. Wisting stood behind his chair, his hands resting on the back, like a captain firmly holding the helm aboard a vessel in choppy waters. He allowed everybody a chance to speak before moving to the last segment of the meeting.

  ‘We have definite information that Rudi Muller is planning a robbery,’ he said. ‘The target has been chosen, the cash service centre in Elveveien here in Larvik.’ He outlined the information from Oslo before giving the floor to Nils Hammer.

  ‘The NOKAS cash service is Norway’s third largest security company,’ Hammer said when a photograph of the reddish-brown brick building appeared on the screen. The advertising sign on the façade proclaimed that there were five other companies in the same building. ‘The centre is a depot and loading station for coins and banknotes from banks and commercial businesses in the counties of Vestfold and Telemark. The administration offices are situated on the upper floor, while the actual depot is located in the basement with the entrance at the rear.’

  Hammer changed the image. The building was positioned on a gentle slope, with a road running around and down behind it, where there was an entrance through a drive-in gate and steel door. ‘The perimeter of the building is fitted with an intruder alarm and, in addition, there’s a robbery alarm and a threat alarm.’

  ‘What do you mean by a threat alarm?’ Christine Thiis asked.

  ‘If an employee is forced to switch off the alarm system, they’re instructed to key in an extra digit that sets off a silent alarm at a twenty-four hour security centre in Oslo. There are internal CCTV cameras, as well as cameras in the basement. The footage is beamed directly to the security centre.’

  He changed to a photograph of the interior. The first room resembled an ordinary garage with tools and stored winter tyres. There was a wide door on the side wall of the room.

  ‘That leads into the cash room,’ Hammer said before changing the image again to one of pallets stacked with steel boxes that must contain coins. Two pallet trucks stood in the middle of the picture. ‘It’s unsuitable as the target for a robbery, because the valuables are too heavy and cumbersome. The room containing banknotes is further inside.’

  The next photograph showed a narrow room equipped with four large safes. ‘This room is fitted with a smoke alarm that fills the space with a screen of artificial smoke when the alarm is sounded.’

  ‘How are they thinking of managing it?’

  Nils Hammer switched off the projector, but remained on his feet. ‘The weak point is always, of course, when the money is loaded and unloaded from the security vans. There’s a regular cash delivery from Oslo arriving between nine and ten o’clock this evening. In addition, there are two further weak spots. One is through a side door from the garage belonging to another tenant. The other is through the ceiling from a tool wholesaler’s on the floor directly above the room where the banknotes are stored.’

  ‘What’s our plan?’

  ‘This is an operation led by Oslo Police and the Emergency Squad. Right now, there are around forty million kroner stored at the depot. It will be emptied in the course of today, and we’ll fill the building with our people. The cash transport is the most likely target. It will be crewed by officers from the Eme
rgency Squad, and follow its usual route.’

  ‘What’s our assignment?’

  Wisting took the floor again. ‘Our department is not playing an active role in the operation. A plan has been drawn up for us to man individual civilian surveillance points. The nearest building to the cash centre is the fire station. We’ll establish a base there and follow the action on video.’

  ‘Weapons?’

  ‘The Chief of Police has given orders for concealed weapons, including handguns for our officers. That applies from this moment, until fresh orders are received.’

  His mobile phone vibrated for the third time. This time Wisting picked it up, but refrained from answering. ‘Any questions?’

  No one had anything to add; the meeting was over. Wisting observed his colleagues as they left the room: tough, stern and resolute faces, fists clenched. He was aware too of his own pulse beating in his temples. For one entire week they had lagged behind, chasing a solution. Now they would go into live action and, in only a few hours, would have the answers.

  62

  Leif Malm’s voice was unsteady when Wisting phoned him back. ‘We’ve lost sight of Rudi Muller,’ he said.

  Wisting sat behind his desk. ‘How?’ he asked.

  ‘He went out early this morning, just after six o’clock; totally atypical for him. We’re on reduced staffing until eight o’clock, and the two cars we had on duty didn’t manage to follow him.’

  ‘Don’t you have electronic tracking on the vehicle?’

  ‘Yes, and that’s why we have fewer men. We lost the GPS signal when he drove into the Vaterland Tunnel, and never came out again. Now the boys have located the car in the car park underneath the Ibsen Kvartal office block.’

  Wisting pictured in his mind’s eye the car park in the middle of Oslo city centre, with a direct entrance built into the tunnel leading from the ring road.

  ‘He could have changed vehicle or disappeared on foot,’ Malm continued.

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘We have three surveillance posts. The car, his flat and Shazam Station.’

  ‘What about the telephone monitoring?’

  ‘It’s giving us nothing. We’re trying to identify other numbers he’s using.’

  ‘Does your informant have anything new?’

  ‘There’s been no contact with him for thirty-six hours. The last update was that Muller is stressed out. We’ll see what he can come up with in the course of the day.’

  ‘Do you have anything else on Svein Brandt, the man Muller presumably met at the hotel when he was in Larvik on Tuesday night?’

  ‘He returned to Spain yesterday evening. He may have been here to sell the robbery plans.’

  Wisting shuffled the papers on his desk in an attempt to bring order to the reports that had arrived while he was on his travels. ‘What about the Danes? Have you looked more closely at them?’

  ‘So far we haven’t found any direct connection to Muller or his associates.’

  There was a pause as Wisting collected his thoughts. ‘What do we do now?’ he asked. ‘What on earth can it mean that Muller has disappeared?’

  ‘I think it means things are about to take off,’ Malm answered. Some of the assurance had returned to his voice. ‘I’m coming down with the Emergency Squad. We’ll be with you by twelve.’

  63

  Line stood at the window with her arms crossed. After two days of warm autumn sunshine, the fog had returned. The weather was bleaker and more cheerless than ever.

  Tommy had not phoned, nor had he answered when she had tried to phone him. She needed to talk to him. He was not the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with, and she had to let him know that. Turning around, she crossed to the kitchen, where she rinsed a couple of plates before returning to the window. The fog was denser now and she could barely discern the sea.

  Her mobile phone lay on the coffee table. She flopped down on the settee and tried again, but there was no response. The blank screen on her computer was glowing. In the past two days she had crossed out more of her novel than she had written.

  ‘Fuck!’ she shouted into the room.

  It felt good to release some of her frustration. She called out again, slamming down the lid of the laptop before putting on her outdoor clothes.

  As she inserted the key to lock the door, she was struck by a rational thought and went back inside. Packing the laptop computer and camera in a bag, she checked the room for anything else that might tempt an intruder, and carried the bag with her to the car.

  An empty bottle Tommy must have left in the passenger foot-well rolled backwards and forwards as she manoeuvred along the bumpy gravel track. It lay beside empty doughnut bags and old parking receipts trampled into the rubber mat. Everything about him irritated her now.

  The fog lifted as she headed inland, but a cold, misty drizzle made visibility poor and the windscreen wipers did nothing more than spread water across the screen, making the drive to Oslo an exhausting experience. By the time she arrived at her flat, a thumping headache was developing behind her right eye.

  She slammed the car door behind her and peered at the façade of the building. The ceiling light in the kitchen was switched on but, if she knew Tommy, he would be in bed fast asleep.

  Tommy’s head appeared around the kitchen door when she let herself in. ‘Line?’

  She dropped her bag as she approached him. ‘Why don’t you answer the phone when I call?’

  He glanced backwards, and she realised he was not alone. A longhaired man, leaning over the kitchen table, peered at her. Papers and photographs were spread out in front of him. Tommy stood in the doorway, blocking Line from entering. ‘I’m a bit busy at the moment.’

  The man swept the papers into a shoulder bag.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  The man with the shoulder bag slipped past Tommy. ‘I have to go now,’ he said, pushing past Line.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked, watching the door as it closed behind him.

  ‘I can’t …,’ Tommy began, breaking off abruptly. ‘It’s to do with Shazam Station.’

  She entered the kitchen, positioning herself with her back to the worktop. ‘What was all that about?’ she asked, nodding towards the empty table.

  ‘There’s such a lot going on just now,’ Tommy said. ‘That’s why I haven’t phoned you. I can’t explain all of it.’

  ‘You can try.’

  ‘Not now. There are a number of things I need to sort out.’ He lifted the jacket hanging over the back of the chair. ‘Are you staying? Have you finished at the cottage, I mean?’

  She shook her head dejectedly. ‘Do you know what? This here …’

  ‘I just need a few days,’ Tommy interrupted. ‘Everything will be okay. Can’t you be patient with me?’

  ‘My patience has run out,’ she declared emphatically, stepping towards the door. ‘I’m leaving, and when I come back, you’d better be gone. Gone and away!’

  ‘But …’

  She held the palm of her hand up before whirling around, impetuously grabbing her jacket and rushing out. Her eyes were filling with tears, and she did not want him to see her cry.

  64

  Her hands trembled as she inserted the key in the ignition. She paused before turning it, allowing her emotions free rein, sobbing and gasping for breath, without really understanding why she was reacting like this. It felt like a terrible betrayal that he had dragged the part of his life she could not bear into her home.

  She pressed her hand to her chest. Her breathing was noisy and rasping. It took time to regain control, but eventually she calmed down. She took out some napkins from the glove compartment to wipe her nose and dry her eyes and struggled to gather her thoughts.

  She could pay a visit to the newspaper office to pass the time, but when she glanced at herself in the car mirror she realised her appearance would provoke too many questions.

  Through the rain-spattered windscreen, she saw
Tommy emerge from the building. Speaking on his mobile phone he did not look in her direction. Instead, he hurried across the street and into the little blue Peugeot he had borrowed to visit her at the cottage.

  As the vehicle swung from the kerb, she turned on the ignition of her own car and, waiting until he was almost out of sight, depressed the accelerator and followed. She stayed three vehicles behind as they entered Ullevålsveien, without entirely knowing what she was doing.

  Crisscrossing the city centre, Tommy found his way to Grønland, with Line following through the one-way streets, all the time careful to remain far enough behind to remain unseen. At the end of Tøyengata, the distance between them was so great that when he turned into the enormous car park in front of the Botanic Gardens, she was able to veer across to the Munch Museum, parking behind a container building where modern art was stored.

  The distance between her and Tommy was almost two hundred metres. She observed that he had parked behind another car and stepped out, but not whether anyone was occupying the other vehicle.

  Lifting her camera, she zoomed in. The door of the other car opened and a dark-skinned man emerged. Line pressed the shutter button by sheer force of habit.

  The man skirted around the car and shook Tommy by the hand before opening the lid of his suitcase. He removed a bag and let it rest on the edge of the boot. The zip was open and Tommy leaned forward to check the contents before nodding. The man shut the bag again, and handed it to Tommy. It seemed heavy. Tommy placed it on the rear seat of his own car before resuming his place behind the steering wheel.

  Line slid down in her seat. The containers partly concealed her car, but it was possible that he might spot her. After his car passed she waited for a moment or two before looking up, hurriedly turning to follow him.