I dialled the number of the Thai massage parlour nearby. The same voice answered. I used one of my oldest pseudonyms, introducing myself as Finn Wolf and asking if there was any chance of an appointment, preferably this evening. She cooed in a charming way and said she could take me in about an hour, at ‘nineteen hundred hours’.
‘Do you require anything special?’ she added.
‘Yes, I do,’ I said, without a word of a lie. Anything special? Well, the truth, for example?
‘See you later,’ she said, and rang off.
Madonna had come in from the kitchen. Unbidden, she jumped up on the sofa, curled up beside me, stretched her neck so that her head was lying half on my thigh and then rolled onto her back in an undisguised request to be stroked, an offer which I met absent-mindedly while dialling Sølvi’s number on my phone.
She was giving Helene a hand with her maths. I could have done with the same myself on frequent occasions. She sounded quite distracted too, but at least I managed to tell her that I was still free and was informed that the police hadn’t been to her door yet. She hadn’t even heard from Vidar Waagenes. Everything was strangely calm, she said. ‘The calm before the storm,’ I commented, but when I heard the sharp intake of breath I regretted my comment and said I hadn’t meant it like that. Then I gave her a short résumé of where I had been and whom I had spoken to, without going into any detail about the physical state of Maria Nystøl or the danger of being confronted by Bjørn Hårkløv in the near future. She apologised that she would not be able to come and visit me that evening, because of Helene, but I replied – as indeed was the truth – that I would be out anyway. She finished with a verbal kiss and hug, and I was left with the phone in my hand and an urgent desire for a little more than that when we saw each other again.
I still couldn’t rid myself of the idea that the situation was worrying. Who had sent the revolting photos to her in the post? And what about Helene, who was the same age as the girls in the photos? I didn’t like this at all. Perhaps I should drop everything, drive to Morvik and sit by their front door as a bodyguard? But then who would clear my name?
I went into the kitchen, cut myself a few slices of bread, found some cheese and ham in the fridge, poured a glass of milk and sat down at the table. After eating this simple meal I said a polite goodbye to Madonna and set off – if not all the way to Thailand, then to one of the country’s outposts; one that was about as far from home as it was possible to be and which boasted a range of activities that in some cases were definitely of the more dubious variety.
53
The entrance was via a basement in a side street down towards Skuteviken. I noticed a little CCTV camera mounted out of reach on the wall above. The window was covered inside by a purple velvet curtain. The door was locked and I had to ring a doorbell to get in.
I stood with my cap pulled well down over my eyes, my hand to my mouth and my head angled as though thinking. After somewhere between twenty and thirty seconds a voice came from the intercom above the bell. ‘Yes?’
‘We have an appointment at seven.’
‘Welcome!’
The lock buzzed. I pushed the door and accepted the invitation. I stepped straight into a small reception area. I heard delicate oriental string music coming from a sound system, and in the air there was an exotic perfume of essential oils. A curtain of the same material as in the window stirred, and out from a back room came a petite woman dressed in a loose white tunic and matching baggy trousers, oriental in appearance with lustrous, raven-black hair gathered in a ponytail.
As so often before meeting people with a different skin colour I was struck by a kind of race blindness, where all individuals of the same race looked more or less the same. Even though I tried to see her with a blonde wig it was hard for me to say if this was the woman. But when I took off my cap and showed her my face I could see she recognised me, and a mixture of fear and horror spread across her beautiful face. She instinctively retreated a few steps while looking around – for what? A weapon? A phone? Something else?
I followed her. ‘Don’t be frightened. I just want to talk to you. I won’t do anything to you.’ I reached into my inside pocket. ‘I can pay.’
Her eyes were dark brown and almond-shaped. I saw big, pearl-sized drops on her forehead and smelt a strong scent of lemon, rosemary and something else, more indefinable. She gulped and stared at me with widened, nervous eyes.
‘I can see you recognise me.’
The muscles around her jaw moved. I saw her body tense and I kept an eye on her legs. For all I knew, she had mastered a martial art I had barely heard the name of. ‘Yes, I … I’ve seen you before.’
‘But then you were wearing a blonde wig.’
She nodded slowly.
‘Your work outfit?’
She moved her lips, but without saying anything.
‘We met at a bar, and I was … drunk. You gave me a green drink and I don’t remember anything else.’
She inclined her head.
‘Who told you to give me that drink?’
‘Wh-who?’
‘Yes.’
A barely audible sigh escaped her. ‘I can’t say.’
‘You have to say! If you don’t, I’ll call the police.’
‘No! Not police! They send me out!’
‘It’s best you answer my questions then,’ I said, a little rougher than I liked.
From my inside pocket I took the print-out of the photo Sølvi had received in the post. I unfolded it and held it in front of her. She lifted her hands to her face, held them over her mouth as if to hold back a scream and opened her eyes wide. She looked from the picture up at me and back again.
‘Seen this before?’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no! I no see. It horrible.’
‘Never seen the little girl before?’
‘No, no! I never see! She … She look … Norwegian?’
‘But the man on top of her is me.’
‘You?’ Now her horror was mixed with a form of disgust, and she repeated the word, spat it out: ‘You!’
‘But I’m unconscious. And I’m fairly sure that’s because someone served me a green drink with some very effective knockout drops in.’ I leaned forwards. ‘The police would be very interested to hear more about that!’
‘But I no know! I only … I only have to give it. The drink. Afterwards they take you in back room and I no know what happen then. I have many … to look after.’
‘Many people to serve the same drinks?’
‘No, more to look after.’
‘As in The Tower?’
She was lost. ‘“The Tower”?’
‘The rooms in Solheimsviken. They’re abandoned now. And you saw me there again … not long after.’
She nodded briefly, with twitches, as though she had symptoms of Parkinsons.
‘Let me repeat the question: Who told you to serve me the drink?’
She looked at me in desperation. ‘You promise not say I tell you?’
I put my hand on my heart. ‘I promise.’
She hesitated still, then answered. ‘You know him who run bar.’
‘Who was that?’
‘They just call him Johnny. But it was German who own it.’
‘The German? Bruno Karsten?’
‘We … girls. We call him just German.’
‘But it was Karsten? The same man as in The Tower?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
My head was buzzing. ‘Karsten told you to?’
‘No, no.’
‘Johnny?’
‘No, they know Johnny, I tell you.’
I gesticulated impatiently. ‘Get to the point! Who told you … I’ve already asked you lots of times.’
‘I know only one of them.’
‘OK. And that was…?’
‘His name…’
‘Yes! I’m waiting.’ I took out my phone and held it in front of her. ‘I’m calling the police now if you don�
�t—’
‘Ole.’
The cat was out of the bag. ‘Ole. And the surname?’
‘I not sure. I think maybe … Garnes.’
‘Skarnes by any chance?’
‘Yes. I not sure. But you not say. He can be … brutal.’
‘So I’ve heard. We’re talking about the same man. But you said … Were there two?’
‘Yes. Second man.’
‘Yes?’
‘He younger. And I not know his name. I never see him before and never since.’
‘Do you know who Bønni is?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She nodded, again with a frightened expression. ‘It not him.’
‘No. What did he look like?’
‘I … Very normal. Quite long hair, maybe. Not shave. Look like a … I not like way he look at me, like he want … He like Skarnes. Disgusting.’
Brutal. Disgusting. There was no end to the compliments good old Ole Skarnes was showered with.
I was about to say something when I heard a sound from the door. I turned round in time to see the door being opened from outside; a large man came in with a bunch of keys in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. The Thai woman let out a little scream.
It was Bjørn Hårkløv, and he grinned unpleasantly as he swung the bat in front of him. ‘Thought there was no camera in here, did you, Veum? Eh? Think we don’t take care of our girls? You made a mistake there, man. Terrible mistake.’
54
I looked around.
If this had been twenty years ago I would probably have tried to spar with him for a round, but exposing myself to anything of this kind now, had to be considered an extreme sport. I couldn’t ring the police either, which I had done the last time I was in a similar situation.
Bjørn Hårkløv stood in front of me, legs akimbo. He swung the baseball bat threateningly in the space between us: flat thwacks into his hand, ominously close to my face.
I moved backwards while keeping an eye on the Thai woman.
‘What the fuck are you after?’ he barked at me. ‘Didn’t you get enough the last time we had you in for treatment?’
‘Have we met before?’
For a moment he was at a loss. ‘Eh? It’s true you were legless both times, but…’ Again he swung the bat in front of me. ‘This time you won’t forget.’
I had backed into the wall now. I couldn’t go any further. ‘Listen, Hårkløv, let’s talk!’
He smirked. ‘So you know my name?’
‘I know your name. I know where you live. I know who you work for. And I’m not alone.’
‘Not alone…?’
‘Not alone in knowing. If I don’t return from here unharmed there’ll be others who will move heaven and earth, here and in Hamburg, to catch you and your paymaster, Bruno Karsten. That much I can promise you.’
I watched that enter his skull, slowly and laboriously, but it did sink in after a while. It was how it always was. Big muscles; tiny brain. Exceptions were rare. It didn’t even have anything to do with anabolic steroids.
‘And who might that be?’
‘What about powerful rivals for the same market?’
‘Oh, yes? Give me one name, Veum. Give me more!’ He swatted the air with the bat to add emphasis to what he was saying.
‘Are you stupid? Do you think I’d risk their lives? These are my employers we’re talking about.’
That was a language he understood. Nonetheless he became more explicit: ‘You’re risking your life.’
I met his eyes. They were hard, grey and pitiless. I recalled how Maria Nystøl had looked after he had been to her house, and I felt a mixture of fury and fear growing inside me.
I glanced sideways. The Thai woman had retreated behind the little counter. On it was the only movable item in the room, which looked to be a card-payment machine. It wouldn’t do much more than bruise his forehead if I reached for it.
He followed my eyes and read my thoughts. Then he grinned and advanced. The first blow I saw coming and I managed to avoid it. The next hit me between the shoulder and neck and made me gasp with pain. I bowed down and charged at his stomach with my head. That meant he had no room to swing the bat for the next blow. Instead he grabbed my head and tried to twist it round. I clenched my fists and pounded his body. He groaned, but appeared unaffected. The grip on my head became even stronger. I decided to let my body follow the direction he was twisting and, arcing over to the left, I thrust up my elbow and hit him where I had hoped: right under the chin.
He gave an angry groan. For an instant he relaxed his grip and I fell onto the floor. I made a run for the door, pulled it open and threw myself out. He caught up with me by the steps, but now we were outside and I yelled as loudly as I could, an inarticulate scream, but articulate enough to echo around the walls. Windows were opened and many people further up the street stopped what they were doing and reacted. Hårkløv grabbed my legs and tried to drag me back down the steps, but I kicked out and managed to break free.
I saw many of the people around us already had their phones out. I guessed the police would soon be on their way. I felt no inclination to wait to receive them, so I ran up to Nye Sandviksvei, rounded the corner and went on up to Hans Hauges gate, where I had left the car.
Below Nye Sandviksvei I could already hear the sirens. I jumped into the car. I had at least one more call to make this evening, although I wasn’t much looking forward to it. The first visit was to Breistølen and Ruth Olsen, if she was at home. It was no more than a five-minute drive from where I was. I pulled out, drove down into Nye Sandviksvei and straight up, afterwards.
Breistølen was a cul-de-sac and I wasn’t going to risk getting trapped there. I parked in Fjellveien and walked the last bit. On arriving at the right address I stood on the step, uneasy. What if Herdis opened the door? Would she recognise me? Would she give a scream of fear and horror? Or had she, like me, repressed the experience, as far as that was possible?
I pulled my cap down over my face as far as I could, hoping that, in the worst-case scenario, she wouldn’t recognise me at once. Then I rang the bell. But I hadn’t needed to worry. It wasn’t Herdis who opened the door. It was Hjalmar Hope.
55
For a few seconds we stood staring at each other.
When we finally started to speak, we did so at the same time. The only difference lay in the expletives we used.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I asked.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he said.
‘I could ask you the same question,’ I said, but he didn’t take the point.
Ruth Olsen appeared behind him. ‘Who is it, Hjalmar?’
I poked my head in. ‘It’s me. Veum. I have something I’d like to show you.’
‘Really?’
‘Be warned,’ Hjalmar said.
She glanced from one to the other of us.
‘This man’s wanted by the police.’
‘Yes, but I’m innocent!’ I said. ‘Someone…’ I paused. I didn’t want to say too much with Hjalmar around.
He glowered at me.
I pointed to him. ‘What’s he doing here?’
She straightened up. ‘Hjalmar’s … a friend.’
‘And colleague.’
‘That too, but since my divorce … he’s been a good support.’ The look she sent him was more affectionate than I would really have liked.
Hope made a show of putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She didn’t seem to object. ‘Veum thinks I’m not that way inclined, Ruth.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘Not that way inclined?’
‘He thinks I’m a bit…’ He made the classic limp-wrist gesture.
‘Oh?’ She glanced from him to me with a glint in her eye. ‘I can confirm the opposite to be true, Veum. Not that it’s any of your business, of course,’ she added.
I could feel all sorts of thoughts churning round my brain. I mumbled: ‘Well … I’d like to have a few words with
you. Alone.’
Her expression was sceptical, but she seemed to be grasping the gravity of the situation. She realised I had something important to tell her. ‘Well then … you’d better come in.’
‘Ruth,’ said Hope in an insistent tone.
‘Yes?’
‘We can do this in the hallway as far as I’m concerned,’ I chipped in. ‘And it won’t take long. But not with him present.’
Hope glared at me, as though considering whether to launch a physical assault. But he didn’t feel confident enough of the result this time either. At any rate, he didn’t attack.
She nodded. ‘Come in.’
We were together in a narrow hallway, unpleasantly close to one another, so she stepped aside and nodded to Hjalmar. ‘Go back to Herdis. She’s going to bed soon anyway.’
This was a stab to the heart, but I said nothing.
‘Right.’ He looked extremely hesitant, but made for a door that was slightly open at the back of the hall. Through the crack came the sound of a TV.
‘And close the door after you,’ I said.
He was on his way but spun round as if to launch himself at me. ‘You don’t tell me what to do!’
‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘But you’re doing it anyway.’
Ruth nodded reassuringly to him. ‘Just do it, Hjalmar, so we can get this over with.’
He glared from me to her and back again. Then he turned, walked to the door and closed it without a loud bang. There was matt glass in the door, and through it I heard a high-pitched voice ask something. I looked across, nervous. She could come out at any moment, and the big question was still: Would she recognise me?
‘So?’ Ruth said impatiently. ‘What was it you wanted?’
I shifted my gaze from the door to her. ‘Is that your daughter inside?’
Wolves in the Dark Page 27