Wolves in the Dark

by Gunnar Staalesen

‘Yes, Herdis. Bente’s already asleep.’ When I didn’t react she continued speaking: ‘Yes? Get to the point!’

  ‘…This is a very unpleasant matter.’

  She started to become ill at ease. ‘Unpleasant, what do you mean?’

  ‘Has Herdis … Has either of your daughters ever said she’s been subjected to any kind of … abuse?’

  Her mouth fell open. ‘What?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Abuse? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’re divorced. What was the reason for the divorce?’

  ‘The reason? We were incompatible, simple as that. We had quite different interests, it turned out. Too late, of course. But … you don’t mean … that my husband…?’

  ‘Mm. Was there ever any suspicion of that?’

  ‘That wasn’t why we split up. If I’d had the slightest suspicion I would’ve gone to the police of course!’

  ‘So why did you split up?’ I said in a low voice, almost as an afterthought.

  She locked her eyes on me and straightened up with the same lissom sensuality I remembered from the last time we met. ‘That has absolutely nothing to do with you. We grew apart. I did what I could but … in the end I gave up.’

  ‘Not enough sex, quite simply.’

  ‘He was no longer interested.’

  ‘But Hjalmar Hope is?’

  ‘Yes, Veum. In fact, he is.’

  ‘How long have you been together?’ When she didn’t answer at once, I continued: ‘The reason I ask is this: How far can you trust him?’

  She paled visibly. ‘Hjalmar!’ She turned to the matt-glass window. ‘You don’t mean…? I refuse to believe that. He and the girls are the best friends in the world. He’s a great guy.’

  In a flash I saw myself from the same perspective, with Sølvi and Helene. How far did it extend actually – the trust women had in their friends and lovers? Too far?

  ‘Now you’ll have to produce some tangible evidence, Veum. This is making me … I’m beginning to panic.’ She looked as if she were about to rush into the sitting room, wrap her arms around her daughter and protect her against all the evil in the world, from now to all eternity.

  ‘I have to show you something, Ruth.’

  I took out the crumpled envelope from my inside pocket. I opened it and took out the picture of the child I was sure was Herdis and of the man I was unfortunately equally sure had to be me. Then I held it up to her.

  She stared at it. At first she clearly couldn’t believe her eyes. She blinked hard, as if to make the picture disappear from her retina. Then she clutched at her mouth and breathed in sharply. I hunched my shoulders in instinctive defence against the scream I knew would come, but when it did it was mute. It was no more than a pained groan from between compressed lips, as though she were holding everything back: the scream, the fear, the fury. Tears sprang from her eyes, and she swayed in front of me.

  When I grabbed her around the shoulders she fought her way free from me, without taking her eyes off the photo for a second.

  ‘Herdis,’ she croaked. ‘This isn’t true. This can’t be…’

  ‘You knew nothing about this?’

  She looked at me as if I were speaking a language she didn’t understand. ‘Know? It’s come as a complete shock. We have to … I have to go to the police with this.’

  ‘They already know.’

  Slowly she began to click. ‘Are we talking about … what’s been in the papers recently? The child-pornography ring?’

  I nodded. ‘Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Know?’

  ‘Well, I mean … could your ex have been involved? Could Hope be involved?’

  She opened and closed her mouth, still staring at me in disbelief. ‘I…’ She snatched the photo and studied it, with an intensity that made her face quiver.

  Without any warning the sitting-room door opened. ‘Mamma?’

  We both looked in her direction. Herdis was standing in the doorway wearing beige tights and a red jumper. She was pale and had freckles over her nose and cheeks. I had no difficulty recognising her from the photo Ruth Olsen was holding in her hand and the one in her office.

  ‘Are you coming, Mamma?’

  She just sent me a fleeting glance.

  Her mother, with a sudden tenderness in her voice, said: ‘Yes, I’m coming, darling, I just have to…’

  The little girl looked at me again. I could see wonderment gradually growing in her eyes, as though she were asking herself if this was someone she knew or had perhaps seen before. Once again I braced myself for the scream I expected, but it didn’t come this time, either.

  ‘I’m coming, Herdis,’ Ruth said.

  ‘I’ll be off then,’ I said.

  ‘OK.’

  She turned back to me as the daughter watched us.

  ‘I need the name of your ex-husband, Ruth.’

  She looked at me, still visibly shaken. ‘I’ll give it to the police. I’m going to ring this very minute.’ Before I could say another word she leaned past me and opened the door. ‘Now go.’

  ‘OK, I’m on my way.’ I made a move. ‘But when you ring the police…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t tell them it was me who gave you this.’ I indicated the photo she was holding.

  ‘Why not?’

  I didn’t answer, just shrugged my shoulders and left. I ran to the car and drove off as fast as I could before she managed to warn them. I needed more hours of freedom. As many as possible.

  56

  I was at the bottom of Helgesens gate when I heard the sirens. As I took a right into Nye Sandviksvei, a patrol car appeared behind me and turned into Helgesens gate, blue lights swirling. I carried on, but without going up Bakkegaten to the flat in Hans Hauges gate. I was going further this time.

  I pulled in where Åsne Clausen had confronted me one unpleasant October evening almost two years before. There were two names I was concentrating on now. One was Hjalmar Hope. From my notepad I found the phone number of Svein Olav Kaspersen and keyed it in.

  He answered after a few rings. ‘Y-yeah?’

  ‘Svein Olav? Veum here.’

  ‘Whaddya want?’

  The rejection in his voice was clear, so before he could switch off, I said quickly: ‘I’ve been speaking to Hjalmar.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘He says you killed your uncle two years ago.’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you there?’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Hjalmar said you killed your uncle to inherit the salmon farm so that you could get a loan and join him and Sturle Heimark on their computer project.’

  ‘Lies!’ he shouted down the phone. ‘Lies, all of it!’

  ‘But because you knew nothing about computers and were a loose cannon anyway, he broke off contact. They went to Bergen and continued their work there, while you were left – if not holding the baby, then at least with your uncle’s death on your conscience.’

  ‘He was lying! To cover his back.’

  ‘Cover his back?’

  ‘It was … Oh, Jesus, this makes my blood boil!’

  ‘Just tell me how this all fits together, Svein Olav.’ I wished I was in Fusa, face to face with him. There was a substantial risk of him hanging up at any minute.

  ‘Uncle came to see me one night I was on the computer, and before I could switch it off … In short, he found out what Hjalmar and Heimark were up to. I’m not sure what you know, but it was child porn of the worst kind. He was steaming. He threatened to report us to the cops.’

  He was breathing heavily down the phone. I pressed him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I had to tell Hjalmar of course. He went berserk. He called Heimark, who was in Spain, and managed to get him to come, just for a day, to sort it out.’

  ‘And how did he do that?’

  ‘No idea! But that night Uncle Knut drowned.’

  ‘So Sturle Heimark killed your uncle because he was threatening to report you to the police?’
r />   ‘Yes!’ His voice was husky. ‘I asked Hjalmar afterwards how it’d been done, but he just said I shouldn’t bother my head about it.’

  ‘And then Heimark went back to Spain.’

  ‘Yes, and they didn’t find Uncle until Tuesday.’

  ‘Drowned, with no external signs of violence.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sure they were in it together.’

  ‘Sturle Heimark and Hjalmar Hope?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I cursed myself for not having any means of recording this. For the time being I would have to trust that he would repeat this when the police came knocking again.

  ‘And it never occurred to you to report them?’

  ‘No, it … didn’t.’

  ‘Nor after they went to Bergen?’

  ‘No. Of course it was terrible. I thought about Uncle and what happened to him. What his opinion of us must’ve been at the time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  After a brief pause came a hesitant: ‘And what’s gonna happen now?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I were you I’d write down what you’ve told me, with as much detail as possible, and the best you can do is to contact the police, voluntarily.’

  ‘We never talk—’

  ‘Yes, I know. You never talk to the police, but now and then it’s actually worth the effort. Good luck, Svein Olav.’ I thanked him for being so honest and we rang off.

  While we had been talking I had heard several beeps telling me someone was trying to contact me. I looked at the display. I recognised the number. It was Sølvi.

  I called her back at once.

  She sounded distraught. ‘Varg! Where are you?’

  ‘What…?’

  ‘In the flat?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘The police have been here and I had to tell them where you … about the flat. They threatened to take me with them and put Helene in an institution, temporarily, but…’

  ‘I see, but how did they find out …? Not many people know about you and me.’

  ‘I have no idea. They were just here, at the door, all of a sudden. Helene had gone to bed, luckily. They were polite enough, but very determined, and as I said … I can’t risk losing my child, Varg!’

  ‘No, no, of course not. It won’t happen. Relax. Good job you called. I won’t go back to the flat.’

  ‘I don’t know how long I can keep this up, Varg. This hasn’t been a normal year, by any stretch of the imagination.’

  ‘It’ll soon be over. More and more pieces are falling into place.’

  ‘But where are you? It’s gone ten o’clock.’

  ‘I … Promise me one thing, Sølvi. I have one last visit to make. If you don’t hear from me before midnight, call the police.’

  ‘Midnight! But what should I say?’

  ‘Say I’ve been in touch and they have to come at once to…’ I hesitated. Could they have put a tap on her phone? Surely not so quickly. They would need a warrant to do that, wouldn’t they?

  ‘To … where?’

  ‘A man called Ole Skarnes. Postal address, Lepsøy.’ I gave her the exact address I had found online.

  ‘Ole Skarnes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But … Oh, please be careful, Varg! I can’t lose … not another, in such a short time. Can’t you take someone with you?’

  ‘Who would that be? This isn’t so dangerous, Sølvi. I know what’s waiting for me.’

  After a little more chatting, we hung up. I sat back and asked myself the ineluctable question: Well, what was I going to do now? Did I know what was waiting for me? There was only one way to find out.

  57

  I stared through the windscreen without starting up the engine. I had to admit she had set off a chain reaction in me. Perhaps I shouldn’t go there alone. Perhaps it would be safer if I had someone with me. But who?

  There wasn’t a great selection to choose from. Then I had an idea. I found Sigurd Svendsbø’s phone number. When he answered I didn’t waste any time: ‘Svendsbø? Veum here. I need some help. Are you free this evening to go on a little expedition?’

  He sounded very sceptical. ‘An expedition?’

  ‘There’s a man I have to visit – one of the men behind all this online porn mess I’ve ended up in; but I need help from someone who knows how such things can be done. Someone who can give me the support I need if he tries to talk his way out of it.’

  He was still hesitant. ‘I don’t know … Have you spoken to Waagenes about this?’

  ‘He’ll say no. But you’ve got children yourself … Give me a chance to expose these bastards, once and for all.’

  ‘OK. Can you pick me up?’

  ‘I’m already on my way.’

  Ten minutes later I was in Skytterveien. He was standing by the kerb waiting for me, wearing a dark-blue tracksuit and trainers, as though just going out for a run.

  I opened the car door and let him in.

  He glanced at me. ‘Who are we going to visit?’

  ‘One of the men I asked you to check out for me: Ole Skarnes.’

  ‘And how far away is that?’

  ‘Lepsøy.’

  ‘Hope it won’t take all night.’

  ‘You’ve got other things planned?’

  ‘I’m still trying to crack some of the codes in your case, Veum, so don’t blame me if we’re late now.’

  ‘No, no.’

  On the way to Lepsøy I filled him in on the details as well as I could. He made no comments, just grunted and made occasional other noises to show he was following.

  Midway between Osøyro and Halhjem I turned off to Bruarøy and Lepsøy. The last stretch to the island of Lepsøy was in pitch black with dense forest on both sides of the road until, after some sudden bends near a bay, we came to an illuminated greenhouse and the last narrow bridge over to the furthest islands by Bjørna Fjord. There I stopped the car and switched on the internal light to check my notes for Skarnes’s address. After a couple of wrong turns and fruitless checks of names on post boxes I ended up by a spur road into the forest.

  I turned in there and parked in front of a building that was more like a country mansion than a house. A car was parked in the drive – a dark-green Mazda 323; tired paintwork and at least ten years old.

  ‘Here?’ said Sigurd Svendsbø, still as sceptical.

  ‘Looks like it,’ I replied.

  Light shone from some windows behind drawn blinds. When I stepped out of the car I saw that someone had made a narrow opening between two of the slats in one to see out. As we moved towards what I presumed was the front door, the opening closed, like an oyster trapping its prey. I went first; Svendsbø was a couple of steps behind.

  There was no bell by the door and no nameplate, but I heard the sound of footsteps inside and the door opened as we arrived. Ole Skarnes appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Veum?’ he said. ‘I wondered who it was, appearing at this time of night.’

  ‘Yes, but this is urgent.’

  ‘Really? I thought we’d finished talking.’

  ‘Not quite.’

  He shifted his gaze to Svendsbø. ‘And who is this?’

  ‘A consultant.’

  Svendsbø mumbled his name behind me.

  Skarnes directed his attention back to me. He was dressed in casual clothes, for being at home: a dark-grey V-neck sweater over a white shirt and comfortable, dark-brown cord trousers. On his feet he wore tartan slippers. ‘Well … you’d better come in then.’

  We followed him in through an L-shaped wood-panelled hallway with hooks on the walls, largely hung with leisure wear, and beneath them a pair of sea boots, some trainers and several pairs of town shoes. From there we went into the living room, the interior also influenced by the Norwegian tradition of sturdy cabins, with a selection of landscape paintings and a few handwoven rugs on the walls. Large windows faced what was probably the sea, but all I could see was dark, towering pine trees.r />
  The furniture stood in stark contrast to the rest: a big, comfortable leather suite and a dining table with slim, elegant chairs. In a corner of the room was a mute TV. On the coffee table was a folded newspaper beside a half-full glass of cognac and a coffee cup.

  ‘Can I offer you something? A glass of cognac?’

  ‘I’m driving,’ I said. ‘But…’ I turned to Svendsbø.

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said.

  Skarnes shrugged. ‘Well, I won’t force you. Anything else? Coffee? Mineral water?’

  ‘Coffee if you have any on the go. If not, a glass of water’s fine.’

  ‘No, no. I’ve got some coffee. And…?’ He raised his eyebrows ironically. ‘The consultant?’

  ‘Coffee’s fine,’ Svendsbø said.

  ‘Have a seat in the meantime.’

  He waited until we had sat down before he went through a semi-open door. Through the crack, in the dim light, I caught a glimpse of a worktop. Soon afterwards he returned with a silver Thermos jug and two coffee cups that matched the one on the table.

  While he poured the coffee, I said: ‘You live here permanently I understood last time we spoke?’

  ‘Yes, after I was left on my own I moved out here for good. I own it with my sister. We used to keep it as a country house.’

  ‘So that’s why you call your firm Bjørna Fjord Accountancy?’

  ‘Yes, it reminds me of this place every single day.’

  He sat down on the other side of the table, took his glass and warmed the cognac in his hand, without tasting it, as a reminder of what we were missing. ‘I’m sure you haven’t come here at this time of night to exchange small talk?’

  ‘No. But I’m fairly sure you know what this is about. You’re not so stupid.’

  His face tautened. ‘Then I suggest you get to the point; the sooner the better.’

  ‘Firstly, an image of you is beginning to emerge that is becoming more and more unpleasant to swallow, the more I hear. We mentioned it this morning as well. Your brutality to women. Your view of prostitutes. But now that will have to wait. Abuse of children is quite a different matter and in my eyes even more serious.’

  He just sat listening, glass of cognac in hand, glazed eyes, not batting an eyelid.

  ‘One of your … A woman told me about an incident in which she had to perform with a small child, as mother and child fleeing from the Gestapo; she told me what you did to them.’ I could feel the fury rising inside me again. ‘The girl disappeared. What the hell happened to her? Can you answer me that?’