‘There’s some unrest in the camp, I can see.’
Ole Skarnes smirked.
Svendsbø said: ‘You lot don’t understand anything. None of you! You don’t understand what it’s like to live with…’
He stopped in the middle and shot a look at the window. Outside, we heard the sound of at least two cars screaming to a halt in the drive. We all stared.
Heimark was the first to react. He ran to the window, pushed up a slat and peered out. ‘Oh, shit!’ he exclaimed, half turning. ‘It’s the police.’
‘What!’ said Hope, looking at the door as though he expected stormtroopers to come piling in on cue. Even Ole Skarnes looked as if he had finally lost his composure and got up from his chair.
Svendsbø looked around. Then he ran across the room and legged it through the door to the kitchen. A second later a door was heard slamming outside.
I didn’t hesitate for long, either. I followed him through the kitchen to the back door, tore it open and threw myself into the darkness. I soon got my bearings. A path led through the forest at the back. At the front of the house I could hear car doors shutting and some quick commands being given. However, I set off after Svendsbø into the forest.
60
It was pitch black. A wind had blown up and above my head the tall trees swayed and bent. As I scurried along the narrow path through the wood, low-hanging branches whipped into my face and I had difficulty finding my bearings. In the distance I heard the roar of breakers. Bjørna Fjord was growling like a bear in the autumn night.
A couple of times I came to a halt and listened. I heard the sounds of someone crashing through the wood ahead of me. I might have been getting on in age, but Svendsbø had spent the best part of his life in front of a computer screen, and I considered myself at least as fit as him.
Occasionally clearings opened in the forest, and now I could clearly glimpse the fjord ahead. On a hill to the right of us were some darkened buildings, probably other summer houses, and suddenly we were on a lawn with berry bushes planted at the edge.
I could see him in front of me now. He was running in a way I thought I had seen before – jig-like with arms circling. He was at the far end of the lawn, where he unhooked a gate in the fence and continued through another copse towards the sea. I set off again.
He hadn’t closed the gate after him, and I could see I was catching him up. He crossed another open area and took a right, where the path ended in a concrete walkway towards the furthest rocks. The sea was foamy-white here and the surf towered into the air. Svendsbø slipped on the concrete and almost fell but regained his balance. I moved along it with more circumspection. As far as I could see, he was caught in a trap.
The walkway ended in a little platform between some smooth, shiny rocks. At the sea-edge I saw a narrow, concrete construction clearly silhouetted against the greyish-black fjord. It reminded me of a pulpit where the devil himself could scream his imprecations to a gathering of shipwrecked ghosts. As I approached I caught sight of steps leading up to an opening in the middle, like an entrance to the sea. At once I realised it had to be the base of a diving tower, with two boards, the top one around five metres high. But the boards had gone and it was obviously a long time since the tower had been used.
I caught up with Svendsbø as he was hesitating between which way he should go: over the slippery rocks on the land side of the walkway or out to the diving board. I threw myself at him, grabbed his shoulder and twisted him round. He tried to free himself and we both toppled over onto the platform as the sea-spray rose around us like the froth of two sea-animals engaged in a fight of life and death.
I had hold of one arm and with a violent jerk I turned him round and pushed him so that he was lying face down on the concrete base. I held him in a half-nelson, with my knee in the small of his back, and I leaned over.
‘Lie still! Do you hear me? Or else I’ll break your arm.’
He groaned aloud. ‘OK, OK.’
I relaxed my grip but didn’t let go. ‘Where the hell were you going?’
He raised his face, wet with sea water. He stared across the fjord. ‘Out there.’
‘Into the sea? You’re not going anywhere until you’ve made a statement to the police.’
‘To the police?’
‘So that I get my name cleared once and for all.’
‘You don’t deserve it.’
‘Don’t I? What have I ever done to you?’
He twisted his head half-round to look me in the eye. He groaned aloud, but this time it wasn’t with pain but despair.
I tried to straighten up, but was still gripping his wrist. ‘Do you admit it was you who put that filth into my computers?’
He didn’t answer and I pushed up his arm.
‘Yes, yes!’ he yelled.
‘And it was you who sent the pictures to Sølvi, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. It was me.’
‘What on earth was Waagenes thinking of when he employed you as an expert?’
‘That’s what I am, for Christ’s sake. I had done jobs for him before. Getting this particular job too was a gift, nothing less.’
‘Because you’d already hacked my machines?’
He tried to nod. ‘Yes.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘For a man like me it was easy. I got you to answer an email that on the surface was from a friend of yours. You opened a link and were caught in a trap, like so many before you.’
‘I can’t have been sober.’
‘Probably not,’ he sneered. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t have opened the link, would you.’
‘But you still haven’t told me why.’
‘It was Skarnes’s idea. I’d helped him with computer matters before, and we’d shared quite a few – erm, you know – pics. But the idea was that they would lie there like a time bomb in case the police got into the system. Or a bomb we could detonate ourselves if we felt the time was ripe. The important thing was to play with the power it gave us … over you. We both felt we had a score to settle with you.’
‘Skarnes because of the money and a kind of revenge. But you? What the hell have I ever done to you? I didn’t even know who you were until Waagenes brought you in.’
‘No? I even tried to give you a clue when we first met Waagenes. But you were too stupid to understand.’
‘Understand what?’
Another breaker crashed onto the rock and soaked us in salt water. I almost lost my grip on Svendsbø. I held him tighter, to have something to hold onto if for nothing else.
‘Ow!’ he yelled. ‘You’re breaking my bloody arm!’
‘Understand what?’ I repeated, even louder this time.
‘Deep down I wanted you to know what you were doing penance for.’
‘Penance? Me?’
‘The date I told you about – when the files were put into your computer.’
At once I remembered: ‘Åsne Clausen’s funeral. A year to the day.’ The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘That was where I knew you from. Your way of walking. But from a distance. It was you walking with Åsne from the office to the car park that time I tailed her two years ago.’
Again he tried to turn his head round completely to see me. ‘But she caught sight of you and, on her way to my place, she got out of her car and spoke to you.’
‘On her way to Skytterveien. Exactly. You were her secret friend.’
‘Secret friend? I loved her. She was the first woman who had been able to free me from the hell that was my life – this sick attraction I had for children.’
My head spun. Then the pieces came together and I saw the shape of what had happened with greater clarity. ‘But this computer system of Hope & Co’s wasn’t as secure as they claimed. Hackers could get in, and that’s precisely what Severin did.’
He stared at me, silent, boundless despair in his eyes.
I continued. ‘And because his mother was a computer expert she hacked into his machine and was shoc
ked by what she found. Among other things, a picture of Herdis, whom she recognised. Was that what happened? Did she contact you about it?’
‘Yes,’ he groaned. ‘She rang me early in the morning and told me to go over… I’d never been to her house, but she said she was alone. At first I thought … But she dragged me into Severin’s room, showed me the pictures and afterwards … she asked me if I knew anything about it. I thought initially that Severin had taken the pictures himself, but then … I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I had to admit it. Deep down, I hoped she would understand, that she would take it as a positive – that it was her who had got me out of this way of thinking. I tried to explain to her that it was someone else – Skarnes – who had forced me to put the pictures online. But she didn’t understand. She went straight for my throat. I had to understand, she said. She would have to tell Ruth. Perhaps report it to the police. She was hysterical! In the end she physically attacked me.’
‘So you would maintain it was self-defence? You killed her by accident? And to disguise it you hung her from a beam so that it would look like suicide?’
‘It was an accident! I would never have dreamt of…’
‘And you were lucky because her father was so determined to cover up what everyone thought it was: suicide. But you knew better. You’ve known all the time.’
‘That was why I tried to bring the date to your attention. It was a kind of penance as well. Actually I wanted someone to know. Because no-one can prove a thing!’
‘But I still don’t understand why you wanted to target me.’
‘I’ve already told you. It was Skarnes who suggested your name. And I recognised it of course. Åsne was out of her mind when she came to my place after scuppering the job you were doing for her husband. She was convinced he would use whatever you found against her in a divorce case. And a lot of what went on in her family was also about money.’
‘I know all about that. So you regarded yourself more as an assistant?’
‘Something like that. But it was you and the husband from hell who had put her in the mental state she was in. That was why she reacted so violently to what she found on Severin’s computer. You have to understand … I loved her! It was her who … It was her who had laid to rest the demons inside me. It was her who had shown me what real love could be.’
I listened to what he said, then I couldn’t restrain myself: ‘You mean … as opposed to inflicting abuse on your own children? And others?’
He recoiled, as if I had hit him. ‘No-one can understand … how it feels to be like that. It’s not what you want for yourself. It’s what you’re compelled to do.’ He mumbled something I didn’t catch.
‘What did you say?’
‘Even to those nearest to you,’ he shouted as another breaker crashed over us.
I never found out if it was the breaker that did it or it was a moment’s inattention on my part. All of a sudden he tore himself free from my grip and arched his back with such power that I was thrown backwards and left clinging onto the slippery rocks so as not to be swept into the sea. He staggered to his feet and stumbled forwards, crossing the narrow top of a rock over to the base of the diving tower that rose above us. Inside the entrance to the tall structure he turned, holding his hands against both sides to stay upright.
I called his name. He stood motionless, as though he hadn’t heard.
Then my phone rang. Without taking my eyes off him, I pressed the answer button and held the phone to my ear. ‘Yes?’
‘Varg?’ It was Sølvi. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘…Yes. I’m OK, but…’
‘I couldn’t wait until midnight. Have the police arrived?’
‘Yes, but I’m not there any longer. I’m … down by the sea.’
‘What’s going on?’
I stood staring. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
‘Nooo!’ I shouted.
‘Varg! What’s going on?’
Without answering, I stuffed the phone back in my inside pocket and charged forwards. I crossed the same narrow part of the rock he had passed less than a minute ago. I sprinted up the steps and stood in the entrance staring down at the foaming breakers, out to the white-crested sea. He was already gone. There was no sign of any life, only the dark water billowing in and out, back and forth, like time itself, forever in remorseless motion.
I didn’t move. Another cascade of water crashed in and covered me as I clung onto the concrete base around me with all my strength. When it was over I scrambled back onto land and was a good distance along the walkway before I stopped and peered into the darkness, as though expecting him to emerge from the depths like a merman and come roaring towards me, on the back of a shark.
I took out my phone again and re-established the connection.
She answered at once. ‘What was that, Varg? What happened?’ She sounded hysterical.
‘I lost a witness, Sølvi. Perhaps the most important one.’
‘What! Who was it?’
‘I’ll tell you later. I have to ring Waagenes. But everything’ll be alright now. Don’t worry.’ I hoped I made it sound more convincing than I felt.
Before returning to the summer house up by the main road, I rang Waagenes and woke him from his beauty sleep. Which he fully deserved, bearing in mind how careless he had been with the experts in his employ. Quickly, I brought him up-to-date with events. He said I should hand myself in to the police, and I answered that that was what I was going to do. He would meet me at the police station, he added. Many thanks, I said, but I had expected nothing less.
Then I slowly set off back through the forest. I wasn’t looking forward to the coming days, but in my heart of hearts I was sure they would accept my explanation. Perhaps they would even engage some other experts to examine Svendsbø’s computers to see if any revealing clues could be found there, no matter how well he had tried to cover his traces. And then I had a little to tell them about the scoundrels I hoped they already had in irons. But still some big-time crooks would go free, as always. There was a long way to go with that aspect of the case.
Before entering the forest I turned for a final time and gazed at the abandoned concrete pulpit. Another breaker crashed over the rocks, but no-one was riding on the crest of the waves. He was gone for ever. Swallowed up by the sea.
About the Author
One of the fathers of Nordic Noir, Gunnar Staalesen was born in Bergen, Norway in 1947. He made his debut at the age of twenty-two with Seasons of Innocence and in 1977 he published the first book in the Varg Veum series. He is the author of over twenty titles, which have been published in twenty-four countries and sold over four million copies. Twelve film adaptations of his Varg Veum crime novels have appeared since 2007, starring the popular Norwegian actor Trond Espen Seim. Staalesen has won three Golden Pistols (including the Prize of Honour) and Where Roses Never Die was shortlisted for the 2017 Petrona Award for crime fiction. He lives in Bergen with his wife.
About the Translator
Don Bartlett lives with his family in a village in Norfolk. He completed an MA in Literary Translation at the University of East Anglia in 2000 and has since worked with a wide variety of Danish and Norwegian authors, including Jo Nesbø and Karl Ove Knausgaard. He has previously translated The Consorts of Death, Cold Hearts, We Shall Inherit the Wind and Where Roses Never Die in the Varg Veum series.
Copyright
Orenda Books
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West Dulwich
London SE21 8HU
www.orendabooks.co.uk
First published in Norwegian as Ingen er så trygg i fare by Gyldendal in 2014
First published in English by Orenda Books 2017
Copyright © Gunnar Staalesen 2014
English translation copyright © Don Bartlett 2017
Map copyright © Augon Johnsen
Photograph of Varg Veum statue supplied courtesy of Augon Johnsen
Gunnar Staalesen has asserted his moral ri
ght to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of the publishers.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-910633-72-4
eISBN 978-1-910633-73-1
The publication of this translation has been made possible through the financial support of NORLA, Norwegian Literature Abroad.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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