Sohlberg and the Gift

by Jens Amundsen

Sohlberg’s voice fell to a whisper after he got a couple of stares from other patrons. “Look. It’s true that we do go way back as best friends forever . . . as you call it . . . to when we were kids growing up on Ulvøya Island. My mother took him under her wings and made him feel like part of our family because . . . well . . . people got rather snobbish about his mother.”

  “I know all about her.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Don’t forget Solly my boy . . . I know almost everything about everyone at the Zoo . . . and there’s gossip and my friends in other departments to fill in the rest of the blanks. . . . Yes my boy you forget that as part of my job I get to look at all personnel records for yearly performance reviews and any action on salaries and bonuses and demotions and promotions of all detectives and their bosses . . . the administrators. I see all job applications . . . and all transfers in and out of the Zoo . . . including all death benefits and retirement pensions and resignations.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “I guarantee you that I know more about the Zoo than the Politimeister himself.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m glad my boy that we had this talk. I always wondered what you saw in Ivar Thorsen. So that’s why you were best friends with Ivar Thorsen. I can understand how someone as nice as your mother felt sorry that he was the maid’s son. I imagine the rich kids made life horrible for him.”

  “Yes,” said Sohlberg whose good manners dictated that he not get into details with Fru Sivertsen about how Thorsen’s mother got pregnant from an affair with her boss’s son right after she started working for the wealthy banker. Nor did he tell her how Thorsen’s mother then bedded down the banker himself. “Now I need your help Fru Sivertsen on the Eide case.”

  “Yes of course. What do you want?”

  “You mentioned that other people say that Bjørn Nygård was taken off the Eide case because Ivar Thorsen wanted to take his job.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you said it was and was not true . . . in fact you said, ‘Yes and no.’”

  “I did say that Solly. Let me explain . . . Ivar Thorsen made sure that his sly putdowns and clever criticisms reached Bjørn Nygård’s boss. But a nasty betrayal by an ambitious and unscrupulous underling wouldn’t be enough to get a high-quality and dependable senior detective like Nygård replaced by an unknown green youngster like Thorsen who was . . . even back then . . . considered an inexperienced moron . . . an incompetent bootlicker.”

  “So . . . why was Nygård thrown off the case and replaced with Thorsen?”

  “Because one of the higher-up feeders . . . I’m not sure who . . . wanted a certain result in the Janne Eide investigation—”

  “What result?”

  “That I don’t know. All I know is that Nygård got replaced with Thorsen when Nygård refused to deliver the desired outcome.”

  “But don’t you know all the details? . . . I thought you saw all the case files.”

  “Yes. But that was another odd thing about the Eide case file. Readership was strictly restricted to a circulation list. And you well know how rarely that Restricted Access situation comes about.”

  “True. Very true. I think I’ve seen a blue folder once in my entire career here. Who was on the circulation list?”

  “Let me think . . . Bjørn Nygård of course . . . but not Thorsen . . . he was too green to be reading a blue folder . . . who else . . . let’s see . . . their boss Magnus Ellingsen . . . and his boss Ingeborg Myklebust.”

  “Just three individuals?”

  “Yes three.”

  “Where can I find Ellingsen and Myklebust?”

  Fru Sivertsen smiled patiently. “You can’t my boy. Only Thorsen is still working in the Zoo. Nygård was of course forced out with a poor man’s early pension . . . left outside to rot like a street beggar in Calcutta.

  “On the other hand . . . Herr Ellingsen and Fru Myklebust got big promotions and bonuses right after the Janne Eide case closed . . . that qualified them within a year to get big fat early retirement pensions.

  “Ellingsen and his wife moved to that swamp called Florida in America and Myklebust I hear lives on an island villa down in Greece . . . near Turkey. Grows olives or so I understand. Sends a case of bottles of her own pressed olive oil every year to one of the top feeders here. Supposedly she pines away for him even though he’s quite solidly in the gay camp. I don’t think he’ll be switching sides any time soon.”

  “Interesting that Ellingsen and Myklebust got huge pensions . . . sounds like the top floor was handing out somewhat generous pensions.”

  “Wrong my boy. . . . Their pensions were obscenely generous. More than five times what they deserved given the number of years they had worked.”

  “Could anyone else read the case file? . . . What about the forensic pathologist?”

  “Nope. She could only write up the autopsy.”

  “That’s it? . . . No one else?”

  “Oh . . . wait . . . Kasper Berge was on the circulation list.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He was . . . back then . . . a big-shot prosecutor with the Director General of Public Prosecutions.”

  “He wasn’t a district public prosecutor?”

  “No. Too ambitious for that lowly position. I remember him. So ambitious. For a time it looked like he’d wind up as the Minister of Justice. But I guess voters got tired of his party’s extreme multi-culturalism . . . imagine that . . . bringing backward Third World foreigners into our society . . . just to make Norway less Norwegian. Imagine what would happen to an African political party that wanted Africa less black and more white. . . . Yes. I can see it now . . . Nelson Mandela campaigning for a more white Africa.”

  Sohlberg shrugged.

  “Yes . . . what can we do?” she said with sad resignation. “Too late to stop that trainwreck.”

  “What’s Kasper Berge doing nowadays?”

  “He’s a Venstre party leader. Supposedly he’s plotting the party’s comeback now that he’s head of its youth organization.”

  “Unge Venstre?”

  “Yes. It’s just a stepping stone. Berge is a man with a mission . . . a man on his way to the top. He’s always wanted to be the Prime Minister. That’s his obsession. I hear that he’s going after the business vote now that he’s got the youth group solidly under his control. He’s a real power to be reckoned with because he has unlimited funds.”

  “Let me guess . . . he’s been bankrolled by Janne Eide’s father and his vast shipping fortune?”

  “You got it. Before the Old Man died he put Berge in a lot of business deals that made Berge a millionaire. Those deals made headlines. But there were other rumors. Unsubstantiated of course.”

  “What rumors?” said Sohlberg with intense curiosity.

  “The biggest rumor was that Old Man Eide had changed his trusts and the trustees to make sure that the money trough was always available in huge quantities for Berge’s political ambitions and Berge’s party.”

  Sohlberg nodded. “That’s interesting. But that rumor can’t really be proved since I remember reading a long time ago that Eide . . . like all of the super-rich people in the world . . . transferred the bulk of his assets overseas . . . to Luxembourg . . . Cyprus . . . Switzerland . . . Cayman Islands . . . tax-havens where money and assets can’t be traced.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Fru Sivertsen . . . wasn’t it odd for this Kasper Berge to be on the circulation list?”

  “Yes!” whispered Fru Sivertsen. She sipped her fish soup which had turned cold. “That was quite strange.”

  “Why would he be involved in prosecuting the murder of one little civilian citizen in Oslo? Janne Eide was after all just a rich man’s heir. Nothing more. Nothing less. Her father was just a rich man. Nothing more and nothing less. Not even the biggest bootlicking hack at the Ministry of Justice would assign someone like Kasper Berge to direct the police in the Eide case and to prosecute the mur
der.”

  “Yes . . . my dear Solly. But what if . . . what if he got himself assigned to the case? . . . What if Kasper Begre decided to use the case to cozy up to Janne Eide’s father?”

  “You have a point. I can see it now. The personal visit to offer his condolences to Old Man Eide . . . Berge then swears he’ll bring the killer to justice.”

  Fru Sivertsen set aside the cold bowl of soup. “He’d then have instant access to the old man. An ambitious man like Kasper Berge would soon befriend the rich man . . . then the rich man’s friends and associates . . . the lawyers . . . the company executives. . . . That’s what politicians like Berge do day and night . . . seven days a week. They’re only looking for who can help them . . . their number one priority is finding people they can use for maximum benefit. And knowing Berge . . . he’d do it. Absolutely. He had to work fast because the old man was already sick . . . he died a year after his daughter’s murder . . . heartbroken over his only child’s death.”

  Sohlberg pushed away his untouched and cold fish soup. “Now it makes sense . . . Berge pushed himself into the case. He had no reason to be on the case since neither the father or the daughter were government employees or members of any government office.”

  “Neither was Janne Eide’s husband. He was just a gold-digging loafer from what I remember. Oh yes. Trust me. I overheard plenty from Nygård and then Thorsen talking with Ellingsen. . . . Also . . . you don’t know this . . . but Ellingsen was too lazy . . . and too much of a technobumpkin to read or write his own e-mails . . . so he had me print out and write all e-mails from and to Myklebust.”

  “Fru Sivertsen . . . all that you say makes sense. . . . There’s no way that the Janne Eide murder would deserve a prosecutor from the Director General of Public Prosecutions.”

  “Exactly my Solly boy. The boys and girls from the Director General only prosecute major crimes against the state itself . . . not crimes against individuals. . . . And they only prosecute crimes against the state that have the potential for long prison sentences of up to twenty-one years . . . crimes that threaten the security of the country. They do stuff like prosecuting government employees who break secrecy laws.”

  “And yet . . . Fru Sivertsen . . . I was thinking. . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Even if an ambitious and scheming prosecutor like Kasper Berge wanted to get placed in the Janne Eide case he would still need someone high up in the Ministry of Justice to go along with his scheme to get assigned to the Eide prosecution.”

  “Of course. It goes without saying.”

  Sohlberg pondered three scenarios—all equally disturbing.

  Scenario Number One: someone very corrupt at a very high level inside the Ministry of Justice assigned Kasper Berge to the Janne Eide case to please her father and curry favor with the Eide business empire. Or someone got bribed and paid by the father or someone in the Eide business empire to assign Kasper Berge to the case.

  Scenario Number Two: Old Man Eide or someone in his business empire secretly worked for the government or secretly helped the government in some major project. After all shipping companies sometimes have to transport sensitive cargo prone to cause controversy or investigations or scandal.

  Scenario Number Three: the murderer or the person ultimately responsible for the murder worked for the government or was somehow involved in the government at a high enough level or in an important enough project.

  None of the three scenarios appealed to Sohlberg. “The Eide case smells bad. There’s a stench from the Justice Ministry’s bench.”

  “Oh my Solly boy . . . you’re far too cynical for someone who’s early into his career.”

  “I see things as they are. My eyes are open. So are my nose and ears.”

  “Then you must be careful my boy. Make sure no one else knows of your cynicism. Keep your mouth shut like the rest of us worker bees. . . . Speak of this to no one. Or you’ll pay and pay.”

  Sohlberg pondered over her ominous warning. He then went over his options as to how best to proceed. None were particularly attractive. His options ranged from difficult to dangerous and maybe even worse.

  “My Solly boy. Time for me to go. You need time to think. Call me if you have any more questions. Now . . . you asked me who could help you get the Eide case files. So here’s your Christmas gift . . . a list with the names of reliable and discreet people who will help you. Their personal phone numbers are written backwards. I already called them. Told them you and I needed their help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now keep in mind . . . these folks are nobodies like me. They didn’t go to fancy schools and they’re not high in the bureaucratic food chain. But like me they know exactly how to get things done . . . what levers to pull and buttons to push. If they can’t help you they will get someone who can and will.”

  “Excellent. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Also . . . you told me you were going to look at the court files on the Eide murder. So I put in the name of a person who works at the National Courts Administration. I put him in because who knows what problems you might get into if anyone finds out that you’re looking at the Eide case file from the trial court.”

  “Fru Sivertsen . . . you’re so good to me.”

  “Nonsense. We’re just kindred spirits. Rowing on the same boat and all that. I just have one favor to ask of you.”

  “Yes. What?”

  “Keep your contact with these people to a minimum. Only ask them for help if absolutely necessary.”

  “Of course.”

  “And never use a phone or computer that can be traced back to you or them.”

  “I only use disposable cell phones. I’ve got a bag of totally untraceable disposable cell phones that I bought two years ago from a Swedish contact. After one call I throw the phone away but not before I take out and destroy the phone’s SIM card . . . the good old Subscriber Identification Module card.”

  “I’m impressed,” said the hard-to-impress Fru Sivertsen.

  “I then pass a special magnet that I got in Russia over all the other electronic hardware and software. That means that everything gets wiped off the phone . . . including any known and unknown tracking software.”

  “I knew I could depend on you. Well . . . my Solly boy . . . be careful . . . very careful . . . and Merry Christmas!”

  They hugged goodbye and for the longest time after Fru Sivertsen left he was oppressed by the same feeling that he used to have when he first learned to sail his father’s boat. He felt that a powerful undercurrent was carrying him out to open sea far away from the safe shores.

  Sohlberg paid and left the restaurant. Standing at the doorway of the Cafekontoret he reached for his coat pocket and realized that he needed a new bag of throat lozenges. Grumbling he crossed the street to the small supermarket from the JOKER chain. He entered the red corner building on the corner of Grønlandsleiret and Schweigaards gate.

  “Welcome!” said the friendly Pakistani clerk at the checkout stand.

  “Ricola lozenges?”

  “Row Four. To your right. In the middle.”

  Just as Sohlberg walked down the aisle he noticed a man hovering over the limp carrots and other dried-out vegetables. The man had a familiar face but Sohlberg could not attach a name to it.

  Where did I see this thick-set man with the surly face?

  Definitely at the Zoo. Yes. I saw him at the Zoo. More than once.

  Could the man be following me?

  How could I have landed under this man’s surveillance so soon?

  Is the man connected to the Eide case?

  Chapter 4/Fire

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, OR

  THREE DAYS AFTER THE DAY

  All morning long Sohlberg tried to recall the other statement that his Tuesday morning visitor had made to him and yet it repeatedly slipped his mind whenever he tried to remember it. He tried and tried but kept forgetting the statement which was very important. But he did not know why it w
as significant. The evanescent statement escaped his mind’s grasp as easily as a slippery eel.

  At 11:15 A.M Sohlberg got ready to leave the Zoo for his lunch-time meeting. He walked past a row of Vietnamese hoodlums in handcuffs. Arrogant and defiant the 20- and 30-somethings sat on a bench waiting for interrogation. Rolf Myhre the youngest homicide inspector in the Zoo looked at Sohlberg and then rolled his eyes as if telling Sohlberg:

  “Look at what I have to put up with.”

  Sohlberg nodded and smiled in commiseration.

  The west-bound Number 18 tram line whisked Sohlberg closer to downtown. He again had the feeling he was being followed. Sohlberg got off at the Tinghuset or Courthouse station and promptly headed to Hansen & Dysvik where he had bought Christmas gifts for Fru Sohlberg over the years. A long line of customers snaked in front of the Customer Service desk of the elegant home furnishings store. After waiting for 15 minutes Sohlberg finally got to the front. He lifted the enormous H&D shopping bag over the counter.