by Thomas Enger
He tilted his head to the left, then to the right. ‘It’s such a long time ago, but I seem to remember she was pretty much as she always was with me – cold and distant; uninterested in what I was doing. But she would light up as soon as Fritz Georg came into the room; it was like flicking a switch.’
He smacked his lips. Then his face changed. As though he had remembered something. ‘She did do one thing that I thought was rather odd at the time,’ he said, and looked up at Nora. ‘And I now think it’s even odder.’
Nora waited for him to continue.
‘Just before she disappeared, she started a fund in Fritz Georg’s name and put in a substantial sum. He was to get it when he turned eighteen. I had no idea she had so much money, but now it seems to substantiate the idea that she committed suicide.’
‘You mean the fact that she made financial arrangements in Georg’s favour?’
He nodded. ‘She must have known she was in some sort of danger,’ he said, seeming surprised by the thought.
Nora wrote the word FUND in capital letters on her notepad, and underlined it twice. They both sat with their own thoughts for a while.
‘Mr Hellberg, we’re going to have to talk about your son, as well,’ Nora said, eventually.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
‘Have you spoken to Georg since he was taken in for questioning yesterday evening?’
‘Only very briefly this morning, via Preben Mørck, our lawyer.’
Nora straightened up. ‘I understand that Georg didn’t want to say anything about where he and Hedda were going the day he picked her up at Skoppum Station.’
Fritz stood up, picked up his glass and went back over to the cut-crystal decanter. ‘No, and he wouldn’t tell me anything either.’
Nora was tempted to follow him, but stayed sitting where she was.
‘Can you think of any reason why Hedda would tell her husband she was going away for three weeks, when in fact she was up to something with your son?’
He poured himself another generous drink.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, putting the stopper back in. ‘But I don’t think there was anything going on between them. As far as I know, Hedda was happy with her life. Hugo is a good man.’
So it was still a question of where they were going and why, and what went wrong.
‘Did you have much to do with Hedda?’
‘Me? No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But…’ He turned towards her. And again, he had a rather astonished look on his face. ‘She actually came to visit me here not long ago.’
Nora looked up at him.
‘I think it was just a few days before she was due to go to Italy,’ he continued, and took a step closer. ‘It was quite strange really, because she’d never done anything like that before. That’s to say, come here to visit me on her own.’
‘What did she want?’ Nora asked.
‘She wanted to talk about Ellen,’ he said, and looked at Nora.
The frown on Nora’s forehead deepened. ‘Ellen?’
‘Yes. She asked if I knew what kind of books Ellen liked, if she’d had a favourite author, that sort of thing. Hedda said that she’d caught the reading bug and knew that Ellen had been interested in literature; read at least two books a week.’
Nora thought hard.
‘So she wanted some suggestions on what to read? When she was in Italy?’
‘That’s what I thought.’
There was nothing strange about asking for suggestions about what to read, Nora reasoned. The only thing was that she had never seen Hedda read anything other than course material when they lived together. But then, you could develop an interest in literature at any time. Why the sudden interest in what Ellen liked to read, though? Especially when Hedda wasn’t even going to Italy.
‘Things don’t look too good for my boy,’ Hellberg said in a melancholy voice. ‘They’ve found blood out at the summer house, on the fireplace in the living room.’
Nora’s eyes opened wide.
‘And at least one shot had been fired too. The police found a bullet in the ceiling.’
Nora didn’t know what to say, or what it meant.
Fritz sat down heavily. He looked at her with drowsy eyes. ‘And if that’s not enough, one of our hunting rifles is missing.’
35
It was busy outside Ullevål Stadium, the national football team’s home ground, with hordes of people milling around the building’s shops and offices.
Nansen Models didn’t quite fit in among the car-parts merchant, the supermarkets and the off licence, but the fact that it was only a kilometre’s walk from Veronica Nansen’s flat in Ullevål Hageby made it an appealing location. Henning positioned himself by a shop front to wait for the company’s founder. When she did eventually come out, she stopped abruptly as soon as she saw him.
‘Hi,’ Henning said, and took a step closer.
‘Hi,’ she said back.
‘On your way home?’ he asked.
She nodded, hesitantly.
‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’
She didn’t answer for a few moments.
‘No,’ she said finally, and put her bag over her shoulder and started to walk. They passed a shop that sold Apple products, a sports shop, then the entrance to a hotel.
‘Busy day?’ he asked. ‘You must have seen that I’ve been trying to call you.’
‘Yes, there … there’s been a fair amount to do.’
A boy on a scooter was heading straight for them. Henning had to step to one side to avoid being run over. The boy’s mother was not far behind and apologised.
‘The last time we met,’ Henning said, ‘you told me about Tore and Charlie Høisæther. That they grew up together and were friends.’
Veronica glanced at him.
‘Do you know if they ever fell out at any point?’
‘Fell out?’ Veronica repeated.
‘Geir Grønningen certainly seemed to think so,’ Henning said. ‘I thought you might have picked up on something.’
A homeless man with red cheeks was standing outside the off licence, a cup in his hand.
‘No, I … I can’t say that I did,’ she said. ‘But that’s not really surprising. Tore never talked to me about things like that.’
‘You didn’t notice anything from his behaviour?’
Veronica thought about it. ‘I don’t think so. Tore never brought his work problems home with him. If he needed to get something out of his system, he went to the gym or found a road without much traffic and no police, so he could ride his motorbike at top speed.’
They walked for a few metres without saying anything.
‘But it was a bit odd that I didn’t see Charlie at Tore’s funeral,’ Veronica said. ‘Then again, if he was in Brazil, it might not have been that easy for him to get over.’
‘William Hellberg … is he someone you know?’
Her shoes, which clicked on the tarmac, faltered, slowed down, then picked up pace again.
‘Yes, I … know of William, of course,’ she replied in a quiet voice, looking straight ahead, taking care not to bump into a woman with four bags of shopping.
‘In what way?’
Veronica brushed some hair out of her face.
‘I’ve met him socially, at parties and dinners, you know. Him and his wife.’ She started to walk faster again. ‘They were childhood friends as well,’ she said, and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. ‘Tore and William, that is.’
Henning studied her as they walked. Her quick, sharp moves and evasive eyes. She sniffed loudly, only lifting her head occasionally.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
Veronica glanced over at him again and pulled a baffled face.
‘You seem nervous,’ he said.
‘Do I?’
She tried to laugh it off, but it just made things worse. Her smile froze, her eyes continued to dart back and forth, and Henning had to move faster to keep up with her. The closer th
ey got to the ICA supermarket, the busier it got. People were coming out with bulging bags; a man pushed a shopping trolley full of food in front of him, with a gleeful little girl in the seat. Cars were parking and driving off, and the smell of fast food drifted towards them.
Once they had left the stadium behind them, and had walked past the metro station and the first bus stop, there were fewer people on the pavement. Henning made a point of not saying anything, but just looked over at Veronica every now and then, waiting for her to comment on what he’d said. Soon she slowed down again, raised her eyes and looked at the hedges that partially hid the big houses.
‘I think Tore and William were in the same class at secondary school, or something like that. Or maybe Tore was a couple of years younger. I’m not sure. They certainly spent a lot of time together as they got older. William came from a rich family, and I think he maybe thought it was cool to hang out with someone like Tore. They came from such different worlds.’
They walked on.
‘But then William started to work – was more or less given the family business at a time when Tore…’ She looked around again. The nearest people were at least twenty metres away. ‘…At a time when Tore had started to get a name for himself in quite a different field,’ she concluded.
A school class came walking towards them, all the children in reflective vests. Veronica crossed the road; Henning followed.
When the children were at a safe distance, she said in a barely audible voice: ‘Not long after Tore and I started going out, I asked him what he’d done over the years. It was no secret that he’d been a real bad ass. I didn’t want any shit to come up once we were a couple.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘So I demanded that he told me everything he’d done; who he’d done a job on and why. And Tore was fine with it. He told me about the people whose jaws he’d smashed, about a man who had his balls crushed because he’d done something to a woman Tore knew.’ She let out a heavy sigh. ‘Tore had done quite a lot,’ she said. ‘No doubt about it.’
It dawned on Henning where the story was going, but he wanted to let Veronica tell it in her own time.
She stopped walking and looked at him. ‘William Hellberg was one of Tore’s first clients.’
Henning didn’t answer, just held her gaze. She couldn’t take it and looked down at the ground again, then everything around them – anything but him. A bus came rattling towards them with a queue of cars behind.
‘William was new in the property business at the time,’ Veronica continued. ‘His business style was probably a bit wild and ruthless to begin with. But whatever the case, I asked Tore if he’d done other things. Worse things.’
Veronica looked at him again.
‘You mean, if he’d killed anyone?’
She held his gaze, then nodded slowly.
‘And what did he say?’
‘He said no. But I don’t know how truthful he was being – I definitely got the feeling he hadn’t told me everything.’
It was Henning’s turn to nod. He thought about Nora. She’d met William.
‘So you didn’t really believe him?’
Her eyes followed a man who jogged past. ‘I don’t know. But it does bother me, particularly now when I think about the woman they found out at the Hellbergs’ summer place today. She disappeared around the time that Tore did some work for William.’
36
This is getting more and more complex, Nora thought as she left the home of Fritz Hellberg III. There were clear indications that there had been some kind of scuffle at Oscar Hellberg’s summer house, and that at least one shot had been fired, but all this had nothing to do with the discovery of the body in the woods. What’s more, there were still no fresh clues about Hedda, unless the blood proved to be hers. What Nora did know was that Hedda had developed a sudden interest in Ellen Hellberg’s reading habits just before she disappeared.
What a mystery, Nora mused as she got into her car and drove away. The police had announced that there would be a press conference at three o’clock, but that wasn’t for another few hours, and Merete Stephans could cover that, anyway.
Nora thought about Ellen’s husband as she drove. His eyes had some of the same dullness as Unni’s. As though nothing could make him happy.
Grief, Nora said to herself; a virus you can never quite kick. Not completely.
She checked her mobile phone; someone from the office had called several times, but she didn’t have much more for them to publish right now. The sensitive family secrets would remain secret for as long as possible – that was the last thing she had promised Fritz as he slipped into the whisky haze that looked like it wouldn’t wear off for the next couple of hours.
Nora tried to ring Unni, to get her version of the story about Ellen. But, unsurprisingly, her phone was switched off. Nora could perhaps try to find her landline number, or drive out to Kalvetangen again, but after some consideration, she decided instead to pay another visit to Hellberg Property.
She parked in more or less the same place as the last time, and went into the office in the hope that William would still be as positive and willing to help her do her job as he had been before, even though much had changed in the meantime.
One of the staff came to greet her as soon as she opened the door. Nora asked if William was around. The man disappeared into the back, and only a few moments later, the boss himself was standing in the doorway; Big Brother, as Georg had called him. William whispered an inaudible message to his employee, then gave Nora a nod to indicate that he could see her. She walked towards him with a sympathetic smile, and, when she was close enough, held out her hand.
William took it. His fingers were clammy and his handshake weaker than before. He showed her into his office again and they sat down. William’s mobile phone rang and he checked the screen. His shoulders slouched ever so slightly.
‘Journalists?’ Nora asked.
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘My wife.’
He waited for a second before answering the phone. Nora made a point of looking away, not wanting him to think she was interested in their conversation. A copy of the family coat of arms hung on the wall. She hadn’t noticed it last time. It was an engraving in dark wood.
‘But can’t you…’
Out of the corner of her eye, Nora saw him rolling his eyes.
‘…Can’t you get someone else to collect him? I’m in the middle of something right now.’ William sighed. ‘Yes, I know, but…’
He glanced surreptitiously at Nora. She got out her own phone, unlocked the keypad and went to her emails. No new information, only group emails – minutes from past meetings and reminders of others.
‘OK,’ William said with resignation. ‘But I’ll have to come back to the office afterwards.’
He put down the phone without saying goodbye, apologising to Nora, who put down her own phone.
‘My wife,’ he explained. ‘She’s rather overprotective about our son. As I said last time, he’s got a rare illness, so we can all get a bit stressed when he’s not well.’
‘Is something wrong with him?’
‘Now? Probably not; he’s just got a bit of a temperature.’
Nora remembered how she had been with Jonas at times – in the first year, particularly. Everything was new, everything was dangerous, and it took a while before she understood that children needed to be sick every now and then; it was how they built up their immune system. So it wasn’t surprising if people were overly cautious, especially when their child had a chronic illness.
‘Do you have time for a very quick chat first?’ she asked.
‘Very quick,’ he smiled.
‘Could I ask what you think about all of this?’ she said. ‘The discovery of Ellen’s body; your sister being missing; the shots that you’ve no doubt heard were fired at me yesterday?’
‘What I think?’ he said, with a deep sigh. ‘It’s not looking good for Georg, that’s for sure. And if he has killed Hedda, well…’ Willi
am balled his fists and clenched his teeth.
‘Do you know if he’s a good shot?’
‘Georg?’ William sat up. ‘He came hunting with us a few years ago. Shot about four or five grouse a day. I don’t think he ever missed. So yes, he’s a good shot; was probably the best among us.’
Nora thought about Patrik’s dislike of Georg, and the iciness she thought she now detected between William and Georg.
‘How was your father in those final weeks before he died?’
Hellberg gave her a puzzled look. ‘I’m not quite sure I understand your question.’
‘Was he bitter because he was going to die? Did he reminisce a lot about his life? Were there things he felt he had to get off his chest?’
Hellberg looked at her even more keenly. ‘Uh, no, I’m not sure really,’ he said, then leaned back in his chair again. ‘I was told that he cried a lot, which for him, was pretty unusual. He was quite a macho type. But … well, it can’t be that unusual for someone to get sentimental when they’re approaching the end.’
‘No, not at all,’ Nora reassured him, mostly for the sake of saying something.
‘But he didn’t tell me anything – I wasn’t really there as much as everyone else, though. It’s possible he said something to the others.’
Nora remembered what Hugo Refsdal had told her about Hedda – that she was a real daddy’s girl. Which would lend ballast to the idea that Oscar might have told her something about his life. Something about Ellen, possibly; something that led Hedda to lie to her husband about needing three weeks’ recuperation in Italy. Perhaps Oscar suspected that Ellen had been killed and that she might be buried out at Hulebakk. That would explain why Hedda went there, why she allied herself with Georg, Ellen’s son.
But it did not explain why a police search was needed in order to find her, and why Hedda was now missing. Nor why Hedda had suddenly become so interested in a Swedish pensioner who had been killed soon after.
Nora asked William if he knew who Daniel Schyman was.
He put his fingers together to make a triangle. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Who is he?’