by Thomas Enger
The lawyer looked at Unni.
‘Let’s just be done with it,’ she said. ‘The sooner it’s over, the sooner we can get back to Hedda. And hopefully Patrik.’
Løken smiled at her and at lawyer. ‘Excellent. Thank you. Now, let’s do this chronologically. We know that Ellen Hellberg was killed sixteen years ago. She was then dumped in the disused well out at Oscar Hellberg’s summer house.’ The policeman spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘Only someone who had access to Hulebakk and knew the grounds would have chosen the well as a place to hide a body, and only a strong person could lift the lid, as it weighs almost a hundred kilos. Which excludes most of you; though perhaps not you…’ He pointed at Fritz. ‘You were big and strong at the time, but then, you’d just had a heart attack. So it couldn’t have been you.’
Løken glanced over at Henning, who was sitting with his hands folded, listening.
‘We also know that you, William, had used the services of Tore Pulli around the same time; a man who later went on to become renowned for his brutality. You’d known each other since you went to secondary school together in Horten and were part of the same scene.’
‘What are you insinuating, officer?’ asked the lawyer, thrusting his chin forward.
‘I’m not insinuating anything, Mørck, and my title is Detective Inspector, but I’m sure you’re aware of that.’ Løken sent the lawyer a withering look before continuing: ‘And this,’ he said, pressing on his phone to produce a photograph, ‘is something we found in Tore Pulli’s safe.’
He showed the photograph of the envelope addressed to Hellberg Law.
‘In the envelope is a letter which talks about a man called Daniel Schyman.’
Løken made eye contact with them, one after the other. The lawyer didn’t move. Unni stared back with wide eyes, and then lowered them. William squeezed his hands. Fritz was following everything intently.
‘It says in the letter that Fritz Hellberg, a lawyer, bought the house where Daniel Schyman’s parents had lived before they fled from the Germans in 1942.’
Løken paused to see if there would be any eye contact. Only Fritz looked at him.
‘His parents having died during the war, Daniel never moved back to Tønsberg, and instead became part of the family in Sweden who had opened their home to him. We have not yet clarified exactly what happened to Brages vei 18 – the house that Hellberg bought – after the war. But we do know that the lawyer sold some of the properties he was holding before starting the company that later built the family fortune. And it won’t take us long to establish whether Brages vei 18 was one of the properties he sold.’
Løken walked up and down the room.
‘If indeed Hellberg did sell Daniel Schyman’s house and kept the money himself, I can well imagine that there are those in the family who did not want this to become known. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted that if it was my family.’
‘Is there a point to this story?’
Løken turned to face Preben Mørck, and took a step towards him.
‘Why on earth was this letter in Tore Pulli’s safe?’
The detective inspector stopped by the table and in silence looked at each of them in turn.
‘Let me tell you why: because he killed Ellen Hellberg. He had been contracted to kill her, because she had somehow got hold of this letter. She knew the family secret. So she was a danger to them.’
‘OK,’ the lawyer said, standing up. ‘You can stop there,’ he turned to Unni, William and Fritz, ‘I think we’ve heard enough.’
‘I want to hear more,’ Fritz protested.
They all remained seated.
Løken didn’t need to be asked twice.
‘And just before she was killed, Ellen deposited a large sum of money in an account for Georg, her son, when he came of age. It was money she didn’t have. She didn’t come from a rich family, and she wasn’t working at the time; there was no need for that as she was married to you.’ Løken pointed to Fritz, and again paused to see if there was any response.
The only person who moved was Unni; she straightened up in her chair.
‘So, the question is, where did the money come from?’
Still no one answered. So Løken carried on.
‘Our first thought when Henning found out that you, William, had been one of Tore Pulli’s first clients around that time, was that you had given your old schoolmate a tidy sum of money to remove a major problem for the family. Not only had Ellen ruined your parents’ marriage, she was now also in possession of a letter that contained compromising information – not only for the family, but also for Hellberg Property, the company you had just taken over.’
William looked over at his mother, who was clutching her hands.
‘But Tore only did a couple of jobs for you, William, and that was that, wasn’t it?’
William didn’t answer.
Løken moved closer. ‘So the next big question is: who else could have benefitted from Tore’s services? Who else could afford to hire him? Who else could have known about the contents of the letter?’
He looked at them all again, one by one.
‘Hedda was no more than fifteen at the time, so it couldn’t have been her; and, what’s more, she didn’t have the money.’
Løken continued to circle the table.
‘It could perhaps have been Patrik, but he was still at school when Ellen disappeared.’
Løken came to Fritz. ‘You had been the head of Hellberg Property for a good while. And you were no doubt very angry that your wife had taken a lover behind your back, and on top of that, given birth to his child.’
Fritz looked straight at Løken, his mouth open.
‘But then again, you were in poor health at the time, and were no longer part of the business. Certainly not officially.’
Løken moved on. He came to Unni and waited for some time before he said: ‘But you, Unni, were working for Hellberg Property at the time.’
Unni continued to stroke and squeeze her fingers.
‘When William first took over, you were in charge of finance.’
She didn’t look up at him.
‘And I can imagine that relationships were strained, after it had been revealed that Oscar and Ellen were having an affair,’ Løken continued. ‘I’m sure the atmosphere out at Solvang was not the best.’
Unni still did not look up.
‘What happened, Unni?’
‘Don’t say anything,’ her lawyer warned.
‘You had the strongest motive for killing Ellen,’ Løken said. ‘She’d taken your husband; she knew a family secret that you very definitely did not want anyone else to know.’
William twisted round to look at his mother.
Løken leaned down towards her. ‘What happened?’ he repeated. ‘Did she blackmail you?’
Fritz stood up, running a hand through his hair. His face was flushed.
‘Or did you offer her a lump sum to forget everything? To give you the envelope so you could burn it?’
When Unni said nothing, Fritz spoke: ‘Is it true, Unni?’ He took a step towards her. ‘Is it really true?’
‘Mum,’ William said, calmly, and stood up as well. ‘Can you not just tell it like it is? For once?’
The lawyer held up a warning hand. ‘Unni,’ he said, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
She sat with her eyes glued to the table in front of her.
Fritz took a step towards her.
‘Do you remember what it was like in the beginning, Mum?’ William said. ‘After I took over the business?’ His voice was gentle. ‘You watched over me like a hawk. You were so scared that I might mess up; I was just a young whippersnapper at the time. You looked after me.’
Fritz shook his head, balled his fists. He went over to the window and stood with his back to them, hands by his side.
‘And in the beginning, I used Tore a couple of times to get people who thought they could wait forever to pay
what they owed us, to cough up. Do you remember, Mum? I know you do, because it was you who got me to stop doing it.’
Unni looked up at him.
‘You found out. You said that if it became known that I did business with people like Tore, it would ruin the company, our reputation. Do you remember?’
Unni turned away from her son, crossing her arms.
‘And I did as you said; I thanked Tore for the work he’d done and that was that. But no one except you knew about Tore, Mum.’
‘William, that’s enough.’ The lawyer’s cheeks were red.
‘No way!’ Fritz shouted from behind the lawyer. ‘No way is that enough! I want to know if what William is saying is true or not!’ He approached them with quick steps.
‘There’s been enough lies and treachery in this family,’ William said, positioning himself between his uncle and mother. ‘And it stops here.’
‘Unni, don’t say anything,’ her lawyer advised. ‘Not now, not here.’
‘Let her talk,’ Fritz said. ‘Let her admit what she’s done.’
‘Don’t do it,’ the lawyer said again. ‘Don’t do it.’
Unni stared at the floor. Her face had been leached of all colour. No one else said a word, they just waited for her to speak.
But she didn’t.
Henning thought to himself that there was no doubt that Fritz Hellberg’s actions after the war were immoral. But the company could survive that in this day and age; the family could claim not to have known anything about it, or paint it as ‘the sins of the father’. The sale of Brages vei 18 may have helped lay the foundations for the family’s fortune, but most of the money had been made long after.
But Unni hadn’t thought of it that way. She was more concerned with keeping up appearances, and was blinded by hate. So she had killed two birds with one stone: she bought Ellen’s silence by offering a large sum of money in return for the letter. And then she had Ellen killed.
Henning decided to say something. ‘Did you perhaps suggest that she could put the money in a trust for Georg?’ he pushed. ‘Did you appeal to her maternal instinct?’
Unni still didn’t speak.
‘Did you agree to meet Ellen out at Hulebakk, so she could hand over the envelope, but then sent Tore instead?’
There were too many questions, Henning knew that; but he also knew that Unni would never answer. She turned her gaze away from them all. Her breathing was shallow. Everyone was looking at her. He saw her eyes darting here and there. And suddenly it was as if her face, that stiff mask, cracked and fell to pieces. She put her hands to her mouth and started to cry.
She sniffed a little and tried to compose herself, pulling a handkerchief from her handbag and pressing it against her cheeks, her eyes. Then she pushed back her shoulders and lifted her chin.
She stood up. ‘Good luck proving that, officer,’ she said, and gave Løken an icy stare.
‘And now, I would like to go and see how my daughter is.’
‘We will need to talk to you all about Patrik,’ said Løken.
But Unni put her bag over her shoulder and started to walk, without so much as glancing at anyone in the room. Proud and defiant to the last, Henning thought.
But questions still remained in his mind. Foremost was: why on earth had Tore Pulli kept the envelope and letter?
62
The lawyer followed Unni, Fritz and Løken out. But William stayed in the meeting room with Henning. He didn’t look up, just held onto back of the chair in front of him. Henning watched him, waiting for him to say or do something.
‘I guess I should thank you,’ William eventually said. ‘For finding my sister and … for piecing all this together.’ He gestured around the room.
‘It’s Nora who deserves the greatest thanks,’ Henning told him.
‘I’ll thank her as well, of course, if I get the chance.’
Henning gave a fleeting smile and nodded. ‘There is something you can do in return,’ Henning said.
William lifted his head. ‘What’s that?’
Henning rubbed his hands together. ‘You obviously know who I am.’
William nodded.
‘And you know that I’m trying to find out who set fire to my flat a couple of years ago.’
William said nothing.
‘As I told you the other day, I was working on a story about the property-development industry around that time. And how people like Tore Pulli managed to break through and succeed, in part thanks to illegal means. These are people that I suspect you know, Hellberg.’
William lowered his eyes again.
‘And whether you keep a low profile or not when you’re in Brazil with your family, you’re not blind. And I’m willing to bet that you know Charlie Høisæther; after all, you’re neighbours down there and were both friends of Tore when you were growing up. And what’s more, you’re smart – you pick up on things; you put two and two together. You’ve just proved that.’ Henning made a sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘And I realise that you’re perhaps afraid to say anything that might have repercussions for yourself; I know only too well how dangerous these people can be. But still, I ask you – help me. Please. If you know anything about this, help me.’
William didn’t look up for a long time.
‘You’ve got a son who’s ill,’ Henning said. ‘I’m sure you’ve thought about how terrible it would be if…’ Henning stopped, knew that he didn’t need to finish the sentence.
William bit his lip. Put a hand in his pocket, then immediately pulled it back out. He hunched up his shoulders, held them there for a few seconds, then dropped them.
‘If anyone asks,’ he said, ‘then you didn’t hear this from me. Alright? I have to be able to trust that you won’t say anything.’
‘Of course,’ Henning assured him, and took a step closer.
William let out a burst of air. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware that Tore had money problems?’
‘Yes,’ Henning confirmed. ‘I knew something of the sort.’
‘Tore and Charlie had done a good deal of business together over the years,’ William continued. ‘Under the table. There was a period when they had no scruples whatsoever. They bought and sold flats from each other, conned the banks into giving them more money than they needed; they had the appraisers on their payroll and God knows what else. But they couldn’t keep it up forever. People started to get suspicious – the fraud people at Økokrim among others – and Tore decided that they should keep a low profile for a while. Charlie moved to Brazil and started his own venture down there. It went from strength to strength. And soon Tore wanted a piece of the cake.’
William paused.
‘He wanted to buy a flat down there. His wife was about to have her birthday and he wanted to surprise her, that kind of thing.’
Henning thought about the brochure that Veronica had shown him.
‘Tore’s problem was that he struggled to hold onto the money he earned. The idiot gambled like a lunatic. The last time we played poker together, he was almost desperate, went all in when he had no particular reason to do so, and that meant that he only lost more money. On top of that, his spending was out of control.’ William ran a hand over his hair. ‘He thought he still had some credit with Charlie, but Charlie wasn’t confident that Tore could pull himself out of it, even if business did go well. So he said no when Tore asked to get a flat in Sports Park on credit or down-payments – I don’t know the actual details.’
Henning absorbed everything he was hearing.
‘Tore told me that he was massively disappointed and angry, and I don’t think things were ever the same between them again,’ William concluded.
Henning could feel that all the pieces were about to fall into place.
‘I’ve heard that they fell out at one point,’ he said. ‘Is that why?’
‘I don’t know. But…’ William hesitated. Then he continued: ‘I know that they were at each other’s throats just before Tore was arreste
d for murdering Jocke Brolenius.’
Henning narrowed his eyes. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, what do you think?’
Henning gave William a piercing look. ‘Did they fight?’
William waited a beat before he nodded. ‘And you can imagine what happened.’
Henning remembered the particular move that Tore was famed for. Elbow in the jaw.
‘I think it was the last time they talked to each other,’ William said. ‘Charlie was seriously pissed off.’
‘But you don’t know if it was about the flat in Brazil, or something else?’
William shook his head.
But would you really fight about that? Henning wondered. It didn’t sound too convincing. Whatever the case, Charlie had decided that Tore was the enemy; they’d done business together in the past, and if Tore had thought about spilling the beans, it wasn’t surprising if he’d tried to stop him.
But where did Rasmus Bjelland come into the picture? How had he found out about what Pulli had been up to?
Henning asked William if he knew who Rasmus Bjelland was, if he’d met him down in Brazil.
William shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of him,’ he said.
‘What about Daddy Longlegs? Does he give out jobs on behalf of Charlie?’
William shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about Daddy Longlegs,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea who he is.’
63
By the time Henning was permitted to see Nora, the eastern sky was starting to turn light.
She’d been examined by a team of doctors and nurses, and he’d seen Løken go in and out of her room several times.
Iver was sitting beside her bed, but they weren’t holding hands. Instead, Nora was squeezing a ball that Henning had seen before. He hadn’t realised that she’d kept it. Her mobile phone was lying on the bedside table, charging.
She was pale; there were pearls of sweat along her hairline and on her forehead, and her eyes looked sticky. But she gave him a smile when he came in. It looked like her lips were about to split.