Where Roses Never Die

by Staalesen, Gunnar

  ‘… On him … What sort of thing?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’d be receiving stolen goods. A few years ago he came under the spotlight in connection with what we saw as the organised trafficking of stolen cars. Several insurance companies were involved then.’

  ‘And Fylling’s role was…?’

  ‘A kind of necessary middleman. He took in the cars, re-sprayed them, made other cosmetic changes and then they passed along the system. He was never the one to deal with re-registering or that kind of thing. That’s why we never got anything on him. But we caught the big fish and I think actually Fylling kept a low profile after that.’

  ‘Right, that’s news to me. He came onto my radar in connection with the Mette Case. He was one of the neighbours in the co-op.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘When was this car case, more or less?’

  ‘Early nineties. 1992–3 and to some extent in ’94.’

  I jotted down the years in my notebook although I couldn’t see what connection there could be with what I was doing. ‘This Gordon Bakke, to come back to him.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Has he ever been done for sexual offences?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I’ll have to check up on that though, but right now I don’t have the time, Veum.’

  ‘Thanks for your help anyway. So far.’

  We ended the conversation on a friendly note and promised to get back to each other if we came across anything useful.

  I took a soup packet from one of the kitchen drawers, mixed the contents with water and made myself a thick tomato soup, with a tin of tomatoes and two hard-boiled eggs, and cut three slices of bread, which I ate with the soup. On the other side of the table I placed the unopened bottle of aquavit, like a message of doom: Thus far and no further.

  I still hadn’t finished the day’s work, the next item on the programme was another trip to Solstølen. And now they had more to answer for, most of them.

  27

  I parked in Solstølvegen, crossed the street and opened the gate to the co-op. As I turned right towards Maja Misvær’s house I had what felt like a shock. For an instant or two I was afraid I was hallucinating, but even after rubbing my eyes, closing and opening them, the result was the same.

  There was a little blonde girl sitting in the sandpit in front of the house, busily shovelling sand into a plastic bucket as she sat chatting to herself. Subconsciously I thought: so she didn’t disappear after all? Or was this a ghost? A figment of my imagination? A mental echo?

  The young man leaning against the wall beside her with a plastic cup in his hands watched me with curiosity as I approached with, I imagine, an astonished expression on my face.

  I nodded towards Maja Misvær’s door. ‘Fru Misvær … she’s in, I trust?’

  He shrugged and said in a friendly way: ‘No idea. We live next door…’ He motioned towards the girl. ‘We don’t have a sandpit and Maja said we could use hers.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sure she’d think that was nice.’

  ‘She hasn’t got any small children herself any more … and no grandchildren either,’ he continued chattily.

  ‘No, I know.’ I didn’t want to ask him if he knew about Mette. Perhaps he didn’t, in which case I didn’t want to make him anxious. Instead I turned to the little girl and said: ‘What’s your name then?’

  ‘Miranda,’ she said, looking up at me.

  ‘That’s a grand name. And how old are you?’

  She counted with her fingers. ‘Four.’ And then she added: ‘And a half. My birthday’s on 15th August.’

  I nodded to the man I assumed was her father. ‘No flies on her, I can hear.’

  ‘Streets ahead of us, I can tell you.’

  I nodded and smiled, then rang the bell at Maja’s. She opened the door, poked her head out, acknowledged the young man, smiled a little sadly to Miranda and said: ‘Come in, Varg. I’ll put some coffee on.’

  ‘Bye, Miranda,’ I said to the little girl, nodded again to the young man and followed Maja into the house.

  She turned suddenly to me. ‘How lovely that is! Someone using the sandpit, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Have you got anywhere?’

  ‘I’m still collating information. Something new has cropped up, but perhaps we can…’ I glanced at the sitting room and she nodded several times.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll just put some coffee on, as I said. If you’d like some.’

  ‘Yes, please.’ My stomach was almost coffee-brown anyway.

  I went into the sitting room. Once again I was drawn to the two photos on the sideboard. The picture of Mette was the same as the copy I had. The picture of her brother at his confirmation reminded me that I would also have to talk to him.

  When Maja returned from the kitchen with a tray of coffee cups and a plate of biscuits I said: ‘I found Håkon’s address. In Ålesund.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I told you. He lives in Ålesund now. He played a few seasons in the team up there, but now he’s probably over the hill.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘Well … because of football and all that, he’s not really had any proper education. But I think the club has helped him a bit. I’m not quite sure.’

  ‘Don’t you have any contact?’

  She looked down. ‘No, not that much. He wanted to live with Truls after we got … divorced. And later things just stayed as they were.’

  ‘But he came to see you?’

  ‘Yes, when he was small. But as an adult he doesn’t…’ She looked around the room. ‘It’s as if … he doesn’t like it up here, simple as that.’

  ‘Do you think that’s a hangover from what happened to his sister?’

  ‘That would be natural, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But now I have to…’ She got up and went towards the door. ‘The coffee. It must be ready.’

  While she was out I sat looking at the photo of Håkon. The thick blond hair, carefully combed for the photo, the strong eyebrows, the distant look in his eyes and the sad downturn of his mouth. It was obvious I would have to go to Oslo to speak to Truls Misvær. There was a strong argument for me going to Ålesund as well.

  She returned with the jug of coffee and filled the two cups. We each sat on our side of the table, in the same places as the last time I had been here. She looked at me. ‘Something new, you said.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Yes, not as far as Mette’s concerned, except that I’ve gone into the case with a lot more thoroughness than the police did. But … you’ll have to tell me about these New Year party games.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘How so?’

  ‘The last time I was here you called them a kind of party game. In the meantime I’ve found out what sort of games they were.’

  She blushed visibly. Her eyes sought the table. She took her coffee cup and lifted it to her mouth, but she couldn’t hide the trembling of her hand. She put the cup back down and assumed a kind of defensive position. ‘I don’t need to tell you then!’

  I looked at her. ‘No, we don’t need to go into any depth, but I’ve been informed you spent parts of the night between 1976 and 1977 with your neighbour across the yard, Tor Fylling. Can you confirm that?’

  She tossed her head vehemently. ‘I didn’t engage you to poke your nose into my private life, Varg!’

  ‘No, but in cases like this … If you only knew how many links there could be. You know that my background is in child welfare. There are so many children I’ve seen moulded by their parents’ lifestyles, actions or attitudes! There are so many wayward children I’ve had to pick up for the same reason, into their late adolescence and even older.’ I cast a glance at the children on the sideboard. ‘Trauma runs deep and they’re anchored to the bottom, Maja. They lie there chafing, all their lives, unless someone dives down to release them.’

  She met my gaze with an almost child-like defiance, but ice crystals glittered de
ep within, where tears were long frozen fast.

  ‘So I suggest you let go a little, at least. It’ll stay between us anyway. I know all about the set-up. Terje Torbeinsvik’s suggestion, which no one apart from Svein and Synnøve Stangeland objected to. The drawing of lots, which ended up with your husband going home with Vibeke Waaler while you went with Tor Fylling. I met Fylling earlier today, by the way, on Sotra. Do you ever see anything of him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not after he moved out.’

  ‘But before?’

  She swallowed and looked down.

  ‘You knew each other before, too. From Landås.’

  ‘We lived in the same block in Mannsverk, yes,’ she said drily.

  ‘And then you lived here for three or four years … How was it to be suddenly … intimate with him?’

  She bit her lower lip. ‘It was … fine. Tor was a man’s man, fixed cars at home and at work, went to football matches wearing fan regalia, had a beer too many once in a while when he was on the town with the boys, and the way he dressed … well…’ She gave a weak smile.

  ‘He was a Striler lad with ambition, Torbeinsvik is supposed to have called him.’

  ‘You know … you can hear when someone comes from Sotra to Bergen.’

  ‘But you said that it went … fine?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this, I said! All I will say is that, privately, alone, he was considerate and gentle. We didn’t feel that we were doing anything wrong. I mean … the others were doing the same in the other houses.’

  ‘Not all of them.’

  ‘No, Svein and Synnøve weren’t, but…’

  ‘More than them. At least one of the other couples, if I can call them that, chose to sit up chatting all night.’

  ‘Who did that?’

  ‘Well, perhaps I don’t have to say?’

  She reflected. ‘OK … but…’

  I completed her sentence. ‘You and Tor didn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  She stared into the distance. Her cheeks were red now, but not as much as before.

  ‘Were there any repercussions?’

  ‘Repercussions? What do you mean?’

  ‘I was thinking that there must have been some special – what shall we call them? – homecomings in the morning. In all the houses. When the men strolled back to their wives. Perhaps met them in the yard? What do you think happened then? Do you think they exchanged experiences? Winked at each other? Or do you think they looked down … or away?’

  She shrugged. ‘What do I know?’

  She remembered Truls came home. She lay in bed after Tor had left, warm and content, so content that she was on the point of falling sleep again, when suddenly Truls was in the doorway, as nicely dressed as when the party started, but with a different gleam in his eye. When he began to undress, with his back to her, she saw scratch-marks down his back, and with a shock she realised what had happened – not only had she been satisfied with a passion and warmth, the like of which she had not experienced for a long time, but Truls had also sampled something new and different in bed with Vibeke Waaler, no less, who played Lady Macbeth at Den Nasjonale Scenen and whom they read about in newspaper interviews at regular intervals. It was her nails that had scratched his back, like the dagger tips of the same Lady’s murder weapons, and Truls had been between her thighs and not Terje…

  Truls turned round and looked at her, with a foolish smile on his lips. Then he came over to the bed, clambered on top and lay close to her and at once they felt an immense desire, both of them, so immense that they made love again, but with each other this time, more intense and passionate than for many years … Afterwards they had slept in each other’s arms and they lay like that right until Mette toddled in and woke them, sleepy-eyed, at ten the next morning. They couldn’t get Håkon out of bed until late in the day.

  She looked at me and said: ‘Truls came home happy at any rate, and nothing dramatic happened … between us. Later we never talked about it. Life would carry on. The children would…’ Her voice cracked. ‘At school, in the nursery.’

  ‘And Tor?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I can see there’s something you’re not telling me.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I don’t have to tell you everything … This has nothing to do with what happened to Mette!’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘He came to the door a few times when he was alone and Truls was away. You know in the co-op we always knew who was at home and who was away. He said…’ She lowered her voice, as though this was something that concerned no one else but herself. ‘He said he fell in love with me that night. Couldn’t we do it again? Meet somewhere out of the way. He could drive me there, he said. We could find somewhere quiet. But I said it was impossible. There was no reason for me to go away with him, and anyway … Well, perhaps I didn’t feel the same as he did. And after a while he understood and gave up. Later we bumped into each other as usual, in the yard, shopping, places like that.’

  ‘And Helle?’

  ‘Well, she’d been with … Nils, hadn’t she? That was actually the good thing about it. We were all in it together, so no one could start … gossiping.’

  ‘Nevertheless it ended in divorce for every single one of you. The only ones left together are those who didn’t participate, Svein and Synnøve. Does that tell you something?’

  Again she shrugged. ‘It might well have happened anyway.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  She looked me straight in the eye. ‘It’s impossible to know, isn’t it?’

  I sighed. ‘Yes, but … the next question I have to ask you is this: do you think – I’m not saying it was like this, but I have to ask – do you think Tor Fylling could have done something to Mette … to avenge himself after you rejected him?’

  She opened and closed her mouth several times before answering. ‘Tor … doing something like…’ Tears were in her eyes. ‘No, I could never imagine … he would never do anything like that.’

  ‘He was at home that day. Alone.’

  ‘Yes, but … the police. They looked everywhere, in all the houses.’

  ‘That very first day?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. That evening. And they didn’t find her, anywhere.’

  ‘Would you dismiss the possibility?’

  ‘I said … It’s the same as I said before. Nothing is sure. It’s impossible to know. But … I cannot believe that. Have you got any evidence pointing to that possibility?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I haven’t. But did you know he’s been under suspicion for other criminal activity?’

  ‘Who? Tor? What for?’

  ‘Being a fence. Receiving stolen property, cars.’

  ‘I can’t believe that!’

  ‘No? Not that either?’

  ‘Where’ve you got that from?’

  ‘It’s how it is in cases like these, Maja. You have to lift every single stone and look underneath. Do you understand? Nothing is left to chance, no question is left unanswered. And then, sometimes, this is what you find.’

  She nodded.

  Again her eyes filled with tears. ‘But I’ve told you, Varg. This has been what happened with Mette. We couldn’t get it out of our minds. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else – at least for me. That was why they left me – both Truls and Håkon. I had only one thing on my mind.’ She put her finger to her head and tapped her temple again and again. ‘Mette, Mette, Mette! What happened to Mette? And that’s what I’ve asked you to find out, Varg. Not all this other stuff. After Mette went missing that September day my life changed. One hundred percent. Nothing else had any meaning. Nothing else has had any meaning since then. Can’t you grasp that?’

  She stretched across the table, grabbed my hands and squeezed. ‘Find out for me, Varg! Find out what happened! I can’t stand this anymore!’

  I returned her squeeze to reassure her, but I didn’t dare promise any more than I would do what I could. ‘In th
e next few days I’m going to Oslo,’ I said. ‘Perhaps directly from Ålesund. I have to talk to both Truls and Håkon.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand. No stone unturned…’

  A little later she accompanied me to the door. I stood outside until she had closed it behind me. Miranda and her father had gone now. It was perfectly quiet out here. But behind the illuminated house fronts there were still some hidden secrets, still some skeletons in cupboards that needed to see the light of day. And I knew who I was going to talk to first.

  28

  The woman who opened the door when I rang at Terje Torbeinsvik’s was in her mid-thirties; she had short blonde hair and a face with clean-cut, regular features. She was dressed as practically as was natural for a mother of small children, in jeans and a tight blue-and-red patterned jumper. I said my name and was about to ask if her husband was at home when he appeared behind her.

  He shot me an irritable look. ‘It’s for me, Britt.’ He nodded to the side. ‘We can talk in my office, Veum.’

  Britt Torbeinsvik looked a little surprised. I smiled disarmingly at her and said: ‘Jehovah’s Witness.’ Then I followed Terje Torbeinsvik into his office.

  He slammed the door behind us. ‘What is it now? I thought we were finished last time we spoke.’

  ‘This case won’t be finished until someone finds out what happened to little Mette.’

  ‘And why do you come here raking up the past? For Christ’s sake I’d … You’d be better off asking Tor Fylling where he was at the time!’

  ‘Tor Fylling? He was at home, wasn’t he?’

  He looked triumphant. ‘He definitely didn’t open the door when I rang the bell to talk to him … about something. And he wasn’t in the garage either. I went out and looked.’

  ‘But … when was this? Did you see Mette too? In the sandpit?’

  He shrugged. ‘I … don’t remember. Don’t know if I’d registered she was there. There were always children out playing at that time. Or else they were inside eating or whatever they were doing.’

  ‘I assume you told the police this when you were questioned?’