Where Roses Never Die

by Staalesen, Gunnar

  ‘I’m going to finish him off. He’s in on it, isn’t he? Of course he bloody is!’

  At that moment a new voice was heard, unclear and poorly articulated, as though it came from an oral cavity stuffed full with cotton.

  ‘E-e-einar? Ma-rita?’

  All three of us stared at Tor Fylling, who had half-raised his head and was looking around. There was a faint gleam in the narrow crack between his swollen eyelids. In the end his gaze found me too. ‘Ve-um?’

  Although my position was extremely uncomfortable I tried to sound as unaffected as possible. ‘That’s me. And you should go and see a doctor, Fylling. The sooner the better. But these kids refuse to ring casualty!’

  ‘Ki-ds?’ He looked around. ‘You mean…?’ Again he looked at Einar. ‘What happened? Who came in here?’

  ‘Didn’t you see them?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘But we had visitors today, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Visitors?’ Fylling slurred.

  With an immense burst of energy I wrenched my foot out of Einar’s hands and stood up again. Then I signalled with raised palms that I wasn’t going to do anything drastic – like running off or launching a counterattack. Einar glared at me, as if to say: Just you try it.

  Then Marita spoke up: ‘You must remember, Tor! The two that came on Thursday, right after him over there. They gave us until today. If not … and when you didn’t appear at the garage as usual we drove here and found you like this.’

  ‘And the henhouse is empty!’ Einar said.

  ‘Empty?’ Fylling stared at him, puzzled.

  Einar rolled his eyes. ‘He can’t remember a bloody thing.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s a sign of serious concussion. Or shock. He’s got horrible injuries and that arm’s broken. I mean it! Marita, talk to him! He needs to see a doctor.’

  Marita raised her face and looked at Einar. Neither of them said anything, but a combination of despair and hesitancy shone from their eyes.

  I tapped my pocket and took out my phone. ‘I can do it.’

  Einar Fylling was breathing heavily as he watched me. Then he shifted his gaze to his father, who had closed his eyes again. A faint rattle came from his chest.

  I said: ‘This is an emergency!’

  Then I keyed in 113. Neither of them protested. When I got through, I gave a brief rundown of the situation and tried to explain as well as I could where we were. I was told an ambulance was on its way. The woman on the switchboard continued to ask me questions: had we made sure his airways were free, did any of us know any first aid and could we perform chest compressions?

  ‘I’m not sure that’ll be necessary,’ I said.

  ‘Is he breathing?’

  ‘Yes, but he’s making gurgling – perhaps I should say rattling – noises.’

  ‘That’ll be his lungs. Has he got any external injuries?’

  ‘Yes, lots. He may well have broken ribs.’

  ‘Then you need to be very careful with compressions. Do CPR. Give him mouth-to-mouth. Two breaths in, then a break, then two more and carry on until the paramedics arrive.’

  We rang off, and I said to Marita: ‘One of you has to give him mouth-to-mouth.’

  She looked down at him. ‘Mouth-to-mouth? You can see the state he’s in.’ Her expression suggested she was going to be sick. Then she looked up. ‘Einar! He’s your father…’

  He shifted his weight from foot to foot like a punch-drunk boxer at a dancing-school ball for the first time. ‘Mouth-to-mouth?’

  ‘Oh, my God. It won’t kill you. Has he got syphilis or what?’

  Einar shook his head in bewilderment.

  I shoved him aside first, then Marita, leaned over Tor Fylling, opened wide, placed my mouth around his and breathed in. Once, twice. His mouth tasted of blood and vomit. Once, twice. I felt his bristles against my lips and saw coagulated blood around his mouth. Once, twice.

  Marita sat holding the compress to his head, her eyes glazed. Einar started moving around the room. For a moment I wondered whether he would have another go at me, but actually he was clearing up, as though to make room for the paramedics when they arrived.

  It was close on a quarter of an hour before we finally heard the sirens approaching. Once, twice…

  As the ambulance came to a halt in the yard and the sirens were switched off, Tor Fylling made a sound. A spasm ran through his body and he tried to force open his eyes. In a faint, unclear voice, he mumbled: ‘Veum?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Help’s on its way, Fylling.’

  ‘Mette was mine,’ he said. Then he gave up trying to focus and his head slumped back.

  34

  The paramedics quickly placed Tor Fylling on a stretcher, got the basic information they needed, then lifted it up and made their way out. To make sure I wasn’t left alone again, I followed them out, got into my car and stayed close behind them on to the main road. In my rear-view mirror I saw Einar standing alone in the yard watching us go. Marita went with the ambulance. On the main road I pulled in at the kerb, rang the number of Bergen Police Station and asked for Bjarne Solheim. He was off-duty. I asked if they could give me his private number, they refused. I had Helleve’s number, so I rang him instead.

  ‘Varg? Do you never give it a rest?’

  ‘I think I’ve solved a case for you, Atle.’

  ‘Oh, yes? Which one, might I ask?’

  ‘The Bryggen robbery in December.’

  ‘Right!’

  ‘If you’ve got Solheim’s number I recommend you grab a few hefty guys and come out here to Sotra. Then you’ll definitely catch one of the perps. The other two are on their way to casualty.’

  ‘Casualty! For Christ’s sake, Varg! I hope it wasn’t you who…’

  ‘No, no, calm down. It happened before I arrived.’

  I gave him the edited highlights and told him the registration of Flash Gordon’s car. Helleve promised to set up a search for the Audi and to get under way as soon as possible. I sat in my car, keeping an eye on the turn-off in case Einar tried to make his escape this way. But nothing happened, and half an hour later a patrol car from Bergen pulled in right behind me. Helleve, Solheim and two armed, uniformed officers stepped out while the driver remained behind the wheel.

  I got out, pointed to the turn-off and explained the situation.

  Helleve eyed me with concern. ‘Was he armed?’

  ‘I didn’t see any weapons. But he was pretty much out of control.’

  They devised a quick plan, got back into their car and turned up the steep side road. Without asking, I followed them.

  In the yard they parked across the road so that it was impossible for anyone to pass. The two armed officers jumped out on either side and took up a position behind the car. They were wearing bulletproof vests, helmets, and visors over the top part of their faces. I sat watching.

  Helleve and Solheim waited for a second, then they got out of the car as well. Helleve cast a resigned expression in my direction. All four of them walked towards the house. The driver remained behind.

  The two armed officers stood either side of the front door. Helleve and Solheim stayed close to the wall. One officer kicked open the door. After a short pause for thought they went in holding their weapons at the ready.

  I opened the car door and sat listening. Not a sound. Helleve and Solheim conferred. They took a decision and followed their fellow officers into the house.

  I got out of the car and gently closed the door behind me. Through the windows I could see them moving around inside, apparently to no avail. Through the open door I saw one officer go into the loft with his gun raised. Straight afterwards he came back down and stood in the doorway looking out while talking to his colleagues in the house. I left the car and walked over, just in time to meet all four of them coming out.

  ‘Nothing?’ I asked.

  Solheim shook his head. ‘Just overturned furniture and a trail of blood on the floor.’

  I nodded tow
ards the decrepit henhouse. ‘Try there.’

  Again the two armed officers advanced first. Helleve and Solheim hung back, and Helleve gave me a firm signal to do the same.

  The same procedure was repeated by the henhouse. One officer kicked open the door, so hard it came off its hinges and slammed down on the floor inside. Then he rushed through and to the right. The second officer stood outside with his weapon poised.

  We heard a call from inside. Then all went quiet.

  The officer outside peered through the opening. Then he turned and waved us over.

  Helleve and Solheim formed the natural vanguard. I brought up the rear, like an overgrown follower of a street band. We stopped by the doorway and looked inside.

  The place had been trashed. The brooding boxes had been smashed and thrown around and there was a stench of mummified chicken shit and rotten woodwork. In the middle of the floor sat Einar Fylling like a monk in meditation, bent over, with a vacant gaze and a doomed expression on his face. An abandoned refugee on the quay after the last boat has gone, another animal not allocated a place on the ark.

  We filled the doorway, blocking out the light, and he slowly raised his head and looked at us, no sign of recognition of me or the others.

  I said over Helleve’s shoulder: ‘Is this where you hid the booty?’

  He gaped at me and nodded.

  ‘Is it all gone?’

  ‘All of…’

  Helleve turned to me. ‘That’s enough, Veum. We’ll handle this.’ Upon reflection he said: ‘But you’ll have to come to the station with us. We need your statement too.’

  One officer gave his weapon to Helleve, then he and Solheim together pulled Einar to his feet, clicked cuffs on him, led him to the patrol car and pushed him inside. Helleve, the second officer and I followed like a contemplative funeral procession coming out of the chapel.

  Both the farmhouse and the henhouse were cordoned off, then we drove away in separate cars, not breaking the speed limit once between Klokkarvik and Police HQ on the corner by Allehelgens gate and Domkirkegaten. After we arrived they checked Tor Fylling’s condition. He had been taken to Haukeland Hospital, they were told; Marita was on her way to the station as well.

  While Solheim questioned Einar Fylling in an interview room, Helleve and I went to his office, where he performed a formal interview with me too, though in a more cosy atmosphere, over a cup of coffee or two.

  I told him about my confrontation with Flash Gordon and Thor the Hammer the night before, and like a delayed tidal wave washing in over me I realised that if I hadn’t reacted as quickly as I had, I might have found myself a victim of the same brutal treatment as Tor Fylling. I also explained to him that they had tailed me to Fylling’s the first time I went there and that, from other sources, I had learned Flash Gordon had done jobs for Schmidt after thefts from his jewellery shop.

  ‘We’ll have to talk to Schmidt,’ Helleve said, nodding as he typed on the keyboard in front of the screen.

  ‘And I really hope you can haul in Flash Gordon and Thor the Hammer. I wouldn’t like to meet them outside my place again.’

  ‘We’ll do our utmost, Varg. Trust us.’

  ‘What’s Thor’s surname, by the way?’

  ‘Hansen, I think. Nothing unusual anyway.’

  ‘Well, well … But back to the case. Solheim sent me a list of former employees at Schmidt’s, including summer temps. I reacted to one of the names: Marita, who’s married to Einar now. I had observed with my own eyes that the garage was in trouble and so I went out there again. The rest you know.’

  ‘But when you first went to the garage it was for a very different reason?’

  ‘Yes. The Mette Case, which we talked about yesterday. Tor Fylling was one of the neighbours at that time.’

  Helleve shook his head. ‘Ever heard the expression: Even a blind squirrel finds nuts?’

  Suddenly we heard loud voices from the corridor and I recognised one of them as Marita’s. ‘That bastard got what he deserved! I was only fifteen and doing a summer job, and he was always trying to get me in the back room and grope me … all over the shop! He even opened his safe and showed me the fantastic watches he kept there. Each of them worth half a million, he said, and I could have one if I … would relax with him. Fifteen years old!’

  ‘OK, OK,’ I heard a female officer say. ‘Let’s take this step by step. Come here with me and…’

  A door was closed and their voices were gone.

  I looked at Helleve. ‘That was what I thought. She had first-hand knowledge of what was in the safe. That’s why they targeted it. But, Helleve … there’s a question I’d very much like to ask … the detainees.’

  Helleve sent me a patronising look. ‘Not you, Veum. We might be able to ask it for you. What’s the question?’

  ‘It’s important for you too. It’s about the murder in Bryggen. What happened? What was said between the murderer and the victim? You see, the victim was also a neighbour of the Misvær family at the time their daughter went missing.’

  ‘Sounds like a strange coincidence, if you ask me.’

  ‘That’s precisely why.’

  ‘OK. Come with me.’

  He led me to an office where we could see the adjacent interview room through a one-way mirror. Solheim was inside, a laptop in front of him and another officer at the side, Einar Fylling sat opposite, slumped across the table. Between them was a microphone.

  ‘You stay here,’ Helleve said in a low voice, left the office and entered the interview room. He took Solheim into a corner of the room, whispered, got a thumbs-up, then went back to the table and sat down while Helleve stood behind him with an expectant expression on his face.

  I could hear their voices as well as if I were in the same room.

  Solheim focussed on Einar and said: ‘A man was shot as you left the scene of the crime. What happened?’

  Einar looked up, shook his head. ‘It was … self-defence.’

  ‘Self-defence?’

  ‘He … he tried to grab Dad. He said he recognised him.’

  ‘Recognised your father?’

  ‘Yes … All I know is what Dad told me afterwards. He had to, he said. He recognised him. He said his name. It was self-defence.’

  ‘Your definition of self-defence is questionable, but we’ll make a note of that … Your father was recognised by a casual passer-by and then fired a shot to prevent this information from going any further. Would you agree to that formulation?’

  Einar nodded slowly. Then a light seemed to go on for him. He suddenly looked around. ‘Shouldn’t I have a … solicitor?’

  Solheim glanced at Helleve, who nodded. Then he said: ‘Yes, perhaps you better had.’ He leaned closer to the microphone and said in a loud voice: ‘The time is 15:26. We are taking a break.’

  Einar was offered something to drink; he chose coffee and the officer went to get it for him. Solheim waited until he was back with the coffee and the officer stayed with him while Solheim came into the corridor to join Helleve and me.

  He nodded. ‘You got your explanation there, Veum.’

  ‘Yes. Does it mean Tor Fylling will be charged with murder when he’s back on his feet?’

  ‘In principle, he was charged today. And when he’s well enough to stand trial we’ll ask for imprisonment. In the meantime we’re expecting a report from the hospital.’

  I splayed my hands. ‘Well … what would you do without the help of the man in the street?’

  Helleve smiled genially. ‘Blind squirrel, as I said.’

  Solheim looked from him to me. ‘We’ll handle the rest of this case though, Veum.’

  ‘By all means. For me it was no more than a side track. However, it did take me a step forward.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  But I didn’t tell them what Tor Fylling had divulged before they carried him out. It had nothing to do with the robbery in Bryggen. I would have to visit Maja Misvær, though, once again.


  35

  The sun was going down when I parked outside Solstølen Co-op that Saturday evening a week before Palm Sunday. The red of the sunset between the scattered clouds lay like an open wound over the mountains on Sotra, with Mount Lyderhorn to the north-west like a tusk.

  In the yard, where I was now a regular visitor, I took stock. There were lights on in all the houses, the distant sounds of a variety of activities, the impression as everyday as it could be, house fronts so normal you wouldn’t imagine anything secretive could be taking place behind them.

  I had called in advance to give warning of my visit, and it wasn’t long after I had rung the bell that Maja Misvær opened up and let me in. She was clearly excited. I had said I had some news, but I didn’t say what.

  She showed me into the sitting room. The television was on. She threw a quick glance at the screen, then turned to me and said morosely: ‘I always watch children’s TV at this time of day.’

  ‘I see…’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s stupid of me, but … I can’t stop myself. I sit here with a lump in my throat thinking: ‘Mette would have liked this. She would have laughed. Now she would have crawled into my arms because it was a bit scary. That kind of thing.’

  I looked around. The photos were on the sideboard as before. Nothing had changed. She had set the table for two, with coffee cups, cutlery, plates and a dish of apple cake. In a little bowl I saw whipped cream.

  Almost bashfully, she said: ‘Yes, I assumed you would want … something.’

  ‘Thank you. It looks good.’

  She inclined her head towards a chair as a sign for me to sit down. After I had settled she poured the coffee, sat down on the sofa and pushed the apple cake towards me. I helped myself, placed the cream and spooned a bit to taste.

  ‘Mmm…’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Her smile spread across her face. ‘Thank you…’ Then she helped herself.

  For a while we sat eating in silence. She had turned down the volume, but the images on the screen flickered past. It was an animated film of some kind or other, animals jumping about in a setting that was definitely somewhere in the country, the romantic view that by and large only survives today in contexts such as TV and film: red barns, lush trees, happy domestic pets. No pollution, no rundown henhouses and no passing gunmen in action.