Sister

by Kjell Ola Dahl

  But if the man who wrote the document could be condemned as ‘unreliable’ and ‘without credibility’, both his testimony and the document he had written were of no value to the investigation.

  Bjørn Thyness had simply blackened the name of a witness.

  The investigation unit – or to be more precise some influencers and central decision-makers in the group – must have predetermined the conclusion when they were ordered to review the case. Part of that process is to rubbish any evidence that contradicts the desired conclusion.

  Frank had taken part in investigation units many times. He was aware of the dynamics that can arise, the roles that are allocated. Some excel as critics, some as neutral grafters and some as tough decision-makers. And in this instance one man had taken on the job of ensuring an unspoken decision stood – Bjørn Thyness.

  Frølich realised that this case had him well and truly hooked. What intrigued him now was how the parliamentary committee viewed the fire crews’ observations.

  It took him less than a minute to find the committee’s report on the stick and open it. Then he searched for the name of the fire-crew leader. The hits came. The parliamentary committee had been sent the slanderous report by the police and they had welcomed it with open arms. There it was in black and white in their report: the fire-crew task-force leader was unreliable. The document Thyness had written was plugged for all it was worth.

  Bernt Weddevåg was written off as a conspiracy theorist, and the fire officer had been so influenced by this public enemy that the parliamentary committee – like the police – ‘had been forced’ to ignore everything he had to say about the fire crews’ experiences on board the Sea Breeze.

  The man’s eyewitness account of 1988 wasn’t mentioned. The total cremation of the bodies that Frølich had himself observed wasn’t discussed. No attempt was made to analyse the injuries to the corpses or compare them with photographs of the fire. The defamatory report penned by Bjørn Thyness was intended to produce verdicts of ‘decision not to prosecute/no criminal conduct’ – and assign the case to eternal oblivion.

  The conclusion reached by Stortinget’s inquiry was the closest you could get to an off-the-shelf decision.

  34

  He got to his feet once again, went to the kitchen and started the coffee machine. Standing by the window, he mused while the coffee brewed. What could Bjørn Thyness have been given as a reward for sabotaging the truth?

  Goodwill? At any rate he had gained a promotion. He had risen from being a duty officer at a police station to leading an operational department in the police’s immigration unit.

  It must have been a bit of a shock for him to be confronted by Fredrik Andersen’s writings there as well.

  Yet again he harked back to the phone conversation the night he found Guri: I’ll find you. Curb your imagination, he told himself. What motives would Bjørn Thyness have to cause any harm to innocent people?

  The coffee was ready. He poured himself a cup.

  Jørgen Svinland was no longer interested in knowing the results of any investigations into the Sea Breeze. Now I’m the one who’s hooked, he thought. But should I be? What is the next step now? Finding out what role Bjørn Thyness played in this case? Or finding the cause of Svinland’s lack of interest?

  Once again he was reminded of the meeting in the supermarket, and gave a jump when there was a ring at the door.

  35

  The ring echoed in the evening quiet. Matilde, he thought, shooting a hasty glance at the radio clock on the windowsill. It was half past ten. He went to the intercom and lifted the receiver.

  ‘It’s me.’

  What an anticlimax, he thought, and asked himself: Have I got the energy for this?

  Too late. He had already pressed the button. He could hear the lock buzz and the front door open.

  He opened his front door and stood waiting. A clunk indicated that the lift had set off from the ground floor. He waited until it arrived.

  ‘You make me jump every time I see you,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘A beard suits you better.’

  Frølich stepped aside, let him in and closed the door. Gunnarstranda seemed worn out. His body was a little stooped and his face more drawn than usual. There were dark bags under his eyes.

  ‘Take a seat. Anything I can offer you?’

  ‘A beer?’

  ‘If I have one.’

  He went to the fridge and took a can from the six-pack. When they worked together Gunnarstranda was prone to appearing at all times of the day and night to discuss the case. But the case had never been the excuse.

  He looked at the can. Dark lager. Why had he bought dark lager?

  Frank went back to the sitting room with the can. ‘How are things going?’ He passed the can to Gunnarstranda, but continued with his coffee.

  Gunnarstranda read the label. ‘Tove’s got her sister staying with us. She’s into her second week now.’

  ‘Is it tiring?’

  ‘She’s an evolutionary theorist.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I don’t know any greater fundamentalists than evolutionary theorists. They’re more convinced about their beliefs than religious extremists. They claim man evolved first from a fish or some sea animal that came ashore and mutated to apes, which then turned into man, a creature that adapted to land by developing lungs, arms and legs, language and the ability to construct a cuckoo clock – but couldn’t grow a coat to acclimatise to its surroundings. However, to avoid disappearing as a species it developed the ability to make clothes from plant fibres. Tove’s sister maintains in all seriousness that our hands will change shape and disappear because nowadays we do less physical work than before and accordingly don’t need hands.’

  ‘You disagree, I take it.’

  ‘She’s unbearable. Every time we end up discussing religion. I ask: Did we develop the ability to believe in gods when we crawled onto land? Is the need to prostrate ourselves before higher powers a biological adaptation to our surroundings? All ethnicities in the world have religious notions. If we’re to take the theory of evolution seriously the notion of the divine must not only be a human creation but a part of being human – something that follows evolution.’

  ‘Moving on,’ Frølich said. ‘What’s new in the Fredrik Andersen case?’

  Gunnarstranda looked up from the corner of his eye. ‘It’s one of several cases we’re working on.’

  ‘And you’re bound by an oath of confidentiality?’

  The reply was cheap, but he couldn’t resist. Anyway the sarcasm bounced off Gunnarstranda, who raised his can of beer.

  ‘Have you got a glass?’

  Frank stood up to get a glass from the kitchen.

  ‘You can start by telling me about your career in the private sector,’ Gunnarstranda said behind him.

  He found a decent beer glass in the cupboard, handed it over and said quite openly that he was appalled that Police District East could consider Guri Sekkelsten’s murder suicide without summoning important witnesses. He knew of some vital witnesses who hadn’t been interviewed.

  Gunnarstranda yawned.

  ‘You don’t care?’

  Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘Not one iota.’

  The answer annoyed him. ‘If it isn’t important, what do you care about? Why do you bother looking for the person who killed Fredrik Andersen?’

  Gunnarstranda leaned forward, holding the can over the glass. The foam settled on top like a delicious white duvet. He raised his glass. ‘A rare delight,’ he said, studying the beer’s brown colour. ‘Imagine, we humans crawled onto land and lost our ability to digest raw meat, but developed the ability to brew dark lager.’

  He drank, licked the froth from his lips and put down the glass. ‘I do the job because it gives me some hope of personal satisfaction. If I find the killer it means I can still do a job and that everything has a point.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Call it life.’

  ‘Is it exclusively p
ersonal?’

  ‘Everything’s personal.’

  ‘That attitude is simply naff.’

  Gunnarstranda smirked at the choice of the word.

  Frølich still couldn’t control his annoyance. ‘Guri Sekkelsten’s murderer walks free because those who have the responsibility to clear up the matter are using their authority to maintain the status quo so that it isn’t cleared up.’

  ‘There’s no masterplan, Frølich. The way I see it, you’re upset because you’re personally involved. If you’d been at home and asleep, instead of travelling to her house and taking the kettle off the hob, you wouldn’t have cared.’

  ‘So what? The facts don’t change because of my presence.’

  ‘The point is only that I can’t make myself believe that the injustice you’re referring to is the result of a definite plan. I think people actually do the best they can within their own limitations. That also applies to those investigating the death of this Guri. We’ve talked about it before. If she didn’t kill herself what would the motive be for killing her?’

  ‘She must’ve known too much.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘The murder of Fredrik Andersen.’

  ‘What was it that she knew?’

  ‘She must’ve known the identity of the killer.’

  ‘How did she find out who killed Andersen?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Gunnarstranda took a swig of beer. ‘Perhaps she went home with the writer the night after the trip to the restaurant,’ he said. ‘Perhaps she turned in the doorway and met the killer on his way in. Perhaps she was with Andersen and they were seen by someone who couldn’t bear the sight of them together. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. It’s just speculation. As far as the detectives can see, there are no motives for killing this Guri.’

  ‘They’ll have to delve deeper.’

  ‘Neither you nor I know how thorough they’ve been.’

  ‘If you mean what you say, why don’t you drop the Andersen murder case? Why don’t you just tell the officer in charge the writer took his own life?’

  Gunnarstranda studied his glass before straightening up and replying: ‘As I just said, I have a personal agenda for my work. Besides, the Andersen case could never be considered suicide, however much I wanted it to be.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because someone stabbed him thirty-three times in the chest. One might hang oneself from under a barn ramp, text a suicide note or come up with a lot of other odd arrangements, but not even Arnfinn Brede can convince the world that someone would stab themselves thirty-three times in the chest, especially when the last twelve are after death occurred.’

  ‘Someone he let into the house?’

  Gunnarstranda shrugged.

  ‘Any signs of a break-in?’

  ‘No. The perpetrator either went in with him or was let in later, or was already in the house waiting for him.’

  ‘Any motive? Burglary?’

  ‘That was what we thought at first. But then we found a wad of notes, the man’s credit card and an IWC Schaffhausen with a black dial in the bin by the fence. The watch belonged to Andersen and costs close on a hundred thousand. So the killer threw the watch and the valuables in the bin. It wasn’t a burglary. He wanted it to look like a burglary. And we still don’t have a motive.’

  ‘How did he get home? Is there a taxi driver to speak to?’

  ‘We don’t know if Andersen took a pirate taxi or if he drove home with the killer, caught the tram or walked. No taxi driver has come forward, and Andersen was known as a man with politically correct views on ecology etc. He cycled or caught the tram or bus. His bike was where it should be. He might’ve used it or walked home for all we know. And, according to you, he was at a “fancy”restaurant before going home. We haven’t been able to trace this so-called fancy restaurant. You wouldn’t by any chance remember where this place was?’

  Frank shook his head. ‘Guri Sekkelsten used the expression “tarted up”. It was me who interpreted that to mean upper end.’

  Gunnarstranda sipped his beer.

  ‘When I was outside Andersen’s house waiting for him to come home that time, I saw that someone was inside. Someone was behind a curtain, looking out. Have you checked to see whether there was a woman shacked up with him?’

  Gunnarstranda put down his glass. ‘There’s no lover and no jealousy in this case, Frølich. There is, however, a young man. Your sighting of Bjørn Thyness outside Andersen’s house turned out to be relevant.’

  36

  Frølich sat up in his chair so quickly that it made Gunnarstranda smile again.

  ‘Bjørn’s interest in Andersen seems reliable enough. The immigration unit had discovered that Andersen was in contact with people living in Norway illegally. Fredrik Andersen was helping immigrants with deportation orders by arranging asylum in churches or other illegal residences. The immigration unit also found out that Andersen had an under-age asylum seeker staying with him. An Afghan with a deportation order. The unit had been carrying out surveillance outside his house because they couldn’t force their way into Andersen’s home and take the boy. They’d been waiting for the kid to go out to buy cigarettes or play with a ball. Then he would’ve been arrested and taken to Trandum at once.’

  ‘They’d stopped the surveillance?’

  ‘Officially, yes.’

  ‘I saw them carrying out surveillance the day before he was killed.’

  ‘Bjørn says that wasn’t surveillance. Bjørn says a few weeks ago the immigration unit had spoken to Andersen about the Afghan living with him. Andersen had come to the conclusion it would be best for the boy to go back to Afghanistan. Don’t ask me why. He’d managed to persuade the boy to hand himself in. The boy had applied to the UDI, the directorate of immigration, for financial support to return home. They’d agreed to support him because they’d managed to locate his grandmother in Kabul. In other words, he was going home.’

  ‘But why would Bjørn still be spying on the house if the case was resolved?’

  ‘If I may finish what I was saying…’ Gunnarstranda said, irritated.

  Frølich nodded.

  ‘Fredrik Andersen was stabbed with a knife from his own kitchen, and the boy hasn’t been seen since. He hasn’t used his plane ticket. Our highest priority is to get hold of this boy. He’s eighteen years old, tall and thin and apparently has a “very normal” appearance – that is, normal in the country he comes from. He doesn’t speak Norwegian.’

  ‘What’s the boy’s name?’

  ‘He answers to the name Alan.’

  ‘If the boy stabbed Andersen and fled the place, surely he would have kept the money and the card, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘You have a point. The case is a mystery.’

  ‘The boy could’ve seen what happened.’

  ‘If he was there. But we don’t know if he was. You say you saw a curtain twitch. But you also say you saw an elderly woman come out of his house. It could’ve been her who moved the curtain, couldn’t it? Maybe this elderly woman even knows where the boy is.’

  Frølich stared at Gunnarstranda. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  ‘You still insist you saw her?’

  ‘I know who she is.’

  Now it was Gunnarstranda’s turn to sit up. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Lise Svinland. She’s related to Andersen. She’s married to Fredrik Andersen’s uncle.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be right with regard to one of my clients.’

  Gunnarstranda smirked again. ‘Another one?’

  Frank ignored the comment. ‘I still don’t understand why you’re playing down Bjørn’s interest in Andersen.’

  ‘I’m not playing down anything. You don’t know what we prioritise and what we don’t.’

  They sat looking at one another. Finally Gunnarstranda lifted his glass and finished the beer. Put
down the glass.

  Frølich gestured with his hand. ‘Another one?’

  37

  It was close to midnight by the time Gunnarstranda left.

  Frank didn’t feel tired. He was excited. Matilde was staying shtum and he knew he wouldn’t sleep if he went to bed now.

  He stood by the window and looked down. He could make out a little of the T-bird bonnet. The broad grille sneered back at him.

  Why would a boy Fredrik Andersen took care of kill him? The result of a furious row? Fury because he felt forced to hand himself in to the police? Where would the pressure come from if the boy’s application to the UDI for a travel grant had been accepted? And where would the fury come from in the middle of the night? Could Andersen have come home late at night and caught the boy doing something wrong, which started a huge fight?

  He had difficulty imagining this: a poor soul receiving help and food, and everything he needed, attacking the man who was helping him. But if he had done it, why throw his valuables in the bin afterwards?

  Was the boy witness to what happened or had he been elsewhere? Perhaps someone other than the boy had been waiting for Andersen when he came home? Whoever it was, their presence, or something they did, provoked a violent confrontation.

  Bjørn Thyness? He didn’t understand why Gunnarstranda chose to ignore Bjørn’s interest in Andersen. The man had been keeping the house under surveillance for no official reason.

  Or did a specific event take place that night before Andersen returned home?

  Fredrik Andersen and Sheyma must have asked Guri about Aisha. Something must have come up in that conversation. Something that scared the wits out of Guri when she heard Andersen had been killed.