Cold Hearts (14 page)

IT WAS CLOSER TO HALF PAST
when he turned up. On the other hand, I’d had the time to brew some coffee in the meanwhile.

‘Heavy night, Nils?’

He sent me an annoyed look. ‘Don’t you go thinking …’ But he broke off, accepted the offer of coffee and sat staring stiffly out of the window, where the sun still had a bit to do before it struggled over Mount Ulriken.

Then he turned to me with a gloomy countenance. ‘How long have we known each other, Varg?’

‘More than twenty years. I remember contacting you when I first started in this business, and that was in 1975.’

‘I’ve given you lots of jobs over the years, haven’t I?’

‘If that’s an intro to saying it’s all over now, save your breath, Nils. I’ve never been a moralist. What folk do in their free time and with whom they do it has never been any concern of mine. And I’ve never met your wife.’

His face creased. ‘You don’t understand. Siv and I are not in a relationship.’

‘No?’ I observed him over the top of the coffee cup. It was not a pleasant sight. Lack of sleep lay like a grey membrane over his massive face. He had been unfortunate with his morning shave, and his hair looked thinner than it was wont to do. ‘Well, some time ago you said you hardly knew her, if I haven’t mis-remembered.’

‘Everyone can have one lapse, can’t they?’

I did something between shrugging and showing with a nod that I understood what he meant.

‘I’d had a bit too much to drink. I mean … when it happened. And I was fascinated by that cold distance of hers. Always felt like that. Wondered what you needed to do to break the ice.’

‘And you found out?’

He sent me another annoyed look as though I had disturbed his line of thought. ‘She’d been drinking too. It was after the annual … Christmas dinner.’

‘Original.’

‘Oh, I know! Spare me your usual comments, Varg. Sometimes I get so bloody sick of them.’

I didn’t answer. I hugged the ropes in case he began to windmill flailing fists.

‘We were standing in the taxi queue, and when at last it was our turn we took the same taxi. We arrived at where she lived, and she said she would pay, but I said: “No, no, Siv. I’ll take care of it.” Then she looked up and asked: “What about another glass of wine?”’ He eyed me defiantly. ‘Would you have turned down the offer perhaps?’

I could have told him about what I had turned down over the previous day, but I saved that for another occasion. Once again I shrugged, so as not to provoke him further.

He had finished his coffee, and angrily snatched the coffee pot and poured himself a refill, right to the brim. ‘Shit, Varg! It was the very devil’s own dance!’

‘Some think he has a finger in most things we do.’

Resigned, he raised the cup to his mouth without bothering about the coffee slopping over the side and dripping onto his lap. His gaze was distant and very close at the same time. For a
second or two I wondered whether he was on something, but I rejected that idea. Not Nils Åkre, our insurance man for more than two decades.

‘It’s been like a nightmare for me ever since that unfortunate December night. As though I were … as though … it goes against everything I believe in, Varg. Everything I stand for.’

I nodded with complete understanding. ‘Perhaps it would help …’

‘If I unburdened myself?’ he interrupted, not without a hint of sarcasm.

‘For example.’

‘OK. Listen to my charming little fairy tale then!’

I settled down to do precisely that. To listen.

‘The taxi driver sent me a knowing wink as I paid, and I gave him an extra tip to stop him opening his gob. I went up with her and was given a glass of wine … and a bit more.’

Another pause as his eyes flitted in and out, back and forth in time.

‘I’ll tell you something, Varg. That woman has got major problems.’

‘She … changed her mind, did she?’

‘Changed her mind?! Did she hell! You don’t bloody think I raped her, do you … or something similar? I told you I got … what I wanted.’ He corrected himself without delay: ‘What she had to offer.’

‘I see. So what were the problems?’

‘Women nowadays are not very shy, are they.’

‘I’m not sure that I’m an expert on women nowadays …’

‘Ho ho ho!’ A touch of the good old easy-going Nils Åkre returned. ‘Don’t make me laugh, Varg. You a single man and all that.’

‘Sort of living apart together, I think some say.’

‘Oh, yeah, but enough of that. Siv wasn’t like that.’

‘Like what?’

He sighed and his eyes went distant again. ‘We finished our glasses, and then we messed around and kissed a bit. I began to fiddle with her dress. It was a wonderful dress, black with silver glitz in the material, but quite special. The neck was cut quite high up, with long sleeves, as though … as though she wanted to show as little skin as possible.’

‘Well …’

‘But then … she suddenly pulled away. “Wait! Let’s go into the bedroom” … I didn’t mind of course, the way the situation had developed, but … when we went in she closed the door and insisted we kept the light off. The black blinds were down, and for a second or two I thought, oh shit! The woman’s mad! She’s going to kill me. But then I felt her hand on … yes, between my legs, and it wasn’t long before we lay on the bed and … went for it.’

‘Right. That sounds disturbingly normal, Nils.’

‘Yes, but she didn’t get undressed.’

‘She would have had to if you … went for it, as you put it, surely?’

‘Yes, but no more than necessary. She kept her dress on, just pulled it over her thighs and … her tights down … but she kept her panties on, I almost had to force my way in … from the side.’

‘Well, well … embarrassment of the first meeting. Has it been that long since you were young, Nils?’

‘First meeting … we’re not bloody seventeen years old any more, Varg. This is two adults getting down to business of their own free volition and without any form of persuasion or force.’

‘Fine. But I still don’t understand how this can be as serious
as you suggest. I mean … Perhaps that’s how she likes it. I’ve heard of worse pleasures than doing it fully dressed.’

‘Jesus, Varg. Can’t you hear what I’m saying? The woman’s got problems. Major problems. The story doesn’t finish there.’

‘Carry on then!’

He looked at me, nettled. ‘As you know, Varg, I have a solid physique.’

‘No one can take that from you. All the teacakes in Fyllingsdalen … there are better diets.’

‘It was as if the devil was inside me. I wanted her naked! I lay on top of her with all my weight and pulled her dress up until it was trussed round her neck, pulled it over her face, stuck her arms in the air and forced her evening dress off. Then I tore off her underwear, and as if that wasn’t enough, I searched for the lamp on the bedside table, found the switch and turned on the light. She jerked back against the bed head, as naked as a baby, trying in vain to cover herself …’

‘And you still maintain you didn’t rape her?’ I mumbled.

He was barely listening. ‘But it wasn’t her breasts she was trying to cover. Nor her muff. It was her arms.’

‘Arms! Not needle marks?’

‘Needle marks? No, scars. Both arms were covered with scars. Long, swollen scars. Some of them with fresh scabs; others were old and healed.’

‘But …?’

‘She’s been self-harming, Varg! She’s been cutting herself for years!’

‘Herself?’

‘She … admitted it herself. She said: “You should go, Nils. Forget this evening. Forget what you saw. This is my dark secret, and now you know it you can never come back.”’

Shaken, I sat in my chair as chaotic images flickered past my skull. ‘But you did … the last time was yesterday.’

‘The last … yesterday! That was the first time I had been there since then.’

‘So why did you go there yesterday?’

He smacked the coffee cup down hard and stood up. ‘It was a fiasco, of course. Had I known you would be there …’

‘And what difference did that make?’

‘The reason I went was that you had been talking to her as part of your assignment. I went there to tell her whatever she told you she must not under any circumstances mention this.’

‘And what was so dangerous about it?’

‘You should be old enough to understand, Varg. This will complicate our relationship for years to come.’

‘Had you rung her beforehand to say you were coming?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘She had washed her hair and she didn’t like me being there. I had the feeling she was expecting someone.’

‘It wasn’t me at any rate. I hadn’t rung to … forewarn her. I went on the spur of the moment.’ He checked his watch. ‘But I have to go. I have a meeting at ten. And now you know, Varg. Now two of us know. I hope you can understand that Siv Monsen is a woman with major problems. Approach her with caution. Great caution.’

I nodded, got up and escorted him to the door. ‘Don’t delete my telephone number, Nils. This will stay between us.’

He nodded back. ‘Nothing will be as before, but let’s try.’

We shook hands in a formal manner, and then he was gone. I slumped down onto the chair behind the desk and sat looking out of the window.

The sun had risen above the mountain now. But it was pale
and ill humoured. It seemed to be already regretting its appearance. And I felt quite secure. It wasn’t going to shine on us for long on this January day.

ANNEMETTE BERGESEN
LOOKED STRESSED.
She finished what she was doing on her laptop, shoved some high piles of paper to the side, fetched something that looked, from my side of the desk, like an autopsy report, flicked through it swiftly and put it down with an impatient gesture before, at length, fixing me with her eyes and saying: ‘Right, Veum.’

I felt exactly as if I had been summoned to the
headmaster
for a serious offence during my wild schooldays at Bergen Cathedral School. ‘Don’t blame me. You’re the one who asked me to come here.’

‘Obviously a hasty decision. But let’s get down to brass tacks, Veum. What can you tell me about Tanya Allilujeva
Karoliussen
, which according to our investigations is the official name of the dead woman?’

‘Tanya Allilu … Karoliussen. Married in Norway?’

‘Separated. Former permanent address given as Kirkenes. Now living in a basement flat in Løvstakksiden. Rogagaten. But I was doing the asking, wasn’t I?’

‘Yes, but I don’t have a lot to say. I was given her name in connection with a case I have.’ In brief outline, I told her about Margrethe Monsen, my results so far and my short meeting with Tanya Karoliussen on Monday night. I rounded off by referring to her trip in the car Margrethe had refused to enter, and gave her the same number I had tried to check at the Vehicle Licensing Agency: SP-523 …

‘No more than the first three numbers?’

‘I’m afraid not, no. The car was thought to be black, though.’

‘No make of car?’

‘No.’

She made a note anyhow. ‘I’ll see what we can find out.’

‘As far as I’m informed, both this Margrethe and Tanya had the same – what do you call them? – business manager?’

‘Pimp, do you mean?’

‘I thought that kind of thing was illegal.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘They call themselves Malthus Invest anyway.’

She didn’t look unduly surprised. ‘Indeed.’

‘And they don’t just invest in girls, if I may say so.’

‘Don’t they?’

‘The man who was beaten up in Skuteviken last weekend. Lars Mikalsen. Rumours in the town say he was a courier for Malthus & Co.’

I had her interest now. ‘A drugs courier?’

‘Yep.’

‘But as far as I’ve been told, he refused to lodge a complaint.’

‘Don’t you think that’s strange, all things taken into account?’

‘No, justice is brutal in those circles. How did you find out about it?’

I tilted my head. ‘One has one’s connections. Those of us who do not have any police authority to bang on the table.’

‘Do you think he will tell us any more now?’

‘Not unless you give him special treatment, under the table, as it were, and that is not exactly
comme il faut
any more, is it.’

She sent me an old-fashioned look. ‘It never has been, Veum.’

‘Yeah, yeah. There are black sheep in most pens.’

‘Back to the case. Is this in any way connected with the murder of Tanya Karoliussen?’

‘You’ve established that she was murdered, have you?’

She nodded. ‘She was strangled. And …’

‘Yes?’

‘The sole bright spot at the moment. We found remnants of skin under her nails. If we’re lucky we’ll find the killer’s DNA there. But that particular point is no business of yours. What I was about to say was … Have you anything else to tell me?’

‘Have you spoken to Helleve?’

‘Yes, I promised to …’ She lifted the telephone receiver, dialled an internal number and got through. ‘Atle? I’ve got Veum here. Fine.’ She cradled the receiver and nodded. ‘He’s on his way.’

Thirty seconds later Atle Helleve was in the doorway. He shook his head. ‘Two bodies, Varg? A busy week for the private investigator, eh?’

‘Hey, hey, hey. Let’s maintain a certain degree of accuracy, shall we. Someone else found the first body. I happened to be in the vicinity, that’s all. As for the other, Inspector Bergesen here phoned me up.’

‘Because the girl had your business card on her,’ interjected Annemette Bergesen, not letting the grass grow under her feet.

‘And we’ve resolved that matter, haven’t we?’

She turned to Helleve. ‘Nonetheless, he has a lead on the attack in Skuteviken that Bjarne was dealing with. You know, last weekend.’

Helleve pushed a chair back and sat down. ‘Really? Tell me more. What’s the connection?’

I gave him the same account I had given Annemette Bergesen a few minutes before. He didn’t make notes, but I observed the
information sticking like a layer of silicon to the inside of his skull. Whether it filled all the cracks I was not so sure.

When I reached the bit about Malthus he sent an eloquent glance to his female colleague. ‘Malthus. We’ve never been able to get anything on him, have we.’

She returned his glance. ‘Kjell Malthus is a lawyer. He knows all the tricks of the trade.’

‘Let’s haul Lars Mikalsen in for questioning again.’

‘Agreed. I’ll tell Bjarne.’ She scribbled on her pad.

He turned back to me. ‘But it has nothing, in my view, to do with what went on in Falsens vei.’

‘Except that the now-deceased Carsten Mobekk and his wife Lill were, in the past, members of a self-established committee to support the Monsen family during Margrethe’s childhood years. An extremely peripheral connection, in other words. By the way, did you realise that their father, Frank Monsen, died as the result of a fall in 1993?’

‘A fall?’

‘He fell down the stairs when drunk. That was the
conclusion
. Yet another suspicious fall in the same district.’

‘That’s a few years ago now, and I still don’t see a direct
connection
. You were at the crime scene yourself. It was evident that someone had been searching for something in Mobekk’s office.’

‘Yes, was there anything missing though? Items of value? Papers?’

‘Impossible to say.
Fru
Mobekk had no knowledge of what was in his papers. The only object she is certain she cannot find is a candlestick.’

‘A candlestick!’

‘Heirloom. Heavy as hell.’

‘The murder weapon perhaps?’

‘Not impossible. But anyway it’s gone, so for the moment we’ll have to register it as … missing.’

‘Is there a motive for the murder?’

Helleve replied with an ironic smile. ‘Nothing we’ve unearthed as yet. We’re looking for leads or motives in his background. Entrepreneurial activities can be shifting sands, and there could be good reasons for him selling up long before he had to. But we haven’t reached any final conclusion yet, and it’s improbable we’ll share it with you.’

‘Why did he sell up?’

‘No obvious reason. Solid company, as far as we know. But, as I said, we’ll keep checking.’

‘But … what about KG Monsen? Have you followed up that lead?’

‘Not yet. I thought it was his sister you were looking for?’

‘It is. But it’s quite a coincidence that both have
disappeared.
Don’t you think? Margrethe had even told one of the other women … well.’ I looked at Annemette Bergesen. ‘It was Tanya. … that she would soon be off. And there’s a definite link between KG and Margrethe.’

Helleve studied me pensively. ‘I can agree on that, Varg. There are some thin threads here, leading from one case to another. But so far all too thin.’

‘What about fingerprints? There were a lot of glasses inside. At the crime scene in Falsens vei, I mean. Anything new on them?’

‘No, Varg. And Margrethe Monsen wasn’t on our files, I’m afraid to say. But I can give you one tiny snippet of
information.
During the investigation we came across a stolen car in one of the streets up there. Reported stolen in Åsane some time
last Friday. As a matter of form we checked it for fingerprints, and we had a stroke of luck. KG’s prints were on the wheel, gear lever and the driver’s door handle.’

‘What! But that must have put you on the trail, mustn’t it? On his trail, I mean.’

‘Yes, it did. We’ve stepped up the search. We don’t have her prints, as I said.’

‘I can help you there though.’ I took out my wallet, opened a zip and held out the key Hege had lent me. ‘This is to the flat she had in Strandgaten. Owned, as it happens, by Malthus Invest. There should be no shortage of prints inside.’

He accepted the key with a reflective expression. ‘OK. Thank you. Perhaps we’ll find her there as well?’

‘I would be surprised. She wasn’t there the other day at any rate. But if you do, please let me know.’

‘You know what that would mean though, Varg, don’t you? It would mean Margrethe Monsen would no longer be your case.’

‘Oh, yes, she would! I have to continue my investigations as my employer asked.’

‘And your employer would be…?’

‘I don’t think I am obliged to tell you.’

‘Her mother? Her sister? We can ask them ourselves.’

‘A girlfriend.’

‘From the same ranks perhaps?’

‘Not impossible.’

‘Might she have something to tell us about Tanya?’ Annemette Bergesen interrupted. ‘In which case it’s important we know.’

‘I don’t think so. But I’ll ask her next time we speak. Shall I ask her to contact you direct?’

‘Yes, do that.’

I turned to Atle Helleve. ‘Are you going to go public with the search soon?’

‘For KG? We’ll have to, I suppose. For the moment, we’re keeping it internal. Every single patrol car in town has a photo of him on the dashboard. Yesterday we did a door-to-door search in the district up there. Today we’re doing the same
elsewhere
. Nygård Park, Torgallmenningen, you know …
wherever
people are on the move.’

‘C. Sundts gate,’ Annemette Bergesen added.

‘Yes, we’ll give you a copy as well,’ Helleve said.

‘What about electronic leads?’ I said. ‘They must have mobile phones, KG and his sister.’

He gave a paternal nod. ‘Yes, they did have, and we’ve pinged them. Since last Saturday there’s been nil activity.’

‘Saturday? That was the last time either of them used their phone?’

‘It was definitely the last time KG rang. We checked him first.’

‘And where did he ring from?’

‘A base station in Bergen centre. Not very helpful, as such.’

‘But …’

‘Yes?’

‘Since then it’s been quiet?’

‘As quiet as the grave, as the cliché goes.’

‘But they can’t just have vanished into thin bloody air!’ I said.

‘No?’ Helleve watched me, deep in thought. ‘No, I don’t suppose they can, can they.’