Cold Hearts (15 page)

I WOULD HAVE BEEN PREPARED TO SWEAR
I would never end up sitting in Holbergstuen supping tea with Paul Finckel. But there we were, and he didn’t look too good.

‘It’s my liver, Varg. The doctor’s told me in no uncertain terms. Spring water and tea, that’s what I drink these days.’

‘Well, I have to drive later on, so I’ll keep you company.’

The tea was thin, and Paul Finckel thinner. But then he had made a habit of pumping himself up and down like a rutting toad from one period to another during his life. We each ordered a salad with the tea and behaved by and large like Spinsters Anonymous on a day out: Go wild and don’t spare the
Thousand
Island dressing. The waitress served us with resigned
tolerance.
She had probably worked out that tips tended to depend on the choice of menu and there was nothing to be had from us.

‘And what about you?’ he asked, almost hopefully. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Me? Nothing? Bit of rheumatism in the wound when there are big fluctuations in the temperature, but it’s around ten degrees summer or winter in town, so … it’s fine.’

He took an envelope from his briefcase. ‘And now you’re investigating the Gimle case?’

‘Well, investigating may be overstating it, but the case cropped up in connection with another one.’ I swiftly put him in the picture, not forgetting Frank Monsen, Carsten Mobekk or Tanya Karoliussen along the way.

‘Three deaths, Varg? Bit over the top, even for you, isn’t it?’

‘The first was an accident. Looks like it at least. KG Monsen is linked to the killing of Mobekk. Thus far.’

‘But has it got anything to do with the Gimle case?’

‘Not as such. But KG is involved, of course.’

‘Right.’ He opened the envelope and pulled out some
photocopies.
‘There were quite a few articles written about the case when it was news. Opinions were divided as to how severe the sentence should be. Most people thought that being exposed to undesired sexual approaches can be such a dramatic
experience
that a violent reaction is absolutely understandable. The defendant’s young age was the centre of a lot of speculation. All things considered, I believe he got the sentence he deserved.’

He pushed the photocopies over to me. I flicked through them briskly. The first ones were news stories of the murder itself, along with photographs of the arrest, with the young boy’s face blurred, and others showing him being led into the magistrate’s court with a jacket over his head. Later there were full-page spreads of the trial, with photographs of the
prosecutor
and the defence counsel and shadowy sketches of KG. Perhaps because of his young age he was never named, not even after his sentence had been passed. “The Boy (16)” was the description that was used throughout. The murder victim, Øyvind Malthus, was mentioned by name in one of the first reports, a couple of days after the murder had occurred. It was the same spread I had found in Rolf Terje Dalby’s bedsit. In later articles and during the trial he was referred to as “The Supply Teacher (24)”.

The waitress came with our salads, and we pounced on them like starving rabbits. The pale pink dressing dripped onto Paul Finckel’s chin, and he gazed longingly at the juicy steaks that
were being served two tables away. It was a dog’s life, no two ways about it.

Between lettuce leaves he mumbled: ‘But … there was one aspect that never came out in court, I was told by a colleague of mine.’

‘Mm?’

‘The victim, Øyvind Malthus, had been on the police’s radar before.’

‘For sexual molestation?’

‘No. Narc. But the police had never been able to get
anything
on him.’

‘Neither him nor his brother.’

There was a glint in his eye. ‘So you know him?’

‘Malthus Invest,’ I said. ‘With several mobile investments in C. Sundts gate.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Furthermore, there are rumours circulating that the guy who was beaten up in Skuteviken last weekend was a drug mule for Malthus. Lars Mikalsen. Name mean anything to you?’

‘Nope. Have we written anything about this?’

‘Just a note. None of this is official, but what you’ve told me about Øyvind Malthus puts everything into an interesting perspective. Do you know anything else about what happened at that time? About the drugs connection, I mean.’

‘No, I didn’t follow this case in person, so everything is second-hand.’

‘What do you know about him? And here I’m thinking of Kjell Malthus.’

He sopped up the remains of the salad with a piece of baguette and chewed slowly. With a grimace he washed it
down with the thin tea. ‘Not so much. He’s known for keeping his cards close to his chest. But his papers are in order. Trained lawyer with experience as a broker before starting out on his own a few years ago.’

‘And do you know what he invests in?’

His face was expressive. ‘A moveable feast, Varg. Everything from barrels of oil to prostitution. Probably not averse to some drugs, so long as the earnings are good enough. I’ve heard
speculation
verging in that direction, but never anything specific.’

‘Right.’ I held up the photocopies. ‘Can I keep these?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘In that case I can see only one solution. To visit the lion in his den.’

‘The lion?’

‘Kjell Malthus himself.’ I nodded towards his empty plate. ‘Full?’

He pulled a face, and we asked for the bill. We’d had more festive sittings, there was no doubt about that.

THIS TIME, DURING BUSINESS HOURS,
the front door was open. I took the stairs up to the third floor, where a plain gilt sign beside a grey door announced that this was the residence of Malthus Invest.

I knocked and entered. The room was furnished in
minimalist
fashion. No plants, no pictures on the walls, a huge
calendar
of the current year, basta. On a small table to the left lay a couple of financial newspapers, the latest edition of
Kapital
and today’s
Bergens Avis.
For an investment company the room was unusually devoid of people. But at least they employed a secretary.

She was a Mediterranean beauty of the kind that would have made even the girl from Ipanema pale beside her. Golden brown complexion, with long, undulating hair as black as ebony, she looked as if she had been cut out of an advert for exotic travel destinations, and the tight-fitting yellow dress did nothing to dull the impression. But when she opened her mouth I knew that she had not been employed for her
Norwegian
language skills.

‘Ja? What you like?’

I flashed my nicest smile. ‘Kjell Malthus. Is he in?’

Her eyes were dark and lustrous. ‘Who I can announce?’

‘You can announce Varg Veum. Say it’s important.’

‘Varg Veum?’ She had difficulty repeating it.

‘That’s right.’

She got up from her place behind the desk and sashayed to a door at the back of the room, knocked, waited for an answer and opened. It was not long before she came back out, with Kjell Malthus in her wake.

‘Didn’t I tell you to keep well away, Veum?’ he barked, and the woman in the yellow dress regarded him with alarm.

‘We have important things to discuss, Malthus. Do you want to do that in front of your secretary or shall we do it in your office?’

‘Maria?’ He glanced at his secretary. ‘There’s not much she hasn’t heard. Isn’t that true?’

‘Was never more true word,’ she gleamed.

‘However, on the other hand, there are more useful things she can do with her time.’

‘Yes, the clients are queueing outside. I could hardly elbow my way through.’

He sent me a chill glare. ‘We’re first and foremost a
Netbased
company, Veum.’

‘So what’s Maria doing here then? Making coffee and filing her nails?’

‘She brightens the place up, don’t you think?’

Another gleaming smile.

‘Does it cost much to hire her? At night, for example?’

His eyes hardened. ‘Watch your lip or you’ll be leaving head first.’

‘And who’s going to do that? You?’ Fair enough, he was taller than me, and a good bit broader, but he would not have things all his own way.

He motioned towards his office door. ‘Come on.’ He turned to Maria. ‘No telephone calls. Just take messages.’

He closed the door hard behind us and with a brief nod
indicated a reasonably comfortable-looking client’s chair. The office was furnished in the same minimalist way as the
anteroom
. No artwork on the walls here, either. Not so much as a calendar. The desk with the black glass top was clean and tidy, and the only feature that suggested this was a business was the laptop on the left and the two telephones on the right, both cordless, one a mobile.

‘So this is the control room of your worldwide empire, is it?’

‘Shut up, I said.’

‘How many employees have you got? Apart from Maria and Rolf Terje, I mean?’

‘Enough.’

‘Most on contract, eh? Highly informal contracts?’

‘Veum.’ He placed both palms down on the table, with his arms positioned in such a way that he looked even broader, in theory ready to launch himself forward, and it was precisely that impression he wanted to convey. His voice was low and intense. ‘Cut the crap and get to the point.’

‘That is not quite so simple. You still haven’t heard from Margrethe Monsen?’

‘My relationship with …
frøken
Monsen is exclusively
landlord
to tenant. As long as she pays her rent everything is fine by me.’

I curled my lips into a smile. ‘I hear what you say. What about Tanya? Did you have the same deal with her?’

‘Tanya? I don’t know any Tanya.’

‘Don’t you?
Fru
Karoliussen from Kirkenes? In which case, you have missed the opportunity. She was found dead in the sea by the Customs House last night.’

‘Oh, her …’

‘So you had heard about it?’

He sent me a blank look.

‘Two out of the picture within a week. How does that affect the budget?’

‘The budget? What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘It’s bad publicity, anyway. For someone who offers
protection,
I mean. But I suppose the biggest loss was when Lars Mikalsen was met off the Danish ferry last weekend and had his luggage pinched, wasn’t it?’

‘Veum, listen here …’

‘No, Malthus, you listen here. KG Monsen. Name mean anything to you?’

Now he no longer made any effort to hide it. His expression was implacably hostile.

‘The Gimle case, right?’

‘Your brother was killed because he molested one of his pupils. Is it in the family? Homosexuality, I mean?’

He jumped up from behind the desk. ‘Øyvind was not a fucking poof!’

‘No? But you are?’

‘Veum …’ His face was a deep red, and the blood vessels on his forehead swollen. This was something experience had taught me. If you want to get one of these macho guys excited, the surest way was to call them homosexual.

‘So why was he killed then? Was it a fight for territory? Had KG gone solo and moved into Øyvind’s market? Was it a
situation
that got out of hand with a fatal outcome for your brother? Control of the school market has always been important in this industry. Everyone knows that. That’s where the clients of the future are groomed,’ I said, then tried to put as much contempt as I could into the next two words: ‘Malthus Invest.’

‘I’m not …’

‘Yes, you are. It’s just that no one has got anything on you yet. But your time will come, Malthus. It’s waiting for you round the corner.’

He slumped back into the chair. A storm was raging inside his skull. ‘Veum … Øyvind was my little brother. I had
promised
my parents I would look after him. When he was killed everything seemed to collapse around my bloody ears.’

‘So we’re agreed then.’ I muted my tone. ‘He was not a homosexual. This was a drugs showdown.’

He didn’t move behind the desk. His glare was still as hostile, but there was something vulnerable and human in his features that had not been there before.

‘You must have wanted to take revenge. For the murder of your brother, I mean.’

‘He got his punishment.’

‘Margrethe’s brother.’

I let the words hang in the air between us. There didn’t appear to be any reaction, apart from the subdued glare.

As he didn’t speak I added: ‘Who has vanished without trace, like his sister.’

Still no reaction.

‘No one vanishes without trace nowadays, Malthus.’

‘Don’t be so sure about that!’

‘Should I regard that as a threat?’

‘You can regard it as whatever you fucking want.’ He rose from behind the desk. ‘Anything else?’

I got to my feet, to maintain some kind of control over the situation. ‘You may not consider these people to have any worth, Malthus. A woman from Russia, down on her luck in her new homeland. A woman with a skewed take-off from Minde – and her brother. For you they may be no more than
incomings and outgoings in the annual accounts. Sources of earnings, expendable items.’

‘And what’s the bloody point of that? If I can earn money with these girls, as you claim, is it logical that I would get rid of them?’

‘No. That’s why I’m asking you: what’s going on? Is there a street war? Is someone muscling their way into your part of the market as well?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Who robbed Lars Mikalsen, for example? An outsider perhaps?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Veum, I’m warning you …’

‘Relax, Malthus. I know the package was meant for you. And I’ll promise you one thing. As soon as I can prove the facts, the walk from Strandkaien to the police station will be very short.’

‘Strandkaien?’

‘That’s where I have my office.’

‘Handy to know. Very handy to know, Veum.’ For some reason, every statement he made sounded like a threat.

‘If I don’t find them, Margrethe or KG, soon, don’t rule out a second visit. Also handy to know, eh?’

He glowered at me, but confined himself to indicating the door with one hand, to show which direction he wanted me to go.

I bowed and took the hint. In reception I winked at Maria. She was as charming as when I arrived. But I assume that is how it is in most investment companies. Red carpet on the way in, account in the red on the way out.