Cold Hearts (21 page)

BEFORE I WENT TO RING THE DOORBELL,
I stood looking at the house from the outside. From this angle, one clear, frosty evening in January, it looked tranquil and peaceful, as if nothing bad could happen there. Light shone from a window on the first floor, at
fru
Monsen’s. Several were lit in
Torvaldsen’s
part, even though there was no suggestion that it was party time there, either.

I looked left and right along the whole row of houses. I thought: who knows what’s hidden behind these façades? How many secrets, how many damaged individuals, how many
children
had to grow up in the shadow of their own upbringing, enduring conditions they had never asked for and could barely do anything about? On the exterior, everything looked nice and proper, but who had any idea what corruption was hidden – not only behind these walls but any such walls anywhere in the world? The sole constant, like a sickening pattern, was this: the victims were children. It was the weakest who had to suffer most. The strongest always had right on their side.

I entered through the garden gate and walked towards the house. As I was about to ring Torvaldsen’s bell, the front door sprang open. Else Monsen stared at me, unkempt, hair sticking out, but for once without a fag in the corner of her mouth.

‘Did you see her?’

‘Did I see who?’

‘Siv. She came to visit me, but then … I was in the toilet, and when I came out she was gone.’

‘Siv came to visit you? For the first time in … how long?’

She looked at me, bewildered. ‘How long? Ten minutes?’

‘What did she want?’

‘I don’t know. She was just there all of a sudden. She had let herself in. And then she asked if I’d heard anything.’

‘Heard anything? When?’

‘Some time last weekend. Sunday.’

‘Sunday?’

She nodded and stared at me with an unease in her eyes I had never seen before. ‘I didn’t understand what she meant.’

The unease was infectious. I gestured to ask if I could enter. She retreated into the hall. Behind her a strip of light fell onto the floor. The cellar door was ajar.

I motioned in that direction. ‘The cellar door. Has it been open all the time?’

‘The cellar door?’ She turned stiffly.

I walked past her. With one hand I opened the door wide and peered down the narrow staircase. Light came from a single bulb in the cellar proper. ‘Hello! Anyone there?’

No one answered, but I heard a faint scrabbling noise like a colony of rats fleeing or a plastic bag being blown by the wind. ‘Siv!’

No answer.

I turned to Else Monsen and said with a stern look. ‘Stay here! I’ll go down.’

She nodded and didn’t move as I started the descent.

The stairs were wooden and covered with linoleum. A cold draught met me on the very first step. The staircase twisted,
and it was only when I was right at the bottom that I could see inside the cellar.

To the right was a brick wall. An open door led into another room, perhaps a laundry room. To the left were the wooden bars of the old storage stalls. None of them was locked. The first door was closed, the second open. The solitary bulb hanging from the ceiling cast light throughout the cellar, but from the stall at the rear shone a light that was much stronger and clearer. A few seconds passed before I realised it was from a chest freezer, it was open and that was where the cold air was coming from.

‘Siv?’ I said, once again.

She didn’t answer, but through the bars I saw her sitting on a saw horse right next to the freezer.

I moved further in. Caught a fleeting glimpse of Else Monsen on her way down the stairs behind me. I raised my palm to stop her. ‘No! Stay there, I said!’

The door to the stall was unlocked. She had lifted the freezer lid and half-removed two large packets wrapped in black plastic. The bags had been torn open with her nails. Through the gaps in the plastic two white faces covered in rime frost shone out at me, but I was in no doubt as to whose they were. They were together again now, all three of them. Siv,
Margrethe
and Karl Gunnar.

I turned to make sure that Else Monsen had stayed put. But she hadn’t. She was standing right behind me, and she was not alone. Behind her came Alf Torvaldsen, and I didn’t like the sight of what he was holding, a big, heavy rifle of the kind used for deer hunting. I didn’t like his gaze either, as it met me above the rifle barrel. It was cold and grey and boded ill.

IT WAS ALMOST A STILL LIFE SCENE.
Else Monsen was mute, motionless, her eyes were fixed on me. It was impossible to see whether she had realised what was in the open freezer. Behind her stood Alf Torvaldsen, rifle in hand, also staring intently at me.

I half turned round. Siv was sitting as she had done the whole time. She was staring into the distance, stiff, her eyes so vacant they could have been made of glass. Involuntarily, my gaze was drawn back to the freezer. Karl Gunnar had a deep groove in his brow, as though he had been struck by something hard. Margrethe looked as if she were asleep, with closed eyes.

When I faced Else Monsen again, she had seen them as well. Her face reflected something of what I felt, but it was rather more naked and raw. After all, they were her children in there, however long it had been since they had visited her. ‘S-Siv …’ issued from her dry, cracked lips. ‘What has happened?’

I shifted my gaze to Torvaldsen. ‘Yes,’ I heard my voice say, also frost-damaged. ‘I’m sure you’re the right person to tell us.’

With a sudden shove he sent Else Monsen reeling. I grabbed her to break her fall. She tore herself free, as though touching filled her with disgust. ‘Don’t!’ she shouted, then recoiled to the wall, turned to us and stood scowling, mute.

Siv did not react to any of this. As far as I could judge, she was in a deep state of shock.

‘Two bodies in a freezer, Torvaldsen? Two too many, don’t you think?’

His face did not betray anything. ‘None of your business, Veum. There’s room for more.’ As if to emphasise what he had said, he raised his weapon and pointed the barrel at my chest. His forefinger curled round the trigger.

I felt cold sweat break out. ‘And what kind of toy is that?’

His smile was wintry. ‘A Czech Brno, 308 calibre. The bullet’ll go straight through you, Veum. I’ve brought down deer weighing over a hundred kilos with this, several times.’

‘And where’s the meat?’ I asked.

He tossed his head towards the second stall. ‘Else never uses hers.’

I spread my palms. ‘So what are you going to do with us?’ As he didn’t answer I went on, in a gentler tone: ‘You appreciate this has gone too far, don’t you.’

‘Save that intonation for others, Veum! It’s you who have gone too far. Much too far. What the hell did you come down here for?’

‘It wasn’t me … It was Siv. She must have suspected how the pieces fitted together.’

‘And how do they?’ he said with biting sarcasm. ‘Can Master Detective Kalle Blomkvist tell me that?’

I took half a pace forwards. He stepped back and raised the barrel to my head.

‘I meant it, Veum! I’ll shoot.’

‘I only want …’ In a moderated voice I said: ‘I don’t want them to hear what we’re talking about. Move further back … please.’

He looked over my shoulder at the two women, both equally motionless, like dolls in a waxworks cabinet. Then he shrugged and went back a few steps, keeping his rifle raised.

I followed him. Halfway along the cellar he stopped and gestured that this was as far as he was going and no further.

‘Spit it out. What’s on your mind?’ he snarled.

‘Where do you want me to begin? The time you und Mobekk raped Margrethe? Or …’

‘That wasn’t bloody rape! She offered herself. Where the hell did you get that from?’

‘Rødberg talked.’

‘Markus! Bloody hell! He’ll get to hea–’

‘Oh yes? He’ll get to hear about this? Is that what you wanted to say?’

‘Or shall we jump to last Friday when you and Mobekk decided to take a trip to the red-light district and pick up a girl or two. It could hardly have come as a surprise when you met Margrethe there. But she didn’t join you. It was someone else. Which was a matter of bitter regret afterwards.’

He pinched his lips.

‘You two liked to be a bit rough with the girls, didn’t you? Eh?’

‘She was a whore! That kind deserves nothing else.’

‘Or shall we jump to … Saturday night it must have been when you were visited by … Who was it? Just Margrethe at first, perhaps? Or did they arrive together?’

He sent me a hard look. ‘This is not going to help you. Not in the slightest. I’m going to …’

His eyes narrowed, and I hastened to interject: ‘Let’s assume Margrethe came first. She offered herself this time as well perhaps? Or did they both arrive together? Did they have something to discuss with you? In a way, of course, they were your foster children. Yours and the committee’s.’

‘And what happens next?’ he asked. ‘In this fairy tale of yours?’

‘It all culminates in a confrontation. Karl Gunnar obviously received a heavy blow to the head. I have no idea what you did to Margrethe. But both are in the freezer behind us, and you’re here with a lethal weapon in your hands. That’s proof enough for me, Torvaldsen.’

He didn’t answer, but I saw his forefinger curled around the trigger quiver.

‘When did you find out what happened to Mobekk?’

‘When?’ he snapped. ‘You were there yourself!’

‘But you must have tried to contact him after … what happened here.’

His eyes flashed. ‘I rang several times … but he didn’t pick up.’

‘Naturally enough. But you didn’t try anything else?’

‘No, I had enough to do with … I had thought of ringing Lill, but didn’t get round to it.’

‘Still it came as a shock when you …’

‘Of course it came as a shock! They didn’t say anything about it when they …’ He broke off, then shrugged as though he considered it of no importance after all.

My mind was spinning in large circles, and it was hard to hold onto my thoughts. ‘But … you saw the context, I suppose. Perhaps you tied it up with your visit to the red-light district on Friday evening with Mobekk, and then … Margrethe was dead. The other person who could identify you was Tanya.’

‘Tanya?’

‘The Russian woman you beat up that evening. On Tuesday you set off there again. How did you manage to get her to tag along once again?’

He smirked. ‘I waved a wad of notes. Besides, I was alone this time. I said it was the other guy who had caused what
happened
on Friday. Anyway, she joined me.’

‘And you killed her and dumped her in the sea.’

‘The master detective strikes again? No, no, no. I gave her one, paid and dropped her off. I have no idea what could have happened afterwards. And what you can see there …’ he
indicated
the chest freezer. ‘That was in self-defence. They came here to kill me. What happened to Carsten afterwards proves that. Karl Gunnar attacked me with a candlestick.’

‘A candlestick?!’

‘Yes. He had it with him when he arrived. But I dodged the blow, wrenched it off him and used it on him.’

‘And Margrethe?’

‘Same.’

‘Same? I couldn’t see any marks on her.’

‘Back of the head.’

‘You don’t die from being knocked down. Don’t tell me you put them in the freezer still unconscious?’

‘And why not? It’s a merciful death, Veum. Being frozen to death while you’re … asleep. And I could keep them there without any fear of a smell. I had thought of getting rid of them later.’

‘My God, Torvaldsen! This was two young people. They had lots of life left in them.’

His face was as grey, as rock-hard as ever. He ground his jaw, and I saw the knuckles round the rifle whiten. ‘And … what sort of life?’

‘They knew too much, did they? Your reputation would have been ruined for ever, in Falsens vei as well as at the council?’

‘Veum …’

Two things happened at roughly the same time. There was an angry ring on the doorbell above. Else Monsen came to life and emitted a wild scream that resounded through the narrow
cellar room, a scream of sorrow and pain and some indefinable quality, animal-like, perhaps inexpressible in words.

For a second or two Torvaldsen’s attention lapsed. Enough time for me to launch myself at him, grab the rifle barrel and wrest it to the side and up, with such speed that he, consciously or unconsciously, pulled the trigger. The sound was like a clap of thunder, and I heard the thud in the woodwork above us where the bullet bored its way into the ceiling and, for all I knew, came out the other side into the flat. A terrible pain filled my eardrums, and the echo of the shot reverberated with a loud piercing tone that went on and on, never seeming to end.

Else Monsen’s screaming increased in volume. Torvaldsen let go of the weapon, bent forward and held both hands against his ears. On the floor above I heard ferocious knocking on the front door until it opened with a bang and someone shouted: ‘Hello! What’s going on?’ It was Helleve.

‘Down here, Atle!’ I yelled. My voice seemed to come from a castrated soprano who for some reason had chosen to rehearse inside my head. ‘Everything under control,’ I added, standing there with the smoking rifle in my hand and looking at Alf Torvaldsen. He glowered back, still with his hands over his ears, as though this was all my fault.

ATLE HELLEVE AND BJARNE SOLHEIM
had come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Without any fuss they confirmed that I had been the one to say ‘Everything under control’, even though ‘everything’ was perhaps an exaggeration and ‘under control’ a loose concept.

‘Bjarne. Weapon,’ Helleve said.

Solheim gave Torvaldsen a wide berth, held out his hand and took the rifle. He swiftly applied the safety catch and emptied the magazine. He put the shells in his jacket pocket. With great care he released the safety catch again, pulled back the bolt and took out the bullet in the chamber. Torvaldsen stared at him, unseeing.

Behind me, Else Monsen had fallen quiet. I turned in her direction. She was standing and shaking her head, as though to get rid of the sound ricocheting there as well. Siv was the only person not to have reacted to the bang. She was sitting as she had done when I arrived, lost in her own world.

Helleve came over to me. His eyes were drawn inexorably to the chest freezer, and an expression of disbelief spread across his face. ‘Oh, shit!’

I nodded. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

‘Is this Torvaldsen’s work?’

‘It’s his freezer anyway.’

‘But …’ He broke off. ‘We’ll have to get them moved from here, Varg.’ He took out his mobile phone. Then tapped in a
number. ‘This is Helleve. We’ve found two bodies. Frozen. I need all the assistance you can muster, medical and forensic, in Falsens vei.’ He gave the house number and rang off. Then slipped the phone back in his inside pocket.

‘Fru
Monsen lives on the first floor,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we ought to escort them there.’

‘OK. Will you help me?’

‘Of course.’

He turned to Solheim. ‘Bjarne. Take Torvaldsen to the ground floor. He’s got a lot to answer for. Wait until I come.’

Torvaldsen got up. ‘It’s not … how you think,’ he said in a feeble voice. ‘It was self-defence.’

Helleve nodded. ‘We’ll deal with you upstairs. Just follow Officer Solheim, then we’ll go through the whole case in great detail. Now, first of all, we’ll have to …’ Again he stared at the two corpses in the freezer. ‘This is simply unbelievable!’

Solheim and Torvaldsen were already on their way upstairs, and straight afterwards we heard their steps above our heads. It took us a great deal longer to coax Else Monsen and Siv up the same stairs. Else Monsen trudged off wearily, like an
overweight
child that had just learned to walk. Siv allowed herself to be persuaded to stand up, but she was heavy in my arms as we set off, and up the stairs Helleve and I had to carry her between us.

On the first floor we deposited them in the sitting room. Helleve stayed with them while I went into the kitchen, put some water on and hunted for some tea or coffee. I found coffee in a tin and teabags in a drawer.

On my return, Helleve had sat down with them. He was trying in vain to get them to say something, but there was not a sound to be had from either of them. Siv stared ahead
apathetically. Her mother stared sombrely down at the table, with a cigarette in her mouth.

‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked.

‘Coffee,’ said Else Monsen. Siv said nothing.

Helleve rose to his feet. ‘Can you take care of this, Veum? I ought to …’ he glanced at the door.

‘Can you send me an officer when they come? I’d prefer a woman.’

‘Bergesen’s on her way. It was her I spoke to.’

‘I wouldn’t mind being present when you talk to Torvaldsen.’

He regarded me with a look brimful of scepticism. ‘I don’t think I can allow that, Varg.’

‘I know quite a bit about this case now.’

‘Did you suspect … what we found in the cellar?’

‘Not at all, no! I was as shocked as … everyone else.’ I walked to the kitchen door. ‘Wait till I’ve made the coffee.’ I added in a whisper: ‘I don’t think they should be left alone.’

‘No, but get a move on.’

‘I’m hurrying.’

I went back into the kitchen. The water was boiling. I brewed the coffee and rinsed three cups under the tap. When the coffee was ready I poured it, carried two cups into the sitting room and went back to fetch the last for myself.

Helleve was already on his feet. ‘I still don’t think so, Varg.’

‘But I have important information to add.’

‘We’d rather have that without the suspect being present. We’ll deal with it at the station later this evening. OK?’

‘Alright then,’ I said, as sullen as a teenager who hasn’t got his own way. ‘Now answer me one thing, Atle. Why did you turn up at the moment you did?’

‘The car registration finally matched. Torvaldsen drives a black Opel with a number beginning SP-523.’

‘Great! Another bit of evidence. What was the upshot with Malthus?’

‘He’s been brought in for questioning, with Dalby. What was left of him after the treatment you gave him.’

‘They started it!’ I riposted, like a teenager again. ‘And Mikalsen?’

‘Clammed up. Claims he was on a weekend trip to Denmark after winning it in a lottery. No idea who attacked him. We don’t believe him for a second, of course, but what on earth can you say? He’s been around the block, and not just once.’

‘But …’

‘Sorry, Varg. I haven’t got time for this. See you this evening, at the station.’

He left, and I was alone with the two women.

Else Monsen had set about the fresh coffee with a
vengeance
, as if it were the last wish of someone about to die. Now she was slurping it. Siv was unaware even of the cup. Her gaze was very, very distant, and she sat with such an immovable expression on her face it seemed to be carved in stone.

Neither of them said a word. The tiny sitting room was as silent as the antechamber of death, and in a way that was indeed where we found ourselves. The image of the two in the freezer was glued to your retina, impossible to erase.

Outside, car doors slammed. The gate opened, and I heard voices below. Not long afterwards there was a formal rap on the upstairs door. The two officers appeared in the doorway. Annemette Bergesen had brought Eva Jensen with her, and I gave a nod of consent to both. They were in the right place and perhaps even at the right time.

I stood up. Eva Jensen went towards the two women with a compassionate air. Annemette Bergesen stood where she was and whispered: ‘I’ve been given a brief rundown of the
situation
. Has either of them said anything?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Good.’ She appeared almost relieved. ‘We’ll take it from here. You can go.’

‘Thank you.’

I cast a final glance at the two women, but I had nothing to say to them. As Annemette Bergesen had correctly said: they would take it from here.

I trudged down the stairs. Outside the Torvaldsens’ front door I stood still for a moment.
Wenche and Alf Torvaldsen
the sign said, as though a very normal couple lived there. And perhaps they were as well. At least her.

All of a sudden I felt homeless. The case was solved, to all intents and purposes. The job done. Margrethe had been found. Karl Gunnar, too. But no hearts rejoiced. Not a single one.