The Body in the Fjord (25 page)

“If it was locked, then she must not have been able to get on the boat at all.” Ursula's anxiety increased. Pix had surely left the hotel on a mission—a mission dictated by her mother. Apparently, she'd never gotten there, let alone accomplished it. How could she have disappeared in the short distance between the hotel and the boat? Why hadn't she returned immediately when she discovered the boat was locked?

Marit spoke her fears aloud. “But where can she be if she's not on the boat, or somewhere in Balestrand?”

“According to the night desk clerk, no one left the hotel until the two of you went out this morning, and she swears she wasn't away from her post, not even for a minute. They're quite strict about it here. And we had a man stationed by the door. The clerk says he fell asleep, which he admits, but between the two of them, I'd say it was impossible for your daughter to have left by that door, and the other exits were alarmed.”

“Then you think she still may be in the hotel?” Ursula had had high hopes of the boat, imagining Pix, perhaps tied up, but safe and sound in the closet.

Marit gasped. “The sauna! Remember she'd gotten locked in the sauna the other night.”

Ursula was halfway to the door. They were in the same large meeting room Pix had been in, only this time there wasn't any coffee or cookies.

“Mrs. Rowe, the sauna was one of the first places we checked. It was empty.” Ursula walked back to the chair she'd been sitting in. If she felt like slumping, she didn't. She'd left her cane in her room, too.

“I know how hard this is—for you both.” Marcussen looked at the two elderly women in front of him, each missing a loved one. Marit Hansen reminded him of many Norwegian women he knew. The set of her mouth, the way she walked. This was a stubborn woman, a strong woman. He was interested in her American friend. Both Americans had come across the ocean at a moment's notice to do what they believed the police had not been able to do—find Kari Hansen. They all had no doubt they would be successful at unraveling the mystery. Now Mrs. Miller was missing and he could see the doubt in both her mother's and Fru Hansen's eyes. They had failed—and thus far, so had he.

He infused his voice with a confidence he was far from feeling. “Let's start again. Tell me the whole story from
the beginning—from Kari's call at the station in Oslo…”

Officer Jansen came in with a tray. “
Kaffe
?”

 

Pix was aware of movement and a shape moving toward her.

She infused her voice with as much bravery as she could muster, “I'm an American tourist and my name is—”

“Pix!” the voice shrieked. Arms were flung about her and she was enveloped in a warm, if slightly uncomfortable, embrace. “What are you doing here!”

It was Kari. At last.

“I have the same question for you,” Pix said, joy washing over her—and relief. She could just make out the girl's features in the dark. Kari's face looked thinner, and older, but it had been some years since Pix had seen her.

“Wait—let me get my blanket. You feel cold.” Kari bustled away, obviously much more familiar with the layout of the place. She wrapped the blanket around Pix and the two huddled close together.

“I heard them bring you in. They left food if you are hungry. But I didn't know who you were and I was afraid to find out. It could have been a trick, or someone who didn't know I was here and might not be happy to find out. It seemed smart to wait, but I got too curious.”

“You don't have a gun.” Pix was not in the slightest bit hopeful.

“No,” Kari said sadly. “Otherwise, I would have been out long ago.”

“Where are we?” Pix asked. First things first.

“I was drugged when they brought me here, but from the size and construction, it could be one of the old huts where the farmhands stayed when they brought the goats to the summer pastures, or it could be a hiker's hut on the
vidda
. Whatever it is, it must be very remote, because it has no furniture and hasn't been fixed up at all. Now people are using these as
hytter
, you know, and I would expect a table, chairs, and some bunk beds. A fireplace.
There is nothing here. Because it's so cold, I think it must be the
vidda
, but if we are high up in the mountains, that would be cold, too.”

“And there's no way out.”

“The shutters must be barred shut from the outside and the door is locked. I tried to dig with my hands and the clip from my hair, but it was no use. And no loose stones. Believe me, I've pulled at every one of them.”

Pix felt herself start to panic, but it dissipated at once. She'd come to Norway to find Kari and here she was, alive and well. Mission accomplished. Getting them out of a locked cabin God knows where would surely prove less difficult. And now there were two of them. Her headache was better and she was beginning to feel her energy returning.

“You must tell me everything. Have you seen my grandmother? Do you know about Erik?” Kari's voice ended with a sob.

“Your grandmother is fine—worried, of course, but convinced you are alive. She's with my mother at Kvikne's Hotel. And yes, I'm so sorry—I do know about Erik.” Pix put her arm around Kari.

“I've cried so much, I didn't know I had any tears left, but I suppose I always will.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” While Pix did not want to dredge up the tragic memory, she was eager to have the mystery solved. “Why don't you tell me the whole thing, starting from your call to your grandmother from the station. Erik was still alive then, right?”

“Yes.” Kari took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. Pix resolved to find out what else the young woman had in her pockets, yet for the moment, all she wanted was to discover the events of a week ago that had led to a death and abduction.

“You must have found out about Carl; otherwise, you wouldn't be here,” Kari said matter-of-factly. Pix nodded in the dark, before realizing subtle gestures were out.

“Yes. He had me—us—completely fooled.”

“Me, too. Erik knew Carl from last summer. They were on the same boat then, also. You know, Erik is like me, an only child, and he never had a big brother to do things with. Suddenly, everything was Carl this and Carl that. I must admit I was a bit jealous. They were going fishing. They were going out on the town in Bergen between tours. But then I met Carl, or Charles—he uses both names. His father is English.”

“I knew that, but not about the names.”

“Oh yes, he loves English people—more than Norwegians. But I didn't find that out until this summer. That's what started the whole thing. He has two passports. It's completely legal. He was born in Britain. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, last winter the three of us—and sometimes he'd bring a girl along—did lots of things together. He had plenty of money. I assumed his family was rich, and it was fun to be taken to restaurants like Theatercafeen and not think about a bill. He always insisted on paying. He knew so many things, especially about art and antiques. After a few days, he'd disappear on one of the winter tours and then come back to sweep us off our feet again. I was so stupid!”

Kari started to cry again. “If I had had more sense, Erik would be alive today!”

And Erik had been lacking in judgment, too, thought Pix, but she kept her mouth shut. She could picture Carl's seduction of these two—a handsome, witty, charming older brother with deep pockets. What young person could resist someone like that? Where was the harm? How can one bite of an apple hurt me?

“This part is hard to admit. I had a kind of crush on Carl, too. Erik is the only man I ever loved or ever will love, but Carl was very flattering—not in a crude way, but he made me feel special. Now I know it was all an act.”

“Why was he courting you? I know he was illegally taking antiques out of the country, but I wouldn't have
thought he'd want to divide his profits with anyone other than the farmer.”

As she spoke, Pix thought, The farmer! Sven! Was Kari aware of this?

Quickly, she added, “The farm on the fjord that the tour visits. The man and his wife are in on this with Carl. They collect the things for him.”

“I know,” said Kari sadly. “I know it all. And yes, Erik was helping them, too.”

Pix didn't know what to say and the two sat in silence for a moment.

“It's a very hard thing to find out someone you love, someone you planned to spend your life with, is a weaker person than you thought. Not a bad person, just a weak person. I didn't find out what was going on until this tour. I was putting my knapsack in the closet on the boat in the staff room, when it slipped from my hands and fell against the back wall. The wall fell forward and I found all these suitcases filled with antiques. I put everything back and told Erik. He told me not to say a word, that he would think what to do. I assumed it was the captain. I was always a little afraid of him, that bushy black beard, and he never said much.

“I was after Erik to tell the police and let them figure it out, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said it would be bad for the company. Finally, I decided to call my friend Annelise, who is working at the museum in Bergen, and see if she knew of any recent robberies from a museum or someone's private collection. That's why I called my grandmother.”

“But you never called Annelise.”

“No, when I was on the phone, Carl came to get me, and he must have overheard me ask for Annelise's number. He knows her, too, from last winter, when she was living in Oslo. He told me to hurry onto the train; then he talked to Erik and told him he had to keep me quiet. For insurance, he called Sven, who got on the train at Myrdal.”

The train. The stage was set. All the characters were on board.

“Carl told us to sit in the other car. He said that there wasn't room in the tour's, but there was. Erik tried-again to convince me that we shouldn't get involved, that it was none of our business. He didn't say it was Carl who was doing this. Then finally, he told me everything and we had a big fight. I lost my temper and said things I would give the world to take back. I never thought they would be some of the last words I would say to my Erik.”

“What did he tell you?” Kari was going to need a great deal of time to heal. She'd had a week alone in this dark cell to obsess about it. Now Pix wanted to get the facts, then get them out.

“Toward the end of last summer, Carl asked Erik to put some things in his knapsack and give them back to him when they got to Bergen, where Carl was taking the ferry to Newcastle. You know, there is very little security on it and Carl—now Charles, with his British passport—was well known to the British customs people. They always waved him through with whatever he had. I don't know why he involved Erik. He's an evil man and I think he wanted to control Erik, have something on him, corrupt a good person. He paid him well and Erik did it again. I asked him why he didn't come to me if he needed money, not that I have much, but he could have had it all. He said I didn't understand. I said it was dishonest and that he had to stop. I told him that I was going to tell the police unless Carl gave everything back. Erik said that would be stupid—people had already spent the money Carl had paid for the things and they didn't want them anyway. What was the harm? he kept saying. I couldn't believe it. It seemed like we were talking for hours. One of the women on the tour came into our car—a nice person, Mrs. Feld—and I was embarrassed that she might have seen us quarreling. When she left, I started to cry. I couldn't make Erik understand. Finally, he said he did and he'd go along with whatever I said, but not until after the
trip was over. He didn't want to upset the tour. I had to be content with that, and it might have ended there, but Carl was nervous. Sven came along and began talking alone to Erik. I had met him on the first trip when we went to his farm and I was surprised to see him on the train, but I assumed he was just coming from Oslo like everyone else.”

“Then what happened?”

“Erik came back to the seat looking very pale and very scared. Sven had threatened him. Erik begged me to promise I wouldn't say anything about what Carl was doing and he, Erik, would stop immediately. He was so agitated, I got scared, too. ‘What is it?' I kept asking. Then he blurted out that Sven was working with Carl and was picking up some Viking silver from someone the last day of the tour. He said if anything messed that up, he'd kill us.”

“Viking silver! What would that be worth?” For Carl, it would mean a hasty retirement as tour guide and a life of ease on some nice square in London. Of that much, Pix was certain.

“It would depend on what there was, but at least a million dollars.”

No wonder Sven's threat had been so severe. From his sixties mode of dress and simple life on the farm, it had appeared that he was not caught up in material possessions in the nineties, but care he did—and the fancy boat had been a dead giveaway, Pix reminded herself. He and his lovely young wife would never have to make
gjetost
again—or eat it. Where would they go? The Caribbean? So good for the children.

“But what farmer would have anything to sell from the Viking times? Wasn't it all buried in graves?” Pix was thinking of the three large ship burials on the east coast, particularly the Oseberg find, a Viking woman's tomb, perhaps Queen Åsa of Vestfold's, with its rich treasures. A find even half the size of this would have made international headlines and been impossible to keep secret.

“The Vikings did put their goods—things that would be needed in the afterlife—in the ship burials. But they didn't put in many silver ornaments or coins. These were considered part of the family's wealth, like the land. After all, what use would someone have for these things in Valhall? Or maybe that's just what they told themselves.” Kari gave a slight laugh.