The Cabin

by Jorn Lier Horst

  ‘Sounds a bit like a newspaper office,’ Line said with a sardonic smile.

  ‘It applies particularly to cases like this, where there’s a general perception that Simon accidentally drowned,’ Stiller explained. ‘But there’s a better system in place now than there was in the past.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Ulf Lande?’ Line asked. ‘The officer in charge of the investigation at that time?’

  ‘Only on a formal level. We haven’t discussed the actual case. That won’t happen until after we’ve gone through the files here.’

  ‘So he could have information that’s not included in the files?’

  ‘If so, it would probably be along the lines of the various hypotheses they worked from and the judgements they made,’ Stiller told her. ‘The kind of thing that’s never written down in reports but can be read between the lines.’

  Line restacked all the papers into a single bundle and drew the elastic band around it. ‘What’s required in order to solve the case, then?’

  ‘A tip-off,’ Stiller replied. ‘The right tip-off.’

  19

  Adrian Stiller crossed to the window and looked down as Line Wisting got into a car and reversed out of the visitors’ parking space.

  She knew something, he thought. She had been after something, something she had searched through the old documents for but had been unable to find.

  Returning to his office, he watched the recording from the camera in the meeting room. She had photographed some of the introductory reports and the documents relating to a letter from the clairvoyant woman, but it looked as if the folder of tip-offs was of most interest to her. She had thumbed through it several times, as if to be sure there was nothing she had overlooked.

  He flicked through the tip-offs himself. It was always interesting to delve into old cases and ascertain what changes time had wrought. Just like in old houses where settlement damage and shifts had occurred that, with the passage of time, could cause cracks in what had previously appeared to be a solid construction. Especially when the foundations of an investigation were shaky, as in the Gjersjø case, where there was no certainty whether it had been an accident or a crime.

  He picked up the phone and called the chief investigator. ‘Any news?’ Ulf Lande asked.

  ‘I’ve only just started looking at the case,’ Stiller said. ‘But I’m not sure if I’ve received everything. I don’t see a null-and-void folder.’

  In major cases there were always administrative documents of no significance to the investigation, and these were usually collected into a separate folder.

  ‘That could well be,’ Ulf Lande admitted. ‘Is it of interest to you, then?’

  ‘I would at least like to know what’s in it.’

  ‘I’ll check with the admin office and find out what we have,’ Lande said.

  Stiller thanked him and added, ‘I’ve had a visit from a journalist who’s taking an interest in the case. She’ll probably be in touch with you, too.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Stiller glanced at the video footage still showing on the screen. ‘Line Wisting,’ he told him. ‘I know her from another case. She’s well organized. It could be a good idea to attract some media attention to this. That often leads to new tip-offs.’

  Ulf Lande did not sound in complete agreement. Investigators generally reacted in two different ways when old, unsolved cases they had had responsibility for were taken up again. Some were genuinely grateful, whereas others regarded it as a reminder of their failure. Ulf Lande obviously belonged to the latter group. He would not be pleased if anyone else found a solution.

  When their conversation ended, Adrian Stiller remained in his chair, watching the recording of Line.

  Stiller turned up the sound on the recording and listened to himself say that the key to solving old cases was a crucial tip-off. Maybe Line was aware of such a tip-off?

  The screen image went black as he turned this over in his mind. It bothered him that she might know something he did not.

  20

  When the guard handed back his phone Wisting noticed that he had two missed calls, both from the same number. When he moved beyond the prison walls, his mobile rang again. Wisting delayed answering until he was well ensconced inside his own car.

  ‘Jonas Hildre, Dagbladet. We spoke yesterday.’

  ‘Yes,’ Wisting confirmed, regretting that he had neglected to store the number.

  ‘Is there any news about Bernhard Clausen?’ the journalist asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve talked to someone who told me that the police were inside the cabin and brought out a number of items before the place burned down,’ Hildre went on. ‘What was that about?’

  Wisting turned the ignition. ‘It was to do with the deceased’s estate,’ he replied, though he realized that the journalist would not be fobbed off with that answer.

  ‘In what way?’ he asked. ‘What was it you carried out?’

  ‘It included some foodstuffs that had been left out,’ Wisting responded as he started driving. ‘They’d already begun to smell.’

  He switched the phone over to the hands-free system. ‘As I said, Christine Thiis has responsibility for that case,’ he added. ‘She’s in charge of communication with the press.’ Wisting had confidence in Christine Thiis’s ability to handle the media and he was keen to get this persistent reporter off his back.

  The journalist pressed on regardless: ‘Have you had any contact with the Party leaders?’

  The wipers slid across the film of grease and grime on the windscreen that was impairing his vision. ‘Our contact person there is Walter Krom,’ Wisting said.

  ‘What sort of contact are we talking about?’

  ‘A purely practical one. He was listed as next of kin.’

  ‘So you didn’t remove anything from the cabin that you subsequently handed over to him or anyone else in the Party?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I was there myself,’ Wisting said, aware that his tone had become brusque. ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘Not on this occasion,’ the journalist retorted before hanging up.

  Wisting saved the number and drove to the police station to find out if the case documents from the airport robbery had arrived.

  There was nothing waiting for him. He inquired about them at the counter, and of Karin Berg, the senior assistant in the admin office, but had to content himself that it was still too early.

  Christine Thiis, her hair now cut short, was in her office. As he sat down, it crossed his mind that it suited her like that.

  ‘Bernhard Clausen,’ she said, picking up a case folder from her in-tray. ‘I’ve read the fire reports, but I get the impression that not everything’s included in here.’

  ‘Mortensen is out at the site of the fire now with a couple of other technicians,’ Wisting said.

  Christine Thiis smiled. ‘I was thinking more of what you were actually doing out there in the middle of the night,’ she said. ‘Nils Hammer told me you’d been put in charge of a covert, high-level project.’

  Wisting nodded.

  ‘Does it have anything to do with Bernhard Clausen’s death?’

  ‘Not directly,’ Wisting answered.

  Christine Thiis knew she should not question him any further. ‘Just as well that I don’t know anything, I suppose,’ she said.

  ‘There’s one thing you ought to know,’ Wisting said. ‘The day before the fire, Mortensen and I were at his summer cabin and removed a number of cardboard boxes. Some of the neighbours obviously saw us and passed the information to a Dagbladet journalist.’

  Christine Thiis leaned back in her chair.

  ‘It concerns us handling some of the deceased’s belongings,’ Wisting continued. ‘It’s not part of your arson case and you should not provide answers, should the journalist ask.’

  ‘I understand,’ Christine replied, nodding. ‘The fire appears to have been deliberate. Is i
t linked to the project you’re working on?’

  ‘There is reason to believe so,’ Wisting said. ‘We are investigating it in the usual way, in parallel with our project, and will keep you updated.’

  Christine Thiis gave him a brief nod. ‘I’m relying on you to handle those aspects. Just remember to keep me in the loop, won’t you?’ she said.

  Wisting got to his feet. ‘Of course. Thanks,’ he said, leaving the door open behind him as he left.

  En route to his own office he met Mortensen, who had a cardboard box under his arm. The acrid smell of smoke from the fire had permeated his clothes.

  ‘Are you finished?’

  Mortensen shook his head. ‘No, the others are going to work for a few more hours, but this is probably the most interesting thing we’re going to find.’

  He held out the box to Wisting, who saw that it contained a sooty lock case. ‘From the front door,’ Mortensen told him. ‘It’s open.’

  ‘Whoever was there had a key, then,’ Wisting concluded.

  ‘And the code for the alarm, but it had been changed after the Party Secretary was there on Sunday. Three attempts with the old code triggered the alarm.’

  ‘Have you heard from the toll company yet?’

  ‘I’ll check my email now,’ Mortensen said, heading to his own office. As Wisting followed he related his conversation with Jahrmann and how he had given Clausen some cardboard boxes while working in the local shop. ‘That is a logical explanation, I guess,’ Mortensen commented.

  Wisting watched the computer screen over his colleague’s shoulder and saw that the email from the toll company had arrived half an hour earlier. Mortensen opened the attachment. All transits were listed, together with registration numbers and precise timings, in an Excel file. He had to copy each car number plate into the vehicle records in order to identify the make of vehicle.

  Wisting drew out a chair and sat down.

  ‘There, I think we have it,’ Mortensen said after the fourth attempt. ‘A Peugeot Partner passed through at 5.43. He drove a bit faster than us, but that should fit.’

  Wisting focused on the screen image from the vehicle records. The van was registered to Aksel Skavhaug at an Oslo address. Thirty-seven years old.

  Mortensen worked his way through several minutes in each direction, but this was the only transit that matched the vehicle type from the security van’s dash camera.

  ‘Check him out in the police records,’ Wisting requested.

  Mortensen copied and pasted Skavhaug’s personal ID number into the computer system that searched through all the various police databases. ‘Two convictions,’ he read out from the screen. ‘Both for narcotics. Nothing recent.’

  He clicked on a link and called up a photograph, which was a few years old. Aksel had blond hair, a narrow face and sported a beard.

  ‘See if he has any involvement in other cases,’ Wisting said. ‘Vandalism or arson.’

  Mortensen scrolled though the criminal records to find all the other cases Skavhaug had been implicated in.

  ‘Only a few traffic offences,’ Mortensen told him.

  ‘Wait!’ Wisting yelled, pointing at the screen to a case from 2003.

  Mortensen clicked on the link. The case was coded as a road traffic accident resulting in death. Aksel Skavhaug was listed as a witness.

  The fatality was Lennart Clausen.

  21

  Wisting was stretched out on the floor beside Amalie, who was trying to assemble a jigsaw. It comprised ten pieces with various animals that had to be placed correctly in a farmyard. She seemed more preoccupied by the shape of the pieces rather than the pictures and was determined not to accept any help.

  Line sat at the kitchen table with one of the cabin guest books.

  ‘It looks as if they were childhood friends,’ she said. ‘There’s even a photo of him here.’

  Wisting’s knees clicked as he got up to look, and Line slid the guest book across the table to him. She had reached the summer of 1988. Three photographs from a Polaroid camera were pasted in: one was of four adults around a table. Wisting recognized Bernhard Clausen. A second was of a fair-haired boy with a bare torso holding up a shore crab to the photographer, and the third was of three ten-year-old children sitting on a jetty, each with a crab line dangling in the water.

  Lennart, Tone and Aksel was the caption under the photo.

  Lennart was the boy who had been holding the crab between his fingers. From the remaining text, they could make out that the Skavhaug family had spent three days at the cabin.

  ‘Tone must be Aksel’s sister, then. There’s a clear family resemblance,’ Line suggested as she continued to browse.

  ‘They lived in the same street in Kolbotn,’ Wisting said.

  ‘Grandpa!’ Amalie shouted.

  Another piece had fallen into place. Wisting sat down with her again and pushed a cow’s head closer to its rightful position.

  Now that the investigation into the fire at the cabin was completed, it was officially a case of arson. Before he left the police station, he had gathered up all the information they had unearthed and presented it to Christine Thiis. She had acknowledged that there was sufficient evidence to charge Skavhaug with arson. Normally, he would have asked his colleagues in Oslo to conduct the arrest and have him transported to Larvik, but the initial encounter between the police and a possible perpetrator was always crucial. How the first few words came out when Aksel Skavhaug was told of the charge against him could be absolutely vital for the subsequent outcome. They therefore agreed that an Oslo patrol would meet Mortensen and Wisting at Lambertseter and remain in the background during the actual arrest.

  ‘He was there the following summer, too,’ Line said.

  She joined them on the floor and showed him another entry. Two boys lay close together on a bunk bed, each with a comic and a bowl of crisps. Aksel was glancing up in the photo. Beneath the picture, Lisa Clausen had written something about a rainy day.

  ‘The back room,’ Wisting commented. ‘The money was piled up on that bed.’

  ‘Could he have known about it?’ Line asked. ‘Was that why he set fire to it all?’

  Wisting looked at the time. He would have to leave soon. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ he said.

  Amalie put the cow’s head in place and Wisting clapped his hands. There were only two jigsaw pieces left.

  ‘This is in 1989,’ Line said, leafing through the guest book. ‘In 2003 they were twenty-five and twenty-six years old. They could have taken part in the robbery at the airport.’

  ‘In that case, why has the money stayed in the cabin for so many years?’ Wisting asked. ‘Why set fire to it now? What had he to gain by that?’

  Line sat down with them on the floor and tried to show Amalie where a pig would fit in, but she was firmly shoved aside. ‘Did you examine the rest of the room, or the rest of the cabin, when you were there?’ she asked.

  ‘Not thoroughly. We brought out the money. Then the place burned down before we had time for much else.’

  ‘Could there have been anything else in there?’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Whether there was anything in the cabin that Aksel Skavhaug might benefit from having disappear in the fire.’

  Wisting mulled this over as he watched Amalie turn one of the last pieces this way and that to make it fit. ‘There’s nothing to suggest anything of that nature,’ he said. ‘Not yet, at least.’

  A clicking noise came from the jigsaw puzzle as Amalie inserted the pig in the right place.

  ‘Have you heard anything more from that Dagbladet journalist?’ Line asked.

  ‘He phoned this afternoon,’ Wisting replied. ‘I got the impression that there was more to it than the fire. He’d spoken to someone who saw us carrying the boxes out of the cabin.’

  He could see from Line’s expression that she took exception to the idea of someone else digging into the case. ‘What did you say to him?’

&nb
sp; ‘I confirmed that we had turned up in connection with the deceased’s estate, nothing else.’

  Amalie found the place for the last piece of the puzzle and Wisting clapped his hands again. ‘You’re going to be a detective!’ he said, tickling her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Line said with a sigh. ‘She tried to take one of Maja’s toys today when I picked her up from Sofie’s.’

  ‘A two-year-old doesn’t know what ownership means, or that she has to ask permission to borrow something,’ Wisting reassured her.

  ‘In two weeks’ time she’ll start at nursery,’ Line said. ‘Maybe she’ll learn something there.’

  Wisting helped his grandchild put the jigsaw puzzle back in the box as Line prepared to leave.

  ‘I’m going to have a chat with VG about making something out of Simon Meier’s disappearance,’ she said. ‘He deserves that.’

  ‘Is there anything to go on?’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ Line said. ‘It would make a good story regardless. Besides, it gives me an excuse to conduct an alibi check. The airport robbery took place on the same day that Simon Meier went missing. A report would give me a reason to ask people where they were on that day.’

  Wisting nodded in agreement.

  Line held Amalie by the hand. ‘Can you take her for a few hours tomorrow, while I’m away?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happening tomorrow,’ Wisting answered. ‘Something might turn up.’

  ‘Just until early afternoon. Sofie’s taking Maja for her three-year check up in the morning and I’ve already made an appointment with the chief investigator in the missing-person case. I want to trace the third biker who was present on the night Lennart died.’

  ‘Tommy Pleym,’ Wisting told her, nodding. ‘OK, Amalie can stay here with me.’

  22

  The grey van was parked in the street outside the apartment block. Wisting drove past slowly for a second time and looked directly up at the apartment on the second floor. A woman stood smoking inside the glazed balcony. According to the information in the records, Aksel Skavhaug lived with a partner and two boys aged twelve and fourteen.