But there was another canvas to paint. ‘And then you went to Tønsberg to have it out with Karl Slåtthaug?’
He nodded and flashed me a sincere smile, exceedingly pleased with himself. ‘Yes, but you do understand, don’t you? He was the biggest pig of them all. He ran organised crime, sent innocent children out of the country and to the very worst places, and organised abuse of children here in Norway and abroad.’
‘Can you document this?’
‘What he was doing? It was clear enough at the trial. The only problem was that they couldn’t prove anything. He’d been much too smart for them. But I talked to a police officer in the recesses. Several times. He told me about their suspicions – well, what they were sure about, but regrettably couldn’t prove. And then he complained loudly about the defence counsels and how they distorted everything that was said.’
‘Do you remember this officer’s name?’
‘No, it … But he was past his prime.’
‘Hamre?’
‘Mm … maybe. But I’m not sure. I can’t give you a name.’ Then it was as though we were back talking in completely neutral, natural tones – two men who had finished their silent prayer and were conversing politely over coffee.
‘Can you tell me what happened in Tønsberg?’
‘Well, we agreed to meet. Slåtthaug refused to see me in his home, so we met in the town centre somewhere. He took me to a pub, in what had once been the fire station. He drank beer. I kept to mineral water. I didn’t feel any need to provoke him. On the contrary. I knew all about him, didn’t I. This time it was more like a … well, a trap. To complete the task God had set me. He drank quite a lot – first beer, then shorts. But this pub, there were two good-natured women who ran it. They kept an eye on their clientele. When they considered he’d had enough, they refused to serve him and we went on, to another place, closer to the river or whatever it’s called there.’
‘They call it Kanalen.’
He nodded in an absent-minded way. ‘I have no idea what he thought about why I was there. After a while he began to boast about all the things he’d done and got away with, and especially more recently, with all the reception centres for refugees, several of them only for children. It was like stealing sweeties from a jar in a shop, he said and looked at me expecting me to agree with him. In a way he was a charming fellow, Veum. But I saw through him. He was a demon, one of Satan’s human minions. Recognisable, like a thistle in a rose bed.’ He smiled dimly, pleased with his choice of image. ‘Later, after we’d left the bar, we strolled along the quayside. He had to relieve himself, of course, went to the edge, undid his flies and readied himself.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just gave him a shove. What happened next, I’m not quite sure. Perhaps he hit his head on something on the way down. Perhaps his heart stopped, too. If he had one, that is. It was cold, Veum. There was a thin sheet of ice on the … Kanal. I watched him sink into the water and stood waiting for him to come up again. But he didn’t. He stayed down. It was deeper there than in Frøviken, if I can put it like that.’
Once again Storebø managed to shake me with the way he described such dramatic events as though they were everyday incidents he was talking about, not actions that would lead to a dead man being pulled from the sea in the same place a couple of days later, when he was safely back in his sitting room.
He leaned across the table. ‘What about you, Veum? Are you a child of the Lord or a disciple of Satan?’
I straightened up. Automatically I flexed my muscles. What was this? The opening phase of another attack, on the last of the original four accused men? Perhaps he didn’t accept the police decision not to prosecute? It was just the proof that was lacking in my case, too? Was that why he hadn’t protested when I rang and invited myself over a couple of hours ago?
‘I’m not a believer, no. I may as well admit it.’
He looked at me rather sadly.
‘I mean, who can believe in a god when you look around the world today? I know you believers say we humans have a choice, that we can choose between good and evil, that we have to carry the responsibility for all the misery ourselves. But I find it difficult to imagine a so-called merciful God who sits quietly watching small children die in their thousands because of a drought in Africa or other places. Are the children responsible; are they to blame? Children being killed and maimed when the homes they live in are bombed by people from the neighbouring country or their own government forces. Have they chosen that? And what about the children who are abused and whose lives are ruined by close relatives, in their own homes, in their own beds? Why is there no one holding a celestial hand over them? No one is so safe in danger as a flock of God’s children, we say. Is that true? Unfortunately not. I heard someone say once: “God might have created the earth. But then he rolled over on his side and died. Afterwards we had to manage as best we could.”’
‘The small children, they’re victims of something much greater and more dangerous than them. I’ve said it before – pure evil.’
‘You believe in a personified devil as well, do you?’
He had become serious now. ‘The devil exists, Veum. Don’t doubt for a second about that. He’s sitting like a dark power behind all the evil that takes place – war, famine, abuse – and life is a long, futile struggle against him and his disciples. Do you remember my mentioning that Tora and I come from Telavåg?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Even though I was only three years old when our village was razed, I’ve heard it described many times since and I’ve also studied what happened in great depth. What we had to go through there, all of us, was the result of systematic, bureaucratic evil. What Terboven and his colleagues did in Telavåg can be compared with what Eichmann and others carried out from their desks, so to speak, single-handedly administering the whole of the Holocaust. They were “desk murderers” and in my eyes they represented pure evil. There’s simply no excuse for what they did. Six million lives they had on their consciences, if you include only the Jews. And here in Norway. The consequences of what happened in Telavåg formed the rest of our lives – Tora and me. Our father died in Sachsenhausen. Our mother was never the same.’
‘But you’re saying it yourself. It was bureaucracy, desk planning. Created by humans with a clear, political end, a basic ideology and contempt for those of other races and opposing political views.’
‘Yep, you’ve got a mouth on you, I’ll give you that.’ He made a movement with his hands, as though brushing them clean. ‘But someone has to do the dirty work too, Veum. Someone has to drive out the demons, purge the world of vermin and complete the task they’ve been sent here to do.’
‘So, is this the motivation for what you did?’
‘Have you read the Revelations?’
‘Only in part.’
‘Then let me refer you to chapter 22, verse 15: “For without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and idolaters, and whosever loveth and maketh a lie.” They deserved their fates and I say that, even though one of them was my brother-in-law.’ Suddenly he raised his arms as if to bless me. ‘Praise be the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!’
Then he sank back in his chair and sat watching me with the same amiable smile with which he had greeted me. I had to accept what he said was true, but even now I found it difficult to imagine him in the situations he had described, as an avenger on earth for a raging God. To all appearances he was more a case for psychiatry than for the police.
After a while I stood up. ‘Well … I don’t think we’re going to get much further now, Storebø. But there are some surviving relatives – not grieving exactly, I have to admit – but nevertheless without answers. I recommend you contact the police and tell them what you’ve told me. I daren’t say what will happen. It’s also outside my jurisdiction, insofar as I have any.’
He eyed me from a distance, as though only partly taking in what I said. ‘You’re leaving?’ He got up, too.
I kept him in my field of v
ision as he came round the table, still unsure what he might do. Once again, consciously or unconsciously, I flexed the muscles in my stomach, thighs and arms.
He held out a hand. ‘Thank you for the talk, Veum. God bless you. May Jesus be with you. Drive carefully.’
Again it felt as if we were two old boys who had just had a cup of coffee together and now were leaving to go our separate ways. I was relatively pleased. I had found out what I had come to hear. In that sense, my goal was achieved. But it didn’t feel as if I was on my way up to the podium to receive the applause from the crowd. On the contrary. It felt more like I had been caught taking illegal substances and had to travel home in shame, without a single medal on my chest.
He accompanied me out onto the steps and stood watching me as I got into my car. He raised a hand in a farewell wave as I started up the engine and turned back onto the main road. In the mirror I could see him standing there until he was lost behind a clump of trees.
46
I passed the chapel with the noticeboard by the entrance. I thought to myself that they might have to bring in cover for Pastor Storebø this Sunday. If he followed my advice he would be busy elsewhere.
I followed the main road north. After a few kilometres I noticed a big, grey SUV had appeared behind me. It accelerated, then braked and stayed at a suitable distance from me, ten to twenty metres. In the rear-view mirror I scoured the windscreen, but the reflection made it difficult to see who was behind the wheel.
On a slight upward incline, the SUV accelerated again. It occupied the left-hand lane as if it wanted to overtake, but when it was alongside me it swung hard in the opposite direction and thumped into my door. It was a sudden movement, but subconsciously I had been prepared and I twisted the wheel away so that we remained side by side up the slope. I glanced across, but there was no one in the passenger seat and it was impossible to see who was driving.
Before we reached the brow of the hill, the SUV braked and I broke free from its hold. I put my foot down and drove way over the speed limit. In the mirror I saw the driver do the same and come after me with much more horsepower, like a motorised knight chasing an outlaw down a country lane – Robin Hood in a grey Corolla.
Soon we were on an arterial road. We passed a mall, but it came too quickly for me to consider turning in. Now he was at my shoulder again. But this time he didn’t try to overtake. He drove straight into me from the back, with such an impact that I had difficulty steering and lurched forwards. There he was again. Another big bang. My car swerved, skidded sideways, I twisted the wheel to straighten up while pressing the brake pedal softly to retain control, like driving on ice. We went over the crest of a hill, and now the road descended into a valley. In the middle of the hill I saw another car coming towards us. It braked and veered to the side as far as it could go. I managed to straighten my car just in time and raced past. I just had time to think, now at least someone will warn the police, when the SUV smashed into my rear end again, with an even greater impact this time. At last I caught a glimpse of the driver. It was Svendsbø.
It was lucky it was early in the day and there was little traffic on the roads. He powered up alongside me, wrenched the wheel round and hit me as precisely as possible in the bonnet. There was a loud bang and my car skidded to the right. I tried to wrest the wheel back, but there was something wrong. It wasn’t obeying.
I stamped on the brake pedal again while feverishly pulling at the wheel, to no avail. I just saw the passenger’s door of the robust vehicle next to me. We were approaching the bottom of the hill. To the left of us was a large lake, to the right an open field, which met a tract of forest. Up on the hill in front of us a juggernaut was starting its descent.
Several things happened more or less at the same time. The SUV on my left lurched to the side and skidded forwards with its brakes screaming. My car hit the high concrete kerb on the right with a bang, the Corolla rose into the air and was hurled over the edge of the road. I managed to grab the door handle before the car rolled over, once, twice. Then it met something hard and came to a quivering halt, I heard a hissing noise around me and everything went black, for how long I had no idea.
Opening my eyes, I found myself wrapped in an airbag. It lay like a duvet against my face and in a way it seemed as if I had been asleep, for a long time. There was a strong smell of petrol, but the car was upright, with the front of the bonnet concertinaed against a huge rock. I tried to move. The seat belt was hard against my chest, like a collar, but I was unable to locate the buckle. My whole body ached and a piece of music was playing in my head; it was like nothing I had heard before – atonal and shrill and much too loud.
One leg was stuck, as in a vice, but I could feel it tingling and move my toes up and down. The window beside me had shattered, but I wasn’t able to get myself into a position to squeeze through. I tried to stick out my head to see up the road, but I couldn’t find the right angle, and when I tried to turn a little bit more, my neck locked. Then I heard a terrible explosion from above me. I peered up, but all I could see was black smoke rising into the air and filling the sky like an ink blot spreading across a sheet of paper. In the end, the whole sheet was covered.
In the distance I heard a voice shouting something I couldn’t quite catch. Even further away I heard the wail of sirens.
47
The paramedics strode over the concrete kerb and ran down the gentle slope. They were two young uniformed ambulance staff, one sturdy lad with short, blond hair and a red-haired woman with her hair gathered in a ponytail at the back. I was still stuck in the car, but they managed to prise open the door on the opposite side and were clearly reassured by what they could see and the way I reacted. ‘We’ll have to get you out,’ they said. ‘The police and the fire brigade are on the way. Looks like we’ll have to lever you out somehow.’
‘How’s the other car?’
They ignored my question. The young man said: ‘My colleague, Elise, will stay with you. I’ll go up to see the rest of the crew.’
Once again I heard sirens wailing in the distance. After he had gone I repeated my question: ‘How did the other car get on?’
She looked at me with a serious expression. ‘Did you know the driver?’
Everything seemed to stand still. ‘The driver?’
‘Yes.’
Then it struck me who she was talking about. ‘Yes. I mean no. But I know who he is.’
She went quiet.
‘What happened, I asked you.’ For the third time actually.
‘We’ll talk about it later. Try to relax now.’
Up by the edge of the road more uniformed officers appeared, this time from the fire service. I saw them exchange a few words before two of them came down the same slope. One had a crowbar in his hand, the other metal shears. I began to suspect that my old Toyota would never be the same again.
The two firemen introduced themselves by their Christian names: Lars and Harald. They went to work with a will. They cut the seat belt. Using the crowbar, they managed to free the leg that was stuck, and while Lars was carefully loosening things around me, Harald grabbed me under the armpits and slowly pulled me through the open door on the opposite side. It took them barely two minutes to complete the job. Then, on trembling legs, I was outside, gently moving one bit of my body after another, and with growing relief able to confirm that most still seemed to work. If it was Hans Storebø’s valedictory blessings that had done the trick, it was possible I would have to rethink the influence of higher powers. For the time being I ascribed my survival to good fortune.
I looked up at the road. The black smoke was thinning, but still hung there like a storm warning. Two police officers I didn’t know were standing around waiting as I plodded up with Elise, the paramedic, behind me as a backstop. As no one had answered my question, I would have to find out for myself.
Right at the top, I stopped. There was a fire engine and a traffic police vehicle, as well as an ambulance. The fire engine’s hose was
out and what remained of the big, grey SUV was still dripping water. It stood with the bonnet wrapped round a solid tree trunk on the other side of the road. The whole of the front was black, as though someone had drawn a tightly-fitting mask over it, and there was a stench of burning everywhere. The blackened tree looked as if it had grown through the bonnet, which was sliced in two. There were still glowing embers in the trunk above the roof of the vehicle. Several firemen, two police officers and the young paramedic from the ambulance stood in a semi-circle around it, deep in discussion. Further away was the juggernaut that had been coming towards us, now at an angle to the road. A big, burly man in dark-blue overalls was giving a statement to a uniformed officer and gesturing.
A civilian car approached from the north. It was waved on past the rapidly growing queue of traffic and it pulled up behind the police car. Two old acquaintances stepped out and quickly took stock. Hamre and Solheim. When they caught sight of me, Hamre muttered something and they came in my direction, both of them.
‘Veum? Out getting some fresh air?’ Hamre said, with a wry smile. But he turned serious when he stopped in front of me. ‘Everything alright?’
‘Seems so. Bit rickety here and there, and I’ve got a kink in my neck, but everything seems to be where it used to be.’
Wolves at the Door Page 25
