by Anne Holt
The pieces fell into place as soon as he mentioned the name. Steinar Aass was what the newspapers liked to call a financial acrobat. The man had been sued a dozen times for overstepping every mark you can think of when it came to financial regulations, but the cases never got as far as court. This could of course be due to the fact that he was a persecuted, but entirely law-abiding citizen. Another explanation could be the notorious undermanning and lack of resources in the economic crimes unit. Dagens Næringsliv, on the other hand, had almost, but not quite, managed to nail Steinar Aass in a seven-page article last summer. They had followed a trail of money from a criminal gang in Norway to enormous investments in land in Brazil. Along the beautiful Atlantic coast this money completed a rotation or two with the help of Steinar Aass and three of his friends from Akers Brygge, before it was miraculously removed from the washing machine as legitimate capital.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Geir, stretching his neck. ‘You’re right! It is him!’
The waitress moved around the table pouring coffee. I felt the caffeine hit home. My eyelids were no longer so heavy. The pains in my back that had plagued me for several hours were easing. Magnus Streng looked as if he were thinking about something before he placed a hand on the waitress’s arm.
‘I don’t suppose I could have a little drop of cognac, miss? Last night I had a really good Otard, which would definitely do the trick.’
She smiled and nodded.
Now that we had got used to his eccentricity, we were all smiling at Magnus Streng. Even Mikkel’s gang had given up on the uncertain sneering grins with which they had previously received the little man. Only Kari Thue had maintained her forbidding expression whoever she was looking at. With the exception of Mikkel, of course. I suddenly discovered that she was no longer making a point of ignoring us. On the contrary, she had actually started glancing over at our table. I couldn’t really work out which of us she was most interested in. But she definitely wasn’t smiling.
‘My colleagues over there,’ said Magnus, interrupting my train of thought. He nodded over towards the table where all the other doctors were sitting. ‘They have been unusually pleasant, I have to say.’
I didn’t think there was enough evidence to support the idea that the other seven doctors were pleasant. Whenever they had left their rooms, they had more or less stuck together, or sat alone buried in a book. Two of them had laptops, and had used their time on the mountain to make preparations for a conference that had started long ago, as far as I knew. Once they had taken care of all the cuts and injuries that first evening, they had more or less removed themselves from our little community at Finse 1222. And I had hardly seen them exchange two words with Magnus Streng.
‘They’ve left the entire arena to me,’ he said gently. ‘Something for which I will be eternally grateful. Oh look, here comes our friend. Already!’
‘Three million,’ said Johan with a broad grin, sitting down again.
‘That was quick,’ said Geir. ‘You got three million?’
‘No. Obviously I don’t want to do business with his sort. I was just curious.’
He looked at the glass of cognac that was just being placed in front of Dr Streng. The waitress looked at him enquiringly and he nodded.
‘I wanted to know which of my services could possibly be worth so much money. When he told me what he wanted, I managed to get him to treble the price before I started laughing.’
‘And what was it he wanted?’ asked Magnus Streng, his nose buried in the brandy balloon. ‘Transport, I assume?’
Johan stared at him.
‘Yes. If I drove him to the nearest town with a road link to Oslo, I would get three million kroner. He has to be in Brazil before Saturday, he reckons, because his youngest daughter is seriously ill. Apparently. When I refused, all of his kids were suddenly desperately ill. That didn’t help much either. I assume we’re talking about sick money rather than sick kids here ...’
Although I was following the conversation, I was also trying to keep an eye on the couple that I was no longer sure were a couple. They had started talking to each other. They were leaning forward, looking agitated and seemingly disagreeing about something.
‘Three million,’ said Berit, savouring the words. ‘Would it have been legal? I mean, could you have accepted that amount of money?’
Everybody except me looked at Magnus Streng. He was gradually acquiring the status of an omniscient being, a reference work who knew something about most things. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the fact that Geir Rugholmen was a lawyer.
‘Well,’ said Magnus, smacking his lips. ‘We do have freedom of agreement in this country. If the man paid entirely of his own free will, then that would probably be absolutely fine. However, if you had to demand the money, then I think the question is whether that would offend against common decency. Like in a poker game, or some other wager. But you said no?’
‘Of course.’
‘But could you have done it? Would it have been possible for you to get to Haugastøl in this weather?’
Johan shrugged his shoulders.
‘I could probably do it if the snowmobile held. And there’s no guarantee that it would. I’ve never gone on a long journey in such extreme cold. It’s a completely unnecessary risk. I never take unnecessary risks. Besides which ...’
Everyone around the table was following the conversation between Johan and Magnus with interest. I was trying to listen to what was going on between the two foreigners at the same time. The odd word reached my ears, but I didn’t recognize the language. I know enough Turkish to be able to identify it at least. Nor was it Arabic. Nefis has already started teaching Ida this third language so that later in life she will be able to relate to the Koran without troublesome interference, as she occasionally says with an ironic smile.
‘Besides which Steinar Aass wouldn’t have lasted five minutes,’ Johan went on. T would have arrived in Haugastøl with a dead man.’
The thought seemed to amuse him. He took the glass of cognac and sipped at the contents. He was still smiling broadly, as if he had just taken somebody in completely.
‘Excuse me ...’
The Kurd, or perhaps I should say the man I had thought was a Kurd up to now, had got to his feet. He approached our table hesitantly, looking from Berit to Geir and back again. Then he smiled stiffly at Magnus Streng and Johan. He avoided looking at me altogether. This made me wonder if I was wrong to assume that he didn’t know I had seen him draw his gun.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘But I wondered if my wife and I might put forward a request?’
He spoke such good Norwegian that at first I didn’t understand what he was saying. He had almost no accent; if it hadn’t been for his appearance and old-fashioned clothes, I would immediately have taken him for a Norwegian. It was of course slightly embarrassing that I had failed to notice this earlier, after more than twenty-four hours in the same hotel.
‘Of course,’ said Berit. ‘How can I help?’
‘We would really like ...’
He stroked his beard and looked over at the woman. She was still sitting at the table. From time to time she glanced up, but only briefly, before casting her eyes down once more in a way that now seemed demonstratively servile, given what I had seen earlier.
‘We would really like to be moved to the apartment wing,’ he said quietly.
‘I see,’ said Berit with a frown. ‘I can ...’
Everybody except me looked at Kari Thue.
‘I can understand that,’ Berit said in a friendly tone of voice. ‘But I’m afraid it’s impossible. We’ve allowed all the entrances to become blocked with snow. Besides which I have to say ...’ she hesitated and looked at Johan. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, ‘...that it would be indefensible in any case to let anyone go outside in the present circumstances. Yesterday we did open up a passageway between the two entrances, but it’s been blocked by snow again for a long time. So ...’<
br />
She raised her shoulders apologetically.
‘It’s not possible.’
‘It’s extremely important to us,’ said the man.
‘As I said, I can understand that. But it’s just not possible to — ’
‘But if we make our way across at our own risk? If we could just have a little help to clear the snow around the entrance, then —’
‘I would stop you,’ Johan said calmly. ‘And if it became necessary, I would lock you in. There is nothing to discuss. Nobody is going outside. Nobody. OK?’
The man swallowed. He ran his hand over the thick beard once again. A few seconds passed before he nodded.
‘I understand. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘I can see why they don’t want to be here,’ Berit mumbled once the man had gone back to his table. ‘Hardly any of us can cope with Kari Thue. It must be worst of all for them.’
Everyone around the table murmured in agreement.
But I thought I knew better.
I didn’t think the armed man was afraid of Kari Thue.
I didn’t even think he found it unpleasant to be in the same room as her. On the contrary, Kari Thue’s aggression the previous evening had reinforced the role he wanted to play. There were completely different reasons for the fact that he and the woman in the headscarf wanted to move across to the apartment wing. They wanted to be in the same building as the passengers from the mystery carriage.
I didn’t quite know why, but of course I was beginning to have my suspicions.
iv
Roar Hanson was becoming more and more of a puzzle.
The meal was over, as Magnus Streng had cheerfully declared after a warm and slightly too long thank-you-for-dinner speech. Geir and Berit had once again tried to persuade me to accept a proper bed. Since we were fewer in number than yesterday, I could have a room of my own. I refused.
As soon as dinner was over I allowed myself to be hauled up the three steps into the lobby. I feel like a child in a pram whenever other people take control of my chair. The very last thing I want is to feel like a child. It was bad enough being one. In other words, the idea of someone carrying me up to another floor was unbearable. In the end Berit gave in and suggested they should swap one of the short sofas in the Millibar for a longer one from Blåstuen. That would give me the opportunity to lie down, at least.
I agreed, but had to wait until the lobby was empty before I lay down. Falling asleep in the chair with other people around was one thing. Lying down in full view was something else altogether. As I sat there trying to suppress one yawn after another, I felt like the hostess of an all too successful party that no one wanted to leave. It was very noticeable that the atmosphere had lifted once again. Presumably this had something to do with the fact that the bar had been open. With all this day had brought, I suspected that even the most abstemious of us might have gazed too deeply into the glass. And I certainly didn’t begrudge them that.
‘Could I ...’
My eyes snapped open.
There he was again – Roar Hanson.
‘Sit down,’ I said, not quite as pleasantly as earlier.
‘Why did you lie?’ he asked brusquely.
‘I didn’t lie.’
‘You did. You denied that Cato Hammer had been murdered.’
‘No, I didn’t, in fact. When you ... aired your suspicions I asked you why you thought he had been murdered. I denied nothing.’
He sat down hesitantly. It seemed as if he were trying to reconstruct the conversation we had had before the fourteen-year-old in red started screaming about her macabre discovery in the delivery bay. He must have had a good memory, because he seemed noticeably less reproachful when he sighed, leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees, and started again:
‘I know who murdered Cato,’ he said so quietly that I only just heard him. ‘And keeping that knowledge to myself is a great trial.’
I was a police officer for more than twenty years. I haven’t worked it out, but since I was involved with murder investigations for the majority of those years, I am unlikely to be exaggerating if I say that I have dealt with something like two hundred such cases. In almost every one, someone like Roar Hanson pops up. Someone who claims that he knows. Not infrequently it’s the perpetrator himself, trying to make himself immune from suspicion, a tactic so stupid that there ought to be a warning notice about it on anything that could possibly be used as a murder weapon. I have yet to meet an investigator who doesn’t immediately turn his or her attention to the person who maintains that he knows. People should also remember the ninth commandment. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.
Roar Hanson didn’t look as if he were bearing false witness.
On the contrary, he was showing all the signs of spiritual torment. His skin was damp and sickly grey, and his hair was so greasy that it was plastered to his scalp in lank strands. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, although I couldn’t decide whether he was actually crying. He let his head droop between his shoulders. Anyone else would no doubt have laid a consoling hand on his back. Instead I moved away a fraction.
‘I should have done something back then,’ he said.
He paused.
‘What?’ I said as indifferently as I could manage.
‘I should have ...’
Suddenly he straightened up. He rubbed the back of his hand across his lips. It didn’t help a great deal. He still had a thick white deposit at both corners of his mouth.
‘It was when the two of us were working in the Public Information Service. I mean, Cato was ...’ He took a deep breath and held it as if he needed to brace himself. ‘I really can’t understand why I didn’t raise an objection at the time. Why I didn’t do anything. And Margrete ... I can’t bear it. Of course I couldn’t have known, but it seemed so ... unthinkable that he would ... You are a police officer, aren’t you? Is it true what they’re saying?’
The Public Information Service?
For meat and poultry? Fruit and vegetables?
I had no idea what he was talking about. In my eyes he looked as if he were about to tip over into some kind of paranoid psychosis; he had started looking around as if he thought somebody was about to attack him the whole time. Since the closest people were sitting several metres away from us and were involved in a noisy game of Trivial Pursuit, it was quite comical. Sometimes he struck himself hard on his injured shoulder, as if pain could be driven out by pain. Since it was impossible to make any sense of his disjointed narrative, I decided it was appropriate to lie.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What people are saying is true. I am with the police. You can talk to me.’
‘Do you believe in vengeance?’
‘What?’
Roar Hanson leaned even closer. I could feel small, sour puffs of his breath on my face. I didn’t blink, but tried to lock his eyes with mine.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked slowly.
‘Do you think it’s ethically defensible to avenge a great injustice?’
As I searched for the answer he wanted, I saw Adrian coming towards us. His cap was pulled so far down that I couldn’t see his eyes at all. Since I had realized long ago that he and Roar Hanson weren’t exactly fond of each other, I raised a warning hand to make him stay away.
It didn’t work.
‘Why the fuck are you sitting here?’
Adrian thumped the priest on the shoulder. I didn’t even have time to protest before the boy hissed:
‘Stop bothering Hanne, OK!’
‘Adrian,’ I said sharply. ‘He’s not bothering me! Go away!’
It was too late. Roar Hanson got up slowly, like an old man. He blinked a couple of times and a controlled, composed expression came over his face. The smile he managed to force was so strained that his lips disappeared between his teeth.
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘You can’t ...’
He didn’t hear me. I didn’t take my eyes off him until he set
off up the stairs, and disappeared.
‘Why did you do that?’ I said to Adrian, trying not to sound as livid as I felt. ‘That’s the second time you’ve disturbed ... destroyed a conversation I was having with that man!’
‘But I ... I thought
It was only a few hours since Adrian had been a weeping little boy. When he came strolling across the floor to face up to the priest, he had regained something of the truculent, aggressive persona he wore as a disguise. Now he seemed completely helpless once again, utterly incapable of grasping my lack of gratitude.
‘Yes, but ...’ he stammered. ‘But ... I th ... I thought ...’
‘Thought? Yes, what do you actually think? That I’m completely helpless? And what exactly have you got against that man? Has he done something to you? Have you done something to him?’
There were too many questions for Adrian.
He went off without saying a word.
When I think back, I can see that lives could probably have been saved if the boy hadn’t come along and interrupted Roar Hanson’s incoherent story.
But of course I didn’t know that at the time.
Fortunately for Adrian, I have to add. I was already so furious with the boy that I didn’t even realize where he’d gone.
i
I tried to get to sleep. Perhaps I tried too hard. For several hours I had longed for this moment, when I would be left alone in the lobby. Berit had found me sheets and blankets and a pillow, and I had counted on falling asleep the moment the three Germans, very reluctantly and with snivelling protests, were packed off to bed by the staff at midnight. The bar had closed at ten. Mikkel’s gang had started throwing paperback books soaked in beer onto the crackling fire down in Blåstuen. They managed to create quite a lot of grey, acrid smoke before three of the staff came rushing in and stopped them. The beer taps were then turned off immediately.
Sleep just would not come.
I was comfortable. The sofa was nice and firm, and long and wide enough so that I could turn over without too much trouble. The bedclothes smelled faintly of chlorine and apples. My eyes closed, but still the pictures in my mind’s eye kept me awake.
