The sheriff and his assistant had jumped out and stood waiting as Viken and Jebsen walked over.
– Tried to call ahead, Storaker told them. – That Roger Åheim is the type that only answers the phone when he feels like it.
– Wouldn’t we all like to be like that, murmured Viken.
The woman who opened the door must have been over eighty. Her white hair was cut short and had recently been permed. It made her look like a sad old poodle, the chief inspector thought. But she was wearing a tracksuit and trainers, and looked in good shape for her age. Sheriff Storaker told her who they were, and she responded that of course she knew who he was. She subjected the others to a close scrutiny.
– The reason we’re here is we want a word with Roger Åheim, Storaker explained. – That would be your son, if I’m not mistaken. Is he around?
– You just wait a moment, the old woman croaked. – I’ll go and see.
She closed the door behind her.
– Funny, said Viken. – When you live somewhere like this, you ought to know who’s home and who isn’t.
He wandered across the yard to the barn, returning just as the woman opened up again.
– What’s it about? she asked, not exactly forthcoming, but the sheriff seemed to be as friendly as he was big, and without raising his voice he said: – Just go and fetch that lad of yours, will you, and then we’ll tell you what it’s about. Maybe we could come inside for a moment.
Grudgingly the old woman let them into the house.
The man who came down the stairs was in his late fifties. He was wearing tracksuit bottoms too. There was no hair left at the front of his head, but the large pores showed clearly where it had once been. The rest was combed back smoothly. He was wearing a T-shirt and looked like he’d been pumping iron. His skin was so golden-brown that Viken wondered if he’d spent most of the autumn in some kind of banana-ripening facility.
– Well I’ll be … exclaimed the man.
Storaker beamed good-naturedly.
– No need for me to introduce myself, Åheim. These are my colleagues from the Oslo police.
– Well, well, that’s posh.
– I’ll get straight to the point, the sheriff continued. – A few years ago you were sentenced for that business of shooting lynx. You were also found guilty of attacking a man with a broken bottle.
Roger Åheim opened his arms. A broad gold chain jangled around his wrist.
– It’s about time you let all that stuff go, Kjell Roar.
– There’s a lot of rumours floating about the village, Storaker went on, clearly not too happy about being on first-name terms with the owner of the farm.
– Rumours, yeah, plenty of them about. Åheim winked at Nina. – More rumours up here than there are mosquitoes at midsummer.
– Some people say you engage in illegal hunting activities, Storaker persisted.
Åheim came down to the foot of the staircase. Even wearing his clogs, he was half a head shorter than Viken.
– You got nothing better to do than run around listening to gossip?
– It’s all part of my job, Storaker said. – But if I suggest to you that people have been hunting bears up here recently, what would you have to say to that?
Åheim shook his head.
– Don’t believe a word of it.
Nina Jebsen interrupted.
– Would you know about it?
He let his gaze wander slowly up and down her before turning back to the sheriff.
– Now I’m going to be damned honest with you, Kjell Roar. I keep away from stuff like that. None of my business how other people wipe their arses.
Showing no hint of what he thought of people who announced that they were going to be completely honest, Viken said: – You were quoted in the local newspaper, Glåmdalen. He pulled out the printout. – You and one of your relatives, Odd Gunnar Nytorpet … Someone should catch a hungry bear and release it in the woods near Oslo, then we’d see what they said, these bureaucrats and politicians who are so bloody set on taking care of all the predators.
– For Chrissakes, Åheim exclaimed. – That must’ve been at least ten years ago. You’re not trying to tell me you think any of us actually meant it.
No one answered.
– This is a free country. People can say what they like.
Nina Jebsen said: – It’s not a bad idea to think before you speak. Especially when what you say is going to end up in a newspaper.
Viken turned as the living-room door opened behind him. A young woman stood there. From southern Asia, somewhere round there, he noted. She was holding a baby in her arms.
– Got a visitor? he asked Åheim.
– Visitor, no, this here is mine.
It wasn’t clear whether he meant the woman or the child. Probably both, Viken decided. Sixty years old and he fathers a nipper, good luck with that. He couldn’t help wondering how the young woman had ended up out here on this farm. Åheim had probably fetched her back home with him after a trip to Thailand.
– What do you use the barn for? he asked.
Åheim jumped. He took the bundle out of the woman’s arms and began to rock it back and forth, though it looked to be already fast asleep.
– The barn? Some hay, pig feed, tools … Why d’you ask?
– Come over with us, let’s take a look.
Åheim hesitated.
– It’s locked.
– I saw that. Monster of a bloody padlock. It’s not inconceivable you have the key.
– I rent out part of the barn. I don’t have that key.
Viken put on his friendliest grin.
– What can we do about that, Storaker?
The sheriff was already on his way out the door.
– I’ve got some bolt-cutters in the car. Absolute bloody man-eaters, they are.
– Shit, muttered Åheim, and handed the bundle back to the woman. – I’ll have a look, see if I don’t have an extra one somewhere.
He disappeared upstairs. The woman flashed them a brilliant smile.
– Bite to eat and a nice cup of coffee, if you feel like it?
Her local accent was so strong that even Viken might have had to change his version of her story.
Roger Åheim let them into the barn through a side door. Storaker had a powerful torch with him. A plough and a small tractor stood in the middle of the vast space. Two hay pens further in.
– I note you’ve got cables leading out here, said Viken. – What do you use the electricity for?
Roger Åheim wrinkled his nose.
– Machinery. High-pressure hoses. Battery chargers.
– Show us the fuse box.
The farmer hesitated.
– What d’you say your name was?
Viken hadn’t introduced himself and wasn’t about to do so now.
– You don’t need to know that to show us a few bloody fuses.
Åheim turned to the sheriff.
– Little awkward this, Kjell Roar, he murmured. – Got some bits and pieces …
He went up to a door, opened it, flipped the light switch. On a table stood an apparatus unmistakably designed for the distilling of alcohol. Four or five white plastic containers. Storaker took the cap off one and sniffed.
– Top quality this, Åheim.
– Personal use only, the farmer assured him.
The sheriff roared with laughter.
– Won’t be much left of your liver if you pour this lot down yourself. There’s got to be more than fifty litres here.
– Now I’m going to be damned honest with you, Kjell Roar, Åheim announced once more. – A couple of the lads do come by now and then to pick up a drop. No money changes hands at all.
Viken left it to the sheriff to worry about the farmer’s health while he tried to open a cupboard in the corner of the room.
– Is there a single door on this farm that isn’t locked? he complained.
Åheim fiddled with his keys.
– Got some stuff in there that has to be kept under lock and key. I’ve always been the cautious type. Especially with all these kids you get running around up here …
– Open it, let’s have a look at this stuff of yours.
The three shelves inside the cupboard were filled with cases of solvent and rat poison and tins of treatment for insects and weeds. There were also two small bottles. To his embarrassment, Viken had to get his spectacles out to read the labels.
– What’s the ethane for? he murmured.
– I used to keep pigs. Now and then I had to make sure they slept.
Viken stared at Åheim over the rim of his glasses.
– Ethane isn’t exactly a sleeping potion.
– Perfectly legal to use it, Åheim responded.
– And what is … Zoletil?
The farmer took the bottle and studied it.
– Is that still there? That’s from the time when I worked in Farming and Fisheries. Now and then we had to tranquillise some of the larger animals. He handed it back. – People reckon I’m the best shot in the area.
At the back of the shelf, Viken found another two small bottles. He peered at one of the labels.
– Damn, he finally exclaimed, and handed it to Jebsen.
– Pentothal-Natrium, she read, – to be injected, contains thiopental natric. Five hundred milligrams …
Viken held the farmer with his eyes and didn’t let go.
– Where did you get this stuff from?
Åheim shrugged his shoulders.
– Something I was looking after for the vet. He used it if we had problems with the ordinary tranquillisers. Years since we last needed it. I must have forgotten to give it back.
As they stood outside waiting while the farmer padlocked the door, Viken said:
– Now I want you to show us any cellars you might have, locked or not.
Nina Jebsen put her hand on his arm.
– There’s a loft space in there, she exclaimed.
Viken frowned.
– Behind his distillery the roof is sloping, but it’s flat at the other end.
– Quite correct, Åheim affirmed as he clicked the lock shut. – Just a lot of junk up there.
– Does that still fit? Viken asked caustically, with a nod at his bunch of keys. – Or does Storaker have to go back to his car and fetch his bolt-cutters?
– How do you get up there? he continued when they were once again standing in the half-darkness.
– I know someone who’s in the Oslo police force, Åheim volunteered.
If this was an attempt to distract matters with a bit of small talk, it failed completely. Viken merely turned his back on him.
– Go and fetch us a ladder, Storaker suggested.
– Bit tricky, that, was Åheim’s response. But then he gave up and disappeared in the direction of the outhouse. By the time he came back, his mood had sunk a few more degrees.
– There’s no need for us to spend the whole bloody day in here.
Storaker positioned the ladder and started climbing up, with the chief inspector holding it.
– Another door up here, he reported after he had reached the platform below the roof.
– That’s the bit I rent out, Åheim yelled up to him. – Don’t have the key for that.
Storaker gestured to his assistant, who disappeared off out to the car.
– What d’you say his name was, the bloke you rent it out to? he called down to Åheim, who didn’t answer.
Within a minute Storaker was finally able to show what his celebrated bolt-cutters were good for. With one tug the padlock was wrenched off, and he shone his torch into the space behind the door.
– Well I’ll be … he muttered, so loudly that they heard him down on the barn floor.
Viken and Jebsen climbed up. Storaker pointed to a loft space with a little peephole directly under the crest of the roof. Two large freezers stood on the floor.
– Bit of a job to get these up here.
Viken bent double and crept into the space. He opened one of the freezers and pulled out a deep-frozen straw sack, cut it open with a penknife.
– The man is right, he exclaimed as a large, cat-like head came into view. – This here is quite definitely a bit tricky.
35
Friday 19 October
ANITA ELVESTRAND HAD put the box of wine back in the fridge; now she had to go and fetch it again. She’d been counting the glasses and stopped at five, but thinking about it she realised that one more wouldn’t do any harm. She had a good head for wine. Drinking wine made her feel good, never whingeing or quarrelsome.
They were talking about slimming on the TV. That professor who always wore the bow tie and the stripy jacket and looked like a circus ringmaster was sitting there raving on about what he called health fascism. That was actually a bloody good expression, Anita nodded to him. One of the few professors worth listening to. Wine was good for the heart, researchers had discovered, and even that idiot of a local doctor she’d ended up with had to agree. A little wine each day, he said, but no more than one glass. Yesterday she hadn’t drunk a drop, so she was still in credit.
She’d been up and rung on Miriam’s bell, wanted to invite her down for a drink, but she wasn’t home. She had been talking about going away for the weekend with some friends, but right up until the last minute Anita had hoped she wouldn’t go. Miriam was the best person she knew, she thought as she emptied the rest of the glass. She must be careful not to disturb her too often. Mustn’t use her up. Even if it wasn’t convenient, Miriam never got annoyed when Anita rang on her doorbell. She’d had a visitor yesterday, and Anita knew straight away that it was a man. Even so Miriam gave her a moment and stood chatting with her out in the corridor. Her skin was so soft when she hugged her, it smelt so good. Later in the evening her suspicions about a gentleman caller were confirmed. The ceiling was thin, and you would have to be deaf as a post not to hear what was going on up there. And not just the once either. Anita thought it was odd. Miriam was going to be a doctor, and she was always trying to help. On Sundays she went to some Catholic church or other with nuns and monks. Now and then Anita actually thought of her as being from another world altogether. And then she let herself be had up there, screaming away like any horny girl. But it didn’t embarrass Anita to sit and listen to it all. On the contrary, she was so happy for Miriam she almost felt like joining in herself.
Miriam had popped in earlier in the day. Anita asked if she had a boyfriend, because she didn’t seem the type for one-night stands. Miriam had been evasive.
– I don’t quite know how it’s going to work out.
– Are you in love? Anita wanted to know.
– More than that.
– Then what’s the problem?
It wasn’t just out of curiosity she asked. Miriam didn’t look happy. Usually she looked so calm and content, but now there were shadows under her eyes, and her gaze was flickering and anxious.
– He’ll never leave his family, she said. – He isn’t like that.
– Is it that doctor from where you were doing your practical? Was it him here yesterday?
Her suspicions were confirmed.
– Well then, it’s probably not a good idea to get too involved.
Miriam sat staring out of the window for a while before she answered.
– Maybe that’s the reason. That I can never have him.
Anita had given up counting the glasses. It didn’t much matter. She had the whole of Saturday to recover. On Sunday she would fetch Victoria, hair neatly combed and stone-cold sober. But she might well go out on Saturday night. Never drank much when she was out in town. Over and over again her solicitor had told her how important that was. She did have a chance to get Victoria back, but only if she kept her nose really clean.
Someone rang the bell. She jumped. Had Miriam come back after all? She usually knocked.
There was a man standing there she’d never seen before.
&nbs
p; – Anita Elvestrand?
She nodded.
– Something’s happened.
She stared at him.
– Victoria, he said. – You’d better come at once.
She felt as if she’d been pushed over. She took hold of the door jamb.
– Who are you?
– I’m a doctor, there’s been an accident.
– Where? What do you mean?
– Come with me, I’ll explain on the way. We tried to call you but you didn’t answer.
She was still feeling dizzy as she grabbed her coat, pushed her feet into her boots. He ran down the stairs ahead of her, led her to the end of the block. Heading up the street, he clicked on a key, there was a beep and the lights on one of the parked cars blinked.
He opened the passenger door. Anita wanted to pee and was almost weeping with anxiety.
– Where is Victoria?
– I’ll take you there, he said and hopped into the driver’s seat.
Abruptly he put an arm around her, pushing her upper body down. She felt him pressing a cloth against her face. It smelt of sharp splinters and opened up a world of memories: corridors and beds, nurses in white coats with masks over their mouths in blinding light.
The smell reached out from the cloth and claimed her.
36
Saturday 20 October
FEET SINKING INTO the mud, he can’t see the bottom through the murky water. There’s no life down there, he tries to say as he wades out. I can’t dive here. Somewhere far away: a telephone. He’s never heard that ringtone before, but he knows it’s for him. Hears Bie’s voice coming from somewhere; he can’t answer the call as long as she’s there. Disappears back down again into sleep.
When he woke up, she was sitting on the side of the bed. Even through the curtains the sunlight was bright. She stroked his forehead.
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