The Ice Swimmer

by Kjell Ola Dahl

  ‘Tempus fugit,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘I’m just as keen as you to find out what occurred on the quay that morning. We have a witness – Stig Eriksen. On Friday night he was shot dead by someone with an automatic weapon ten minutes after he admitted he knew what happened to Adeler and Nina Stenshagen.’

  Lean nodded. The case was assuming new dimensions. But she felt a need to analyse the information thoroughly, spend a bit of time separating the wheat from the chaff.

  ‘Aud Helen Vestgård’s lying,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  ‘Thanks. I know.’

  ‘Vestgård booked the table,’ Gunnarstranda said, drumming his fingers on the copy of the Flamingo booking sheet. ‘You have a witness. Furthermore, you have proof of Vestgård lying about her contact with Adeler. A new scenario has materialised. Both you and I need to know what Adeler did after the meal on Wednesday night. The unknown third man probably knows what Adeler was doing that night. It might’ve been him who pushed Adeler off the quay in the early hours and held the poor man under the water with the plank.’

  Lena agreed.

  ‘The two of them – the unknown guy and Sveinung Adeler – may have said goodbye to Vestgård, who then went home in the taxi. What about if the two of them went on the town and got into an argument?’

  Lena shook her head. ‘Adeler had no alcohol in his blood when he drowned.’

  They sat brooding in silence.

  It was broken by Gunnarstranda: ‘You know there were three people around the table at the Flamingo. Adeler’s dead. Only Vestgård can tell us who that third person was.’

  ‘I think I’ll have to take this up with Rindal,’ Lena said. Gunnarstranda was right, but Rindal had made it very clear that he wanted a say in anything to do with Vestgård’s involvement in this case.

  ‘The clothing fibres on the piece of wood from the quay explain everything,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Someone was forcing Adeler under water to drown him. That’s premeditated murder. Nina Stenshagen saw what was going on and fled. The perpetrator ran after her. If the drowning had been a normal accident or misadventure there would’ve been no point running after Nina and killing her.’

  Lena took her phone and called Rindal for a third time. And still got the voicemail. She put it down.

  They exchanged looks.

  ‘We can both talk to Vestgård if you don’t want to do it alone,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  ‘Why doesn’t he pick up?’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Stig Eriksen rang me wanting to tell me who killed them. But I was too late. First he shot Stig. When I turned up he tried to kill me too. It was only a freak of fate that prevented a concrete block landing on my nut.’

  ‘What?! And you’re telling me that now?’

  ‘Bang!’ Gunnarstranda said, smacking his palm down on the table. ‘Bits of concrete flying everywhere!’

  ‘Hang on a mo,’ Lena said, getting up. She couldn’t sit still any longer.

  Gunnarstranda went quiet.

  Lena realised that if she wanted to talk to the Storting politician once more she needed an angle that would rule out any possible repercussions.

  Then she had an idea. ‘I need your help,’ she said, ‘but afterwards I’m talking to Vestgård on my own.’

  2

  Lena decided she wouldn’t go in for any pre-arranged tactical strategies. She wanted this over and done with. She would walk into the lion’s den – unannounced. Although parliament was in recess she reckoned people would be at work anyway.

  The first surprise she encountered was in the reception area. Today the entrance to Norway’s National Assembly was guarded by one Ståle Sender.

  Lena hadn’t spoken to Sender since she finished with him in a text when he went on a summer holiday with his wife. Lena saw no reason to talk now either. She nodded curtly to him and said she believed Vestgård was expecting her. Ståle, for his part, took the time and trouble to accompany Lena in.

  ‘What’s new?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing special,’ Lena said. ‘We’re a bit short-handed, have a lot of overtime, the usual.’

  ‘I mean, with you,’ Ståle said.

  Lena hesitated. ‘Not much, until I start listening to my heart.’

  Ståle kept quiet. Fortunately. They were there now. She read the name Aud Helen Vestgård on the door and knocked.

  Ståle waited as well.

  ‘Thank you, Ståle,’ Lena said.

  ‘What about a meal before Christmas?’ Ståle chipped in quickly.

  Why didn’t Vestgård’s door open? She glanced at Ståle. ‘What? Like, just you and me?’

  He nodded.

  She didn’t answer. There weren’t the words.

  ‘My treat,’ Ståle said. ‘The Theatercafé, Gamle Raadhus, Annen Etage, you choose. One of the perks of this job is that you’re on informal terms with the right people.’ Ståle smiled, flexing his muscles. ‘What do you say to an evening together? Toi et moi?’

  ‘Soon be Christmas,’ Lena said coolly. ‘Spend your money on something sensible. Buy your wife something nice.’

  Then the door opened.

  On this occasion Aud Helen Vestgård was sporting a dark suit with a narrow stripe, which looked good on her.

  ‘You again?’ Vestgård said, with an annoyed frown.

  Lena got into her stride. ‘I’m here about the threatening letter you received.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  Lena pointed. ‘Perhaps we could take this in your office?’

  Vestgård glanced at her watch. ‘I have an important meeting, I don’t know.’

  ‘It won’t take long,’ Lena said.

  ‘Well,’ Vestgård said, holding the door open.

  The office was immense. A tall ceiling. The acoustics. Her heels click-clacking like on a stage floor. The echo of the door closing. The window looked out over Wessels plass and Halvorsens Conditori.

  As if to emphasise how unwelcome this visit was, Vestgård stood in the middle of the floor. She snatched another glance at her watch.

  ‘The threatening letter was a false alarm. Someone wrote the letter to embarrass the sender. Apparently she’s a student, not very interested in politics and not at all interested in you – no record, not politically active. Our people lean towards the view that the perp wanted to target her. Your name has no relevance at all to the case.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear,’ Vestgård replied curtly. ‘Thank you very much.’

  She headed for the door again, but waited for Lena to exit first.

  It’s now or never, Lena thought, and went for it: ‘Aud Helen Vestgård, you lied to the police. We have witnesses who say you were at the Flamingo Bar & Restaurant in Grefsen on Wednesday evening with Sveinung Adeler.’

  Vestgård took a step forwards.

  ‘I would advise you to take a minute now to clear this matter up. If you don’t, I’ll have to apply for a legal order to carry out an official interview later,’ Lena said.

  Vestgård stepped back, as if the response had shocked her. ‘What is this impertinence? You have no authority here. You’re in Storting, Norway’s National Assembly. If you don’t behave, I’ll have you thrown out!’

  ‘I can leave here now if you insist,’ Lena said softly. ‘But the circumstances will not change. The fact is that you lied while making a statement to the police. I’m offering you a chance to change your statement now. What you say to me will be recorded and inaccuracies will be amended. You are completely within your rights to change the statement you made earlier. On the other hand…’ Lena left the alternative hanging in the air.

  Vestgård stepped closer to her. ‘Are you theatening me?’

  Lena took a pace back.

  ‘Do you think I have something to hide? What could it be? Or is this your modus operandi – whispering into the ears of media types so that they can help you to hang respectable members of the public out to dry every time reality is not as you think it is?’

  Lena knew she was near her goal now an
d she had only to resist the pressure. ‘Not at all,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘You’re not listening. I’m offering you the chance to change your statement.’

  Aud Helen Vestgård’s eyes were still flashing. But she was obviously considering what Lena had said. In the end she lowered her shoulders and went to the desk, where she shuffled some papers as she continued to reflect on her situation.

  ‘Sveinung,’ she said at length. ‘Sveinung and I had a Christmas dinner together. Let me stress the following so that there are no inaccuracies in your damned reports. Sveinung and I were not having an affair. This was a professional relationship that became a friendship. I was, one might say, a kind of mentor to Sveinung. He hadn’t been a member of the party for very long. We met during the election campaign. I was at a stand out there,’ she pointed towards the window. ‘Sveinung stopped by and started a discussion about drilling for oil outside Lofoten.’ Vestgård smiled weakly at the memory. ‘It was raining, dreadful weather, but we had a heated debate; he had strong opinions. Sveinung was good at marshalling his arguments. Well, anyway, Sveinung, it transpired, was a member of the party and we met in that context soon afterwards. And became friends. We simply liked each other. On Wednesday we ate together at this restaurant in Grefsen because it was the only place where it was possible to get a table. And he wanted lutefisk, you see.’ Vestgård shrugged. ‘The Christmas dinner was the reason for going there. All the usual restaurants in the centre were fully booked. If he’d wanted sushi or tapas or something Lebanese – even Thai for that matter – we could’ve found somewhere in the centre.’

  Lena had to ask: ‘Why did you deny that you knew him the last time we spoke?’

  Vestgård turned away from Lena and stared pensively out of the window. ‘That was foolish of me, of course. But you caught me on the hop. I was expecting the police’s clarification of the death threat. When you marched in talking about Sveinung – well, I didn’t want any media speculation. It would’ve been unrelenting. After all, Sveinung was fifteen years younger than me.’

  ‘According to our witnesses there were three of you eating in Grefsen. Who was the third person?’

  A silence grew between them. Aud Helen Vestgård fixed Lena with a hard stare.

  The seconds ticked by.

  Lena could almost hear the cogs in her brain whirring round.

  ‘Your witness is mistaken,’ Vestgård said at length. Her voice trembled. ‘There were not three of us. Only two. Sveinung and I. The restaurant was packed and your witness probably thought someone from another table was with us. But that was not the case. It was a typically boisterous Norwegian lutefisk evening. People were toasting one another from table to table, and we joined in. But it was only the two of us. That was precisely why I didn’t want to talk about this meeting, because my eating alone with Sveinung was likely to be misinterpreted.’

  ‘That’s your last word?’ Lena asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Vestgård riposted.

  Lena weighed her words carefully before saying, ‘We’re trying to work out Adeler’s last movements before he died. Where did you go after you finished the meal?’

  ‘I went home. I have no idea what he got up to.’

  ‘Could he have gone with this unknown third person?’

  ‘Are you hard of hearing? There was no third person!’

  It was clear to Lena that Vestgård wasn’t going to back down on this, so instead she asked: ‘How did you get home?’

  ‘I took a taxi. I suppose Sveinung did the same.’

  ‘According to the employees in the restaurant only one taxi was ordered.’

  ‘Sveinung was a modern man and capable of looking after himself.’

  ‘Did you see him getting into a taxi?’

  ‘No, but I assume he did. He was in a good mood. When the taxi came he let me take it. He said he would get another. He was a grown man of over thirty and I had no compunction about leaving him on his own. I doubt it was any later than eleven.’

  ‘Did he say where he was going after midnight – back home or to see someone?’

  ‘No. I assumed he was going home.’

  ‘Why did you assume that?’

  Vestgård lost her cool again. ‘Because it was the middle of the week? I have no idea. Listen: I left the restaurant before eleven. I’ve got the receipt from the taxi driver, which I can show you. My husband and two daughters were still up and can confirm when I got home.’

  Before Lena had a chance to protest Vestgård had grabbed the phone on the desk and tapped in a number: ‘Vestgård for Frikk Råholt.’ There was a pause. ‘Frikk, it’s me. I’ve got the policewoman here again. Yes, I’ve told her I was out with Sveinung on Wednesday night. Now she wants to know when I got home. Can you tell her?’

  Vestgård passed the receiver to Lena. ‘Ask Frikk, my husband.’

  Lena was uncomfortable with this situation, but she obeyed. ‘Lena Stigersand here—’

  She got no further as Frikk Råholt interrupted her. ‘I have received assurances from your superior officers that all communications with my wife or anyone else in our family will be discreet and through secure channels. Taking a statement from Aud Helen in Parliament itself could hardly be called discreet. I will therefore take this up with your superior officer, which I am sure you understand. As a matter of form, may I ask you to note the following: My wife arrived home in a taxi at eleven-thirty on Wednesday, the ninth of December. If you insist on a signature confirming this statement, please fax a document to the Department of Justice – after first conferring with your superior officer.’

  The conversation was at an end and the dialling tone buzzed in Lena’s ear. She watched Aud Helen Vestgård take the receiver from her and return it to its place.

  3

  Apart from Lena there was another patient waiting – a blonde in her mid-twenties. The woman was reading a fat book and didn’t react when Lena came in and sat down. Lena stole furtive glances. Perfect figure, tight jeans going down to high black boots with heels.

  On a low table there was a pile of old weeklies and the odd health magazine with a glossy cover. On the walls hung posters about the damage caused by smoking and excessive drinking.

  Lena leaned forwards and took a weekly from the pile on the table. The woman looked up from her book. They nodded briefly and politely to each other.

  Lena flipped through the gossip rag, which was several months old. There were pictures of a film première with beautiful young women posing on a red carpet. Their dresses were commented on and rated by an ‘expert’ using numbers on a dice. Lena was relieved she didn’t have her attire assessed by the expert. Moreover, she regretted not having brought something to read with her.

  She sneaked another peek at the woman. She was curious to see what she was reading. It certainly was a thick book. A novel. What kind of novel would a woman with an hourglass figure and a solarium tan read? Probably a doctor novel, Lena mused; at any rate nothing with any shelf-life – like Jane Austen.

  The blonde with the book raised her head and gazed at her.

  Lena immersed herself once again in Norwegian TV celebs’ problem-free love affairs. Looking at the photos made her feel uncomfortable. She put down the magazine, stretched her legs and leaned back in the chair.

  The woman put a bookmark in the novel and closed it.

  The title was Moby Dick.

  Lena had to laugh at her own prejudice.

  At last the door opened. A plump woman in a green doctor’s uniform stood there. She nodded to the blonde and eyed Lena. ‘Stigersand?’

  Lena stood up and walked in.

  An hour later she got into her car. She sat looking through the windscreen, pensive and disorientated. For the first time she had gone to a doctor’s surgery concerned about the outcome. She couldn’t take it in. She didn’t want to think about it. Nevertheless she opened her shoulder bag. In it was the envelope she had been given when she left. She weighed the envelope in her hand. Made a decision. Tore it
open and took out the sheet. Read the first sentences: ‘Make sure you are not on your own when you ring for the test result. It might be good to have someone to talk to.’

  The gravity of the words was too much for her. She sat for some seconds with her eyes closed. But then she couldn’t stay still. She got out of the car and locked it. She had to move.

  She mooched around with no clear destination and ultimately found herself in Steen & Strøm, wandering through the heated store in her padded winter clothes, feeling like an astronaut waggling from side to side in an alien world. She went into the perfume section. How come women who worked in perfume departments always looked the same? How could they be so attractive and fashionable in all towns, in all countries? When Lena had been a little girl she had come here and ogled the beautiful women wearing pink aprons and smelling of perfumes and powders. She had dreamt about being one of them, being like them – a sweetly scented beauty in a perfumery surrounded by creams and make-up and chic lingerie.

  What was it that had just happened?

  She’d had an insight.

  I’m mortal.

  I am thirty-three years old and actually hadn’t absorbed this fact until now. I have wasted thirty-three years on trivial nonsense. I despised my mother and missed my father, cried over a stupid love affair at school. I became a cop. Why did I become a cop? Because it was difficult. Because you had to have good grades and pass entrance exams. Because Kenneth, my ridiculous teenage love, wanted to become a cop. He never did though. He wasn’t able to fulfil the entrance requirements. I was. But what’s the point of all this? Why work shifts and endless overtime? Why push your body, deprive it of sleep, why wear yourself out doing what you think is right when you receive only ingratitude and severe reprimands in return? Why did I apply for a job as a detective? Little Lena, the class creep.