The Ice Swimmer

by Kjell Ola Dahl

  Frølich was off to catch a bus from Universitetsplassen. The two of them said goodbye to him and walked slowly towards the Storting building.

  ‘This idea of yours, is it to do with Gjerstad?’ Gunnarstranda asked.

  She nodded.

  Gunnarstranda pulled a sceptical grimace. ‘You still think Gjerstad drowned Adeler?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And shot Nina Stenshagen and threw her in front of the train, and shot Stig Eriksen?’

  Lena didn’t answer.

  ‘In which case, where did he get the weapon? I don’t like to know too much about my colleagues’ private lives. But when you were together did you see a pistol? … I don’t mean that euphemistically.’

  Lena still said nothing. She knew about one person who had run after her with a weapon – and who knew Steffen Gjerstad. A man who had waited for her in Steffen’s flat.

  Should she tell Gunnarstranda? She didn’t have time to think that through.

  ‘If you think that Gjerstad’s the killer, then it’s not enough that he interviewed the two who were shot. You need proof. You need to be able to prove that Gjerstad was present at the harbour with Adeler. And you need a motive. Why did he kill Adeler? Also you need the weapon Nina and Stig were shot with. Also you need to be able to explain why Aud Helen Vestgård received a death threat. Have you got the answers?’ But Gunnarstranda clearly couldn’t be bothered to wait for an answer. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘I’m getting cold.’

  Lena realised the moment had come. ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘As I said, I’ve got an idea.’

  Gunnarstranda stopped.

  ‘I think I know how we can lure whoever pushed Adeler off the harbour into the light,’ she said.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Stig Eriksen and Nina Stenshagen are not necessarily the only ones to have seen what happened that morning,’ she said. ‘We can leak another name. We use informants to spread this information. So far the killer’s eliminated all the witnesses. If we leak a name, he’s bound to try and eliminate the third as well.’

  Gunnarstranda made no secret of his opposition to the suggestion: ‘Provocations like that are illegal. Furthermore,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘if we invented such a witness we’d need a decoy; and we won’t get one because we would’ve informed Rindal and he would’ve refused to let us go ahead.’

  Lena turned to the old university building. Beneath the Christmas decorations she could see Frøhlich waiting for a bus with his hands in his pockets. Lena stretched out a gloved hand and pointed.

  ‘A civil servant who’s been suspended from duty can’t be suspended twice,’ she said.

  Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘Provocation is a no-no,’ he said. ‘It’s a shot in the dark. You never know if you’ve hit, and if you do, you won’t know what until long afterwards.’

  ‘So you’re not in favour?’

  Gunnarstranda didn’t answer.

  ‘You are in favour?’

  Gunnarstranda took a breath and was about to answer, but she got in first:

  ‘If Frankie says yes, are you still against the idea?’

  Lena walked off without waiting for an answer. She marched towards the university building.

  Gunnarstranda watched her progress. Lena crossed Universitetsgata on red and shouted to Frølich, who came to meet her. Frølich listened without batting an eyelid. Then he nodded.

  Gunnarstranda breathed heavily. Frølich had agreed, just as he had feared he would. Gunnarstranda rested his hands on his hips. He turned and strolled in the opposite direction, towards the Storting.

  Lena caught up with him.

  ‘We have a plan,’ she said with a broad smile.

  ‘As I feared,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  She sensed his disapproval at once, and asked: ‘But what can really go wrong?’

  ‘In 1949 three aeronautic engineers ran a rocket-sled test in California,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘One of them was called Edward J. Murphy. Afterwards he formulated something that has become known as Murphy’s Law.’

  Lena sighed.

  They walked along side by side without speaking until they reached Egertorget.

  ‘Have you got a better suggestion?’ Lena asked finally.

  Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘Let’s talk more about this tomorrow.’

  They went their separate ways. Lena continued a few metres down Karl Johans gate. But she was unable to let go of the idea.

  She stopped. People were rushing back and forth, shoulder to shoulder.

  They had to coax Steffen out of hiding. But how could they get Gunnarstranda on their side? The answer was as clear as day. She had to be honest. All her cards on the table. She couldn’t hush up the Stian Rømer business any more. Lena closed her eyes. Something inside her bristled. Why? What are you afraid of? You have to say what happened, to get it out of your system.

  It was obvious. She had a choice: either go home now and forget the whole thing or take this to the bitter end. What should she do?

  Lena turned and walked back. Slowly at first, then faster. She had to go back home. Where was he? Where could he have gone? She guessed to the bus stops in Akersgata and turned right.

  But Gunnarstranda was nowhere to be seen. She quickened her pace.

  She saw his characteristic figure in front of the windows on the ground floor of the Verdens Gang building. Gunnarstranda was dialling a number on his phone.

  4

  Gunnarstranda was using the light from the windows to find the right number. He rang security at the parliament building. They were able to inform him that Frikk Råholt was still in his office.

  Gunnarstranda walked towards Møllergata and down the drive to the underground car park for parliamentary staff. There, he stood outside the gate. Regardless of whether Råholt used his private car or not, Gunnarstranda assumed he would have to come out this way. He waited for just under a quarter of an hour as a steady stream of officials passed him, some in cars, some on foot.

  Råholt left on foot. The opening of the car park shone yellow behind the silhouette wearing a dark winter coat and walking into the street at a brisk, efficient tempo. When the gate closed again Råholt’s delicate facial features could soon be distinguished in the half light.

  Their eyes locked and Råholt stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Gunnarstranda, Oslo PD.’ Gunnarstranda went to the trouble of showing the ID card he had hanging around his neck.

  Råholt went to the trouble of studying it.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘A number of relationships. It would be to your benefit to allow me a few minutes.’

  Råholt tilted his head and gave Gunnarstranda an enquiring look.

  ‘This is primarily about a job you took on for First in Line.’

  ‘I haven’t started working for them yet.’

  ‘So how come I know your client list?’

  Råholt didn’t bat an eyelid.

  ‘Let me fill you in on the context first,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘My colleague was suspended because she was supposed to have leaked a document to the press. I know she didn’t. However, I now have the document that you personally faxed to the journalist from your home address. The journalist gave it to me.’

  Råholt still said nothing. He just watched the police officer attentively.

  ‘And you don’t deny it,’ Gunnarstranda prompted. ‘One of your clients is MacFarrell Ltd. You don’t need to deny that either. I’m like the detective in old comics. I know everything.’

  Råholt tilted his head again. ‘Not bad,’ he conceded with a slight smile.

  Gunnarstranda folded his hands behind his back. ‘This mining company has hired First in Line – you, in other words – to influence government decisions so that the Oil Fund will maintain its commitment, as it’s so nicely put.’

  ‘How on earth can you make such a claim?’

  ‘Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong,’ Gunnarstranda said.

/>   Råholt said nothing.

  ‘MacFarrell hired you and you’ve kept your part of the bargain by systematically feeding confidential information to a journalist by the name of Steffen Gjerstad.’

  ‘That’s your contention,’ said Råholt. ‘Mine is that I’ve solely given advice to a multinational concern about how to position themselves with regard to the Norwegian public.’

  ‘Given advice? First of all you smear an official on the Ethics Council. Then you leak a document to a journalist – a document your wife asked to be treated in total confidence. That’s pretty state-of-the-art advice.’

  ‘That’s your contention,’ Råholt said.

  Gunnarstranda turned to go. ‘At any rate you’ve confirmed what I wanted to know.’

  Råholt held him back.

  Gunnarstranda stopped.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Råholt asked.

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do? What do you think I draw my pay for?’

  Råholt smiled at him. ‘Then you might do your job better than your red-haired colleague? You might collect evidence before you begin to harass people with accusations?’

  They eyed each other. ‘Let me put it this way, Frikk Råholt. If you’d been on my social level I would’ve asked if your wife bakes bread.’

  ‘And why would you have asked that?’

  ‘Because I’d tell her to start baking tools in it – a file for example.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ Råholt smiled. ‘What have we here? A comedian?’

  ‘But you’re not on my social level. You belong to that circle of people who get away with crime. I’ve been a cop too long to care what happens.’

  A car pulled up in front of the drive.

  Råholt waved to the driver, who waved back.

  ‘My wife,’ Råholt said.

  Gunnarstranda looked at the car. ‘Does she know?’ he asked.

  ‘Does she know what?’

  ‘Does your wife know that you used her to smear Adeler? That you rang the journalist Steffen Gjerstad and told him your wife and Asim Shamoun were having dinner with Adeler on Wednesday, the ninth of December?’

  ‘You don’t give in, do you. Are you wired?’

  Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘We police are banal enough to obey the law.’

  ‘Let me answer you in this way,’ Råholt said. ‘I keep no secrets from my wife.’

  ‘But Shamoun didn’t know?’

  Råholt cast a quick glance at the car.

  ‘He didn’t know,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Unlike you and your wife, he’s decent. You’ve played your cards well, I’ll give you that. When Gjerstad uncovered the so-called meeting between the Oil Fund, the Finance Committee and Polisario, your employer MacFarrell had the “scandal” that would achieve the right result. Polisario, as it were, conspiring with an MP to influence the Ethics Council rendered the case officer, Adeler, tainted and his eventual report valueless in the eyes of the public. Leaving MacFarrell squeaky clean in the eyes of your average Norwegian. Taking the company off the Oil Fund portfolio after the “revelation” would create an unparalleled political storm. And once that goal was achieved, you could exonerate your wife and kick the ball into the long grass. You could leak the truth. The link between Polisario and your wife wasn’t political, it was a family relationship.’

  Råholt nodded towards the car, his face taut. ‘Can you see someone’s waiting for me?’

  ‘But it must’ve been a shock hearing Adeler had drowned that morning, eh?’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘The scenario you had set up took a turn you hadn’t planned. How did that feel? The moment you realised you weren’t the Almighty?’

  Råholt took a deep breath and said in a patronising tone: ‘Sveinung Adeler’s death never had anything to do with the matter. This has always been about his report.’

  Gunnarstranda nodded.

  ‘Of course. I’ll go along with that. The official was not your concern. His death didn’t change anything. Cheating the public was not important. You and the journalist made up all that shit and smeared it over Adeler. He was dishonest and tainted, even if the man was dead and unable to defend himself. Nothing meant anything. You steamed ahead.’

  ‘Moralising is for hypocrites,’ Råholt intoned. ‘And you don’t look like a hypocrite, Gunnarstranda.’

  The police officer nodded. ‘Explain one thing for me anyway,’ he said.

  ‘Ask, and I’ll see.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why use your wife and her child in such a cynical way? Why is it so bloody important to cling onto the new job? What is it about it that legitimises lies, manipulation, slandering the name of the deceased and leaking confidential information that has dramatic consequences for others?’

  Råholt stepped forward two paces. They were so close Gunnarstranda could smell the man’s after-shave.

  ‘Well I never. What a hypocritical and ridiculous man you are,’ Råholt said in hushed tones. ‘You said yourself you were on a different level from me. Well, that’s true. And now you’re wondering why I’m giving up one job and starting another? Surely that can’t be so difficult to understand? I want to feel good about myself; I want to fulfil myself and I want power! Do you know what that means? I want to make decisions. I want to see results. Someone with power and influence has to be where decisions are engendered. There’s no more to understand than that.’

  ‘But you can’t have had Gjerstad working for you gratis,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘You bought the journalist. Anything else would’ve been too risky. How much did you pay him?’

  Råholt didn’t answer.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Gunnarstranda grinned. ‘He has a public position and he joins you in the agency, First in Line?’ Gunnarstranda nodded to himself. ‘Makes sense, and it explains why he did what he did; but do you really think it was a smart move?’

  Råholt still didn’t say anything.

  ‘I may not know as much as you about advanced forms of communication. But I’m a cop and I know something about crooks. You and your wife will evade the legal system this time. I’m fairly sure of that. But remember he’s got something on you, this journalist. He knows who you are at heart and knows your methods. Are you sure you haven’t made a move you’ll live to regret?’

  Råholt cast down his eyes, pensive.

  The car door opened. Aud Helen Vestgård got out and leaned against the open car door with an anxious expression on her face. ‘Are you coming, Frikk?’

  ‘I’m coming,’ Råholt said, with a friendly smile for Gunnarstranda. ‘Anything else, Mr Detective?’

  Gunnarstranda shook his head.

  Frikk Råholt walked to the car and slid onto the back seat. The car reversed from the car park and turned. There were three women in the car. Aud Helen with her two daughters.

  Råholt waved as the car passed Gunnarstranda.

  ‘Sayonara,’ Gunnarstranda said, watching the vehicle disappear.

  After it was gone, he turned. ‘You can come out now,’ he said in a louder voice.

  Lena came out of the shadows and into the light.

  ‘Eavesdropping on other people’s conversations isn’t polite,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  ‘Råholt will get away with it,’ she said. ‘I was made a scapegoat, but he can do as he likes.’

  ‘The rule of power,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  ‘Are you still against faking a press conference about a third witness?’ she asked.

  ‘Why do you want to do this?’ Gunnarstranda asked, looking straight at her. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘I’m a hundred per cent sure Steffen Gjerstad is the killer,’ she said.

  ‘So it’s revenge?’

  Lena shook her head. ‘This is what our job’s about! He’s a murderer and has to be punished.’

  ‘Provocation of this kind would be illegal. What about your role as a police officer and your relationship with law and order?’

  ‘Of course, but…’

&nb
sp; ‘But?’

  ‘I’m sure Steffen Gjerstad’s killed someone and I don’t want him to get away with it!’

  ‘Three people have been murdered,’ Gunnarstranda objected. ‘Which one did Gjerstad murder?’

  ‘It must’ve been Steffen who pushed Adeler into the harbour and held him down with the plank.’

  ‘That’s what you think. It’s not something you know.’

  ‘But Nina Stenshagen saw what happened. She knew Steffen…’

  ‘And who shot Nina? Who shot Stig?’

  Lena and Gunnarstranda looked each other in the eye.

  Lena took a deep breath and cast off. ‘Someone by the name of Stian Rømer,’ she said.

  Lena closed her eyes. She had done it; she had let the cat out of the bag. She opened her eyes. But she could read nothing in Gunnarstranda’s face.

  ‘So you think there were two assailants on the quay that morning?’ he asked.

  ‘There must’ve been,’ Lena said. ‘Nina was a witness to Steffen killing Adeler. She knew who Steffen was and for that reason was dangerous to him. I think Stian Rømer shot Nina Stenshagen on Steffen’s orders.’

  ‘Let’s talk a bit about Stian Rømer,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  ‘I know they knew each other. They were childhood friends.’

  ‘The Stian Rømer who chased you in Schweigaards gate and was armed?’

  ‘Don’t you think that happened?’ Lena retorted.

  ‘Of course I believe you, but at the moment Rømer isn’t in the country,’ Gunnarstranda said.

  Lena didn’t answer.

  Gunnarstranda stared into her face: ‘That’s what PST’s trying to have us believe anyway.’

  Lena averted her eyes. ‘Don’t you believe them?’

  ‘What I’ve been told is that Rømer took a plane to London after his failed attack on you in Gamlebyen.’ Gunnarstranda allowed the silence to hang in the air for a few seconds. ‘If that’s true, it won’t be so easy to nick him for murder now.’

  They gazed hard at each other. Measuring each other’s strengths. ‘I know PST are wrong,’ Lena said after a while. ‘He didn’t take any plane.’