‘Well …’ She smiled, apparently confident. Then she shrugged and went to the kitchen. ‘But we should have something to eat, shouldn’t we?’
It could have been the perfect evening at home. Karin made a bowl of pasta and chopped up lettuce while I read the newspaper in greater detail than I’d had time to do in my office. After we had eaten we lay half-asleep on a sofa each until it felt to me that it was time to make coffee. We watched the news, first of all on TV2, then on NRK, but apart from some spectacular pictures of the cross on Brennøy the reports contained no more information than we already had.
She sat down close to me on the sofa. Then she looked up at me out of the corners of her eyes. ‘Perhaps we should start planning?’
I put my hand behind her neck and gently caressed her. ‘You’re thinking about the wedding, are you?’
‘Mm.’ She smiled. ‘And the honeymoon.’
‘Well, we could kill two birds with one stone.’
‘Meaning …?’
‘Well, Thomas and Maria are in Italy at the moment, and we don’t have much family here, so …’
Her smile broadened. ‘How romantic, Varg! An Italian honeymoon!’
‘Yes, why not? In Venice maybe.’
‘Now you’re surpassing yourself. But I’m up for it. Bring it on!’
‘And then we’ll have to work out where to live. We won’t need two flats any more.’
‘No, something bigger maybe?’
‘Maybe?’
She stretched up and kissed me. ‘If only you knew how happy I am that we’ve got this far, Varg.’
‘Me, too,’ I mumbled to her lips.
It was almost nine when the phone rang. Karin lifted up the receiver and even from five metres away I could hear the shrill voice.
‘Ranveig? What? Yes, I can hear you.’ She looked at me and rolled her eyes. ‘I see … Yes … Yes … Is it alright if I bring Varg along?’ She arched her eyebrows in my direction, and I nodded. ‘OK, we’ll do that. Take it easy. We’ll talk soon. Yes, yes. … Bye.’
She put the phone down. ‘Yes, you guessed. She was hysterical. Obviously things didn’t go so well with Kristoffer and Else.’
‘No. Was she OK with me coming along?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall we take the car?’
‘That’s perhaps the safest, in case we have to drive her somewhere.’
‘A&E do you mean?’
‘Yes.’
Five minutes later we were in the car covering the short distance to Storhaugen.
22
This time I drove right up to the house. I let Karin out before parking close to the fence that surrounded the property and getting out on my side. When we went to the front door we rang, but no one answered.
I grabbed the handle, pressed it down and pushed the door. It wasn’t locked. We looked at each other. In my book, this was not a good sign.
I opened the door completely. ‘Ranveig?’ No answer.
Karin said: ‘Oh, my God, Varg!’
‘Let’s go in.’
There was no one in the hall. I called: ‘Ranveig!’
Still no answer.
I opened the door to the sitting room. She was lying on the floor by one of the windows with her mobile phone beside her, as if in a deep sleep. She was pale, and her breathing was coming in short, irregular wheezes.
I dashed over, bent down, held her left arm and felt her pulse. Karin followed, crouched down and placed a hand carefully against her cheek.
She blinked and looked up. ‘Karin? What happened?’
‘That was what we were wondering.’
‘I must have fainted.’
I scrutinised her face. ‘There was no one else here, was there?’
‘No, I …’ She had difficulty focussing. ‘I rang Karin and then … That’s the last I can remember.’
‘Pulse seems normal,’ I muttered to Karin.
‘Can I have something to drink?’
‘I’ll get some water,’ Karin said, getting up and going through the dining room to the kitchen.
‘You haven’t eaten something that disagreed with you, have you?’ I asked tentatively.
She gazed at me bleary-eyed. ‘Disagreed? What do you mean?’
‘Well … Come on, let me help you up.’
With a strong grip around her waist I lifted her to her feet and supported her through to the big sofa. She slumped down, straightened her blouse and brushed off some invisible specks of dust from her tight, black trousers.
Karin came in from the kitchen with a full jug of water and three glasses. She put everything down on the black coffee table, quickly poured water for Ranveig and passed her the glass.
She gratefully took it and drank greedily. Then she took a deep breath and looked at us almost guiltily. ‘Sorry …’
‘No reason to be sorry for anything,’ Karin said. ‘The main thing is you’re better.’
‘Yes … I … It just got too much for me.’
The room went silent. The only sound to be heard was the jug against a glass as Karin poured herself some water and then me. Karin sat down beside her friend, wrapped a protective arm around her and sent me a concerned frown.
‘Have you got a regular doctor?’ I asked.
‘No, no! … I mean yes, of course, I have. But please don’t phone anyone. This was just an accident. I hardly slept last night. There’s so much going on, and this evening … Else and Kristoffer. It was just awful.’
‘Else and Kristoffer …?’
‘Kristoffer phoned and asked if they could pop up. I was happy and said yes, of course. Had I known, though, I would have asked a solicitor to be present.’
‘You’ve talked about the inheritance already?’
‘That was how it started. Kristoffer said … with everything that’s at stake on Brennøy … he wanted me to confirm that I would support the sale of the land to Norcraft, and that had to happen now, so there would be no further delays.’
‘But I mentioned yesterday … Hasn’t he understood that the sale in 1988 is being contested?’
‘I told him, but he turned a deaf ear. Anyway, I had no say, he said.’
‘No say?’
With a trembling hand she grasped the jug, poured herself another glass and drank, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I hadn’t deserved it, he said. It was my fault their mother disappeared, took her own life, he said, then he bored his eyes into me and said … if not worse.’
‘If not worse?’
‘Yes! That we had taken her life!’
‘You and Mons? Did he say that to your face?’
‘Yes. Because we’d found each other. Because we …’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘I mean … What I mean to say is … That we’d driven her to her death.’ Then there was silence.
Karin and I exchanged looks. She warned me off, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What you’re saying,’ I said softly and in as gentle a tone as I could muster, ‘… is that you and Mons had started a relationship before Lea disappeared. Is that what you’re telling us?’
She looked up into my face. ‘Yes, that was how it was, but … The way he said it, the way he hurled these accusations into my face … Lea’s disappearance was a terrible tragedy. It hung over Mons and me for all the subsequent years, and we never managed to free ourselves from the feeling of guilt. In many ways it destroyed what … what we had. To forget it we fled into another lifestyle … travelling a lot, spending money, yes … living! As though we had to live extra hard to justify to ourselves what we’d done. Do you understand?’
Karin followed this monologue with her big, blue eyes. It came as no surprise to me. This was what I had felt the previous evening: that there was something Ranveig was holding back, something she wouldn’t say.
I nodded. ‘I understand. And you still can’t tell us anything about what happened to Lea?’
‘No, Varg! You have to believe me. I know nothing. But you should know: She w
as a very complicated personality. Having children had a terrible effect on her. After both births she suffered deep depression, and the last time – when Else was born – things were so serious she had to be admitted to hospital. They feared she would do something to harm the child.’
‘That serious?’
‘Yes, that serious, Varg!’
‘But she never did?’
‘No, no. The doctors got her back on an even keel, but … I don’t know. Mons said she never really got on with them. With the children, I mean. Neither Kristoffer nor Else. So he had to look after them, read to them, put them to bed and so on.’
‘Hm.’
‘But of course we always talked about it, Mons and I did. About what must have happened. That she had decided to end it all when she heard about us two.’
‘How did she find out?’
She swallowed. ‘Mons was going to take care of that. He told her the same day she … went missing.’
‘And later he pocketed her life insurance money …’
Loud intake of breath. ‘If you mean that … He could never have done anything like that! I know that for certain. He would never have stood the pressure.’
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely sure.’
‘But Kristoffer accused you …’
‘He accused us both! Of driving his mother to her death. But he can’t …’ – her voice cracked – ‘… have a confrontation with his father any more!’
‘No.’
I stood waiting for her to recover. ‘What did Else say? She was here too, wasn’t she?’
‘Else!’ She raised her hands to her face and made two circles with her fingers in front of her eyes. ‘She just sat staring, without saying a word. Not one word! And when he left she just got up and followed him.’
‘Mm … He just left?’
‘After spewing up everything he had inside him he banged the table, got up and said: “You’ll receive a document in the post! If you don’t sign I’ll see you in court. Just you try it,” he said. And brandished a fist at me.’
‘Did you perceive that as a threat?’
‘Yes, he was threatening me. That was exactly what he was doing.’
I tried to bring all the various threads together. ‘But you don’t think he could have … what happened to his father …’
Ranveig’s expression was grim. ‘I wish I couldn’t believe it possible, but when I saw him this evening … He’s capable of anything!’
‘Erm …’ I hesitated. ‘Surely not, with all the people he has to convince around him. Do you think that sounds likely?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘I certainly think you should tell the police about this.’
‘The police?’
‘Yes, unfortunately I can’t do anything as far as this is concerned. I’ve been assigned to investigate the land sale in 1988, but this … It’s way beyond my remit. If I became involved I would only have the police on my back again.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time. Let me put it like that.’
‘But …’
Our eyes met, and I shook my head. ‘No, I’m sorry. But if – I repeat if –something relevant to the case should appear I would, of course, take it up immediately – with the relevant party.’
She nodded, but I wasn’t sure the message had got through.
Again a silence fell over the room. I shifted my gaze to the big painting, a classic Norwegian mountain landscape with autumnal colours and the sharp contours of a photograph. It looked so quiet and peaceful, far from all the mobile telephones and at a safe distance from everything that smacked of inheritance disputes.
Karin put her arm around Ranveig again. ‘Would you like …? Shall I spend the night here again?’
Ranveig was visibly grateful. ‘Would you?’
‘Naturally. It’s good to be able to help.’
I couldn’t exactly suggest staying as well, so with that the perfect evening at home had gone up in smoke, and the following night as well.
Karin accompanied me out, a reprise of the previous evening. ‘I’m sorry, Varg, but I had to offer.’
‘Absolutely. I spend most of my nights alone anyway, so …’ I pouted my disappointment.
‘Not for long,’ she said with a smile, leaned forward and kissed me. ‘You’ve earned a bonus – next time.’
‘A bonus? What might that be?’
‘I’m not going to give it away, am I!’
‘The trick worked. I feel better already.’
‘Till next time then …’ Another kiss before she gradually let go of me, a lingering reluctance, which made me feel even better.
‘Remember: Don’t forget to keep your eyes peeled as you set off for work tomorrow morning.’
‘I won’t. I haven’t forgotten.’ Her expression was serious as she closed the door, and I waited on the step until I heard she had locked up properly.
I went to my car, got behind the wheel and drove home. I had made up my mind now. I knew where I was going the next day.
23
Once again I caught the ferry from Leirvåg, but this time I didn’t drive off at Skipavik but at the next stop, Sløvåg. The extensive industrial site there cut brutally into the landscape, but over the first brow of the hill I came to a far more idyllic part, along cultivated, autumn-yellow fields leading to Eidsbotn. From there I followed the road along the Eids Fjord, past Dalsøyra, down through the steep, narrow Undal Tunnel to Leversund, past Haveland to northern Gulen, where I turned west towards Eivindvik.
In 1961, when I was doing my final exams at Bergen Katedralskole, I was tested orally on Henrik Wergeland’s poem about ‘Eivindvig’. Inwardly, I had sung the praises of my teacher, Dahl, for his thorough analysis of the poem in Norwegian classes. I knew all about Provost Dahl, the priest at Eivindvik, and the final line of the poem, about how Dahl had nurtured young Strileland minds, was etched in my brain for ever. Our Dahl had squeezed a modicum of intellectual curiosity out of Bergen lads and lasses with more passionate looks for one another than the potato-pioneering priests of yore. The oral exam went well. Dahl later became a famous literature professor. I didn’t get to Eivindvik until the end of the 80s, also then in connection with a case I was investigating.
The beautiful white timber church that meets you as you arrive in Eivindvik is from 1863, eleven years after Provost Dahl’s death, so it couldn’t have been there he had nurtured young Strileland minds. To the west of the church stand two stone crosses – a sign of early Christianisation, and it was here, in this region, that the historic legislative assembly of Gulating was held, where some of the oldest laws in the country were passed.
Today Eivindvik was a quiet, sparsely populated municipal centre with a hotel – we were never quite sure whether it was open for business or not – a quay where the old ferry had long stopped plying its trade and a council building that looked more like a children’s school from the 60s, up on the ridge opposite the old rectory. However, it would be hard to find more beautiful surroundings, with Mount Kvitbergnova to the north and Mount Fonnefjellet to the south of the sound. Between the mountains idyllic Eivindvik nestled in the warm September sun.
Before I left Bergen I had made sure that the Housing and Property office would be staffed this Friday. I was received by a middle-aged man with a none too neatly arranged comb-over, who had dug out the contract between Per Nordbø and Mons Mæland, dated February 1988, in advance of my arrival. I was immediately able to identify it as a copy of the one I had seen in Bringeland’s office.
‘Could I have a copy, please?’
‘No problem,’ said the man with the comb-over, taking the contract with him to a side room, where I heard a photocopier starting up. Without being asked, he took out an official stamp to confirm that the copy was genuine, stamped the document and signed it himself before slipping it into an envelope and giving it to me. Exemplary administrative conduct, I had to concede.
>
‘I’m afraid there’s a small fee. Copy charge.’
‘And it is …?’
‘Twenty kroner.’
‘That’s fine.’ I took out my wallet and paid. Then I said: ‘Could I ask you a question?’
He nodded and looked at me expectantly.
‘Do you remember this case yourself?’
‘No, I can’t say that I do. This concerns a property on Brennøy, and I didn’t know the people concerned. Anyway, the contract was signed in February 1988, and at that time I was in fact off sick. For a couple of months.’
‘But one witness, Gunvor Matre, was supposed to be employed at the nursing home here.’
‘At the nursing home? Yes, I remember her vaguely. But she left. She wasn’t from Eivindvik, I don’t think.’
‘So she doesn’t live here any more then?’
‘No, logically she must have moved.’ Then he seemed to remember something. ‘Hang on …’
He went over to one of the filing cabinets, found a file, opened it and nodded. ‘That’s what I thought …’ He came back to me with a pensive expression on his face. ‘She bought a lot on Brennøy, too.’
‘A lot?’
‘Yes, a little piece of land. That was the year after, January 1989, and by then I had been back in the office for quite some time. That was how I remembered.’
‘Could I …?’ I held out my hand.
‘Yes, yes, be my guest.’
He gave me the sheet and I read what was on it. It concerned the sale of a plot on Brennøy. The seller was Mons Mæland. The buyer was Gunvor Matre. The signature was witnessed by two people. One was Bjørn Brekkhus, the other Jarle Glosvik.
‘Where is this on Brennøy?’
He took back the document, checked the property number, found a map of the area and began to search with his finger. ‘Here: this must be the chapel, unless I’m very much mistaken. And this is Gunvor Matre’s land.’
He showed me where on the map, and I leaned over. I immediately saw where it was. The small, red house we had passed on the road towards the cross.
We Shall Inherit the Wind Page 15
