He was standing close to the cross. To get there he had stepped over the cordon the police had left, secured around some sizeable boulders they had found.
‘Veum? What are you doing here?’
I stayed the other side of the cordon. ‘I tried to ring you. Again.’
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘And you were in such a hurry that you followed me here?’
‘No. I had business here anyway. What about you? Why are you here?’
He ran a large hand through his slicked-back, steel-grey hair. ‘We saw the news item on Wednesday evening. And read the papers the next day. How unbelievable that it should be Mons! When Ranveig rang to tell us, it came as a shock … I couldn’t believe it could be true. Him going missing was bad enough. I would have understood it if he’d drowned, as Lea did. But this grotesque act …’ He turned back to the cross. ‘It’s incomprehensible, stringing him up on a cross, like some common thief.’
‘Or a saviour.’
‘What?’
‘We probably connect Jesus the Saviour with the cross rather than the two thieves.’
‘You know what I meant.’
‘Yes, of course …’ I had this incurable weakness: I could never take a word at its face value. I always had to split it down the middle.
‘Who could have done it?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you were here when they found him?’
‘How do you know?’
‘Ranveig said.’
‘Yes, I was as good as in the front row. But it was Lars Rørdal who found him.’
‘Lars?’
‘Yes, do you know him?’
‘Oh, yes. Can’t deny that.’ His eyes glazed over. ‘There was a time …’ He looked around him. ‘In my younger days, I often pootled around these islands in a boat, Veum. When you get as old as I am and you know your sojourn on earth is finite you often hark back to the time when you were young and full of hope and had the best years in front of you. And now that’s one hell of a long time ago.’
‘Mons and you were childhood friends, I’m told.’
‘Actually, it was more like teenage friends. I was four or five years older than him. But we were both boat enthusiasts, and when you chugged around like we did … You know, there were dances on the moles and quays, and not just official ones. Someone had a battery-operated gramophone. That was all that was needed. Or someone had brought along an accordion or just a guitar. On rare occasions a band came over from Bergen, but then that was at a youth centre and a closed arrangement. I can remember that the Stringers came here once and a band called the Harpers …’
‘The Harpers, yes. I knew those boys.’
‘And young people came from all over, north and south. Now and then there was the odd dust-up, and as I was over twenty I was often used as the law-enforcement man. You wouldn’t believe it today, but Lars, he was a bit of a bruiser in those days. And more often than not he got involved in fights over Kristine.’
‘Kristine?’
‘Oh, yes, she was quite a looker, I can tell you. There were loads of boys drooling over her, but Lars guarded her like the crown jewels.’
‘They were together even then?’
‘Yes, at least they got together then.’
‘Mons also had a soft spot for her, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but they became friends again … afterwards.
‘After what?’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know …’
‘Come on. Spit it out. Don’t you mealy-mouth me.’
‘Well … OK. Once, one late summer’s evening on the quay in Soleibotn, I think it was, there was a dance at the harbour. Kristine suddenly disappeared, and Lars was absolutely desperate. He thought something had happened to her. She was in the bushes having a pee, we said. But no. He sent a group of us to look for her, in all directions, and, well, it was me who found them.’
‘Kristine and Mons?’
‘Yes, they had scrambled up a slope, crawled behind some bushes and … well, I think you understand.’
‘They were screwing?’
He raised both hands. ‘She had her knickers round her ankles, that much I can say. And they didn’t protest when I told them to go back down. They looked pretty sheepish, I can tell you. I packed Mons off ahead so that Lars wouldn’t get suspicious and afterwards I accompanied Kristine safely back to the dance. Straight afterwards she and Lars went off in his boat. Early that autumn Lars converted, and they never went dancing again, neither he nor Kristine. By the following year they were married and had Ole.’
‘And what’s the time scale here?’
‘Erm … early 60s. 1962–3.’
‘And later …’
‘Later? What do you mean?’
‘Did you meet Lars and Kristine again?’
‘Only sporadically. I rarely came out here. And if I did, it was by boat. But Mons and I kept in touch.’
‘And Lars and Mons: do you know if they stayed in touch?’
‘As long as Lea was alive they did.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, that wasn’t so surprising. After all, they were related.’
‘Related? You mean …?’
‘Lea was his sister.’
‘Lea’s maiden name was Rørdal?’
‘Yes.’
‘But … Did she also go to these harbour dances?’
‘No, never. They came from a deeply religious family, both of them. Lars broke out, as I said, before finding his way home, as he put it.’
‘But how did she meet Mons then?’
‘It came about because he spent his summer holidays here. As you can imagine, this match wasn’t very popular in her house. Our Inner Mission is not that far from the Taliban, Veum. They refused point-blank, but she stuck to her guns, and for some years after the wedding I don’t think she had any contact with her family at all. But as time passed, things eased, especially when the children were born. Nevertheless, we shouldn’t ignore the fact that the psychological afflictions she suffered in later life had their origin in this breach with her family and the feelings that must have produced in her.’
‘Now I understand even better why he was so shaken after finding Mons. Lars Rørdal, I mean, on Wednesday.’
A picture was beginning to emerge here, which as yet I couldn’t fully interpret. Lars, Kristine and Mons. Mons and Lea. Kristine, Mons and Lea. And Lars again.
‘Did you ever talk about those times, you and Mons?’ I asked.
‘About when we used to go to dances? Only superficially. The way you talk about old times and mutual acquaintances.’
‘But today you came out here …?’
‘Yes. As I said, I wanted to see the scene of the crime.’
I pointed to the cordon. ‘You’re supposed to stay this side.’
He looked down, as though it was the first time he had noticed. ‘They’ve done all the investigating they needed to do.’ He looked up again. ‘Do you know whether they have any suspicions?’
‘The police?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re closer to them than me. I imagine you would know. You have contacts, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do, but I haven’t asked anyone. Anyway, it’s limited what they’re prepared to say to outsiders, even if you’re an ex-colleague. ‘And you, Veum? Did you find anything while you were searching for him?’
‘Hmm … In brief, yes and no. There were conflicts in the family, that’s obvious. Ranveig was a red rag to a bull as far as both children were concerned. There was the feud about this wind farm. The environmental lobby was against it – or at least parts of it. The power companies were for, naturally enough. Mons Mæland had changed sides, as Ranveig told us when we were at their cabin. And then there’s the old land deal which has come under the spotlight.’
‘The land …?’
‘That’s actually why I’ve come here today. To talk to Gunvor Matre. But it suits me very well that you’re here, to
o.’
He frowned. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Have you heard about this? During the survey on Wednesday it came out that someone called Stein Svenson, who is a kind of provisional second-in-command at NmV – Naturvernere mot Vindkraft, in case you didn’t know – has let it be known via his solicitor, Johannes Bringeland, that they’re going to query the legal status of the 1988 land sale.’
‘I see …’
‘As you perhaps remember, you and Gunvor Matre were witnesses at the signing of the contract.’
‘Yes, that could well be right. She was a nurse from the home where the vendor had been admitted.’
‘His name was Per Nordbø.’
‘Yes, something like that.’
‘But you witnessed another sale in which Gunvor Matre was involved.’
‘Did I?’
‘The year after. When she bought the plot by the chapel off Mons Mæland. You and Jarle Glosvik signed.’
‘Yes, now it’s coming back to me. But I just had the contract shoved into my hand by Mons. I had to sign that the man was in his right mind.’
‘And was he?’
‘Absolutely! But what on earth has that got to do with all this?’
‘I was given this assignment by another client. So let’s take you first: You maintain that Per Nordbø was in his right mind when he signed over the land in 1988?’
‘I certainly do. Otherwise I wouldn’t have signed.’ He pointedly stretched out his left arm to check his watch. ‘But now I’ve got to get back. I have a ferry to catch.’
‘Yes, I spoke to your wife. She was going to keep your dinner hot, she said.’
‘Right …’ He stepped across the red-and-white tape, turned round and cast a final glance at the cross, at the small skerries and the vast sea beyond, then sighed heavily, shook his head and went on his way. The light from the afternoon sun fell over us, pale and colourless, as I joined him.
‘I spoke to Ranveig last night,’ I said.
‘Uhuh.’
‘She made a confession.’
He glanced at me. ‘About what?’
‘She confessed that she and Mons had already started a relationship before Lea went missing.’
He slowed his pace. ‘She and Mons: did Lea know about them?’
‘According to Ranveig, Mons had told Lea the night before she disappeared.’
He came to an abrupt halt. ‘For heaven’s sake, man! This changes everything. There was never any talk about it at the time.’
‘You never investigated this aspect?’
‘No, we had to believe … Mons assured us there had never been any disagreements between Lea and him, that they had a normal … She always went for a morning swim and there must have been an accident. But now …’ He threw his arms in the air. ‘Naturally enough, we’d considered suicide. Had we known this, we would have considered other options, and I personally … I would have had to stand down from the investigation because of my long-standing friendship with Mons. I’m sure you understand.’
‘The case isn’t time-barred.’
‘No, but what good would it do? Lea died sixteen years ago. Mons is dead now. Ranveig …’
‘Yes, she claims she doesn’t know anything. She says Mons and she always feared that it was suicide, precipitated by what they had done. And from what I know now, Lea had broken with her family to marry Mons. And she had experienced serious post-natal depression. How bitter must it have been for her to discover that her marriage had broken down too? Completely. How difficult it would have been for her to go back home – after all that. Perhaps putting an end to it all was a simpler solution?’
He looked at me glumly. ‘So why rake everything up again after all these years?’ Slowly he started to walk on. You’ve upset me, Veum. I had the wool pulled over my eyes, by the person I regarded as my very best friend.’
I said nothing. We were silent until we were on the road between the chapel and the red house belonging to Gunvor Matre.
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ I asked him.
‘Why should I? I don’t know her. I’ve only met her once, the time we signed the contract. Besides … the ferry.’
‘There are several ferries.’
‘That right, Veum? Sometimes I actually feel the very last ferry has gone. And that we’re stranded here forever.’
‘Here?’
‘Here,’ he said, downcast, and in one long, lingering glance he took in everything from the vaulted sky and the sea to the small cluster of houses and the bridge superstructure over to Byrknesøy, the top of which we could glimpse above the chapel roof.
Then he nodded and went down to the car park. I stood watching for a moment, then left the road for the path to the red house. This time a curtain definitely twitched, and I hadn’t reached the house before the door opened and she was standing in the doorway waiting for me.
‘Gunvor Matre?’
She nodded briefly. ‘And you are …?’
‘Varg Veum.’
‘And what is it you want?’
‘A little chat … about what’s happened.’
‘You mean …?’ She glanced towards the trees hiding the cross and the mountain plateau.
‘Amongst other things.’
For a few more seconds she eyed me with suspicion. Then she stepped aside, looking quickly down at the other houses to see if there was anyone watching what was going on. ‘You’d better come in. But take off your shoes. I’ve just cleaned.’
I did as she instructed, like the well brought-up man that I am.
26
She had not only cleaned the house; it was as though she had sterilised it. But the detergent had been green soap. It had a characteristically strong smell and reminded me of my early childhood when my mother cleaned at the weekend and everywhere smelt exactly like this.
Gunvor Matre was an energetic little woman with round cheeks and snowy-white hair tied into a tight bun behind her head, making her face look even rounder, like a Buddha’s. She was wearing a plain, dark-blue dress with a white hem by her knees. Age-wise, I put her at about seventy, but in good physical shape, the way old nurses often are.
The little sitting room she showed me into was simply furnished in an old-fashioned way. She had some yellowing family photographs on the walls, but even those of children looked to be from the early 1950s, judging by the clothes. The furniture consisted of two upholstered armchairs in red and grey, a small coffee table and a dark-brown sideboard. On the table was a narrow white runner embroidered with a grey cross-stitch pattern. She had placed a blue-black flower vase containing a sprig of heather on top. In one corner there was an antiquated television set, and in the adjacent kitchen, which faced out onto the road, I glimpsed a portable radio on one of the shelves. There was a cup of coffee on the table. I guessed that was where she spent most of her time, in exactly the right spot behind the transparent, white curtains.
I took a seat in an armchair.
‘Cup of coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
She had coffee brewed and ready, and it didn’t take her long to pour us both a cup.
Occupying the other chair, she looked at me with her alert blue eyes. ‘Terrible business,’ she said.
‘No doubt about that.’
‘And then Mons Mæland. A man like him.’
‘Yes, you knew him, didn’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t say that, but he made a very good impression on the occasions I met him.’
‘Did you notice anything on the night or the morning when it must have happened?’
‘If I noticed anything?’ She shook her head. ‘The police asked me the same question. But I didn’t see or hear anything.’
‘Were you awake?’
‘At night? No, but I’m a very light sleeper. I would have heard if anything unusual had been going on. I’ve told all this to the police. Who are you? What do you want?’
‘Varg Veum, as I said. I’m a private investigator, hired to find out about the la
nd sales you were involved in, in the late 80s.’
‘Land sales? Involved in?’
‘Yes, this house for example. You bought it from Mons Mæland in 1989, is that right?’
She bristled with defiance. ‘Yes, and?’
‘The previous year you witnessed the signing of a contract by the man who originally lived here, Per Nordbø, transferring the whole of this area in the north of the island to Mons Mæland.’
‘Yes, nothing wrong with that, was there?’
‘Not if Per Nordbø was in his right mind when the sale was carried out. Someone has decided to contest it.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Well, a distant relation, Stein Svenson. If that name means anything to you.’
‘Svenson? Isn’t he one of these environment people?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘So he has his own opinions about this and that, I suppose.’
‘Yes, but, back to … Was Per Nordbø right in his head when this sale went through?’
‘As right in the head as you and me, herr Veum! I’d had him as a patient for two and a half years. He was unsteady on his pins and couldn’t stand for long. But his head was as clear as a bell. He read four newspapers a day and could follow everything they watched on TV.’
‘You don’t need to be very clear-headed to do that.’
‘He was clear-headed. He knew what he was doing when he sold the land to Mons Mæland. He was happy that the person who bought it had roots here, he said. And he had no heirs himself, so, well, that’s how it was.’
‘And you knew what you were doing when you bought this house from Mons Mæland the year after?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? We discussed it the very first time we met, when he was in Eivindvik and was negotiating with Per. He had no interest in this house. He had a cabin somewhere, and he had no plans to move out here. It was the land he was interested in, the investment potential. He had foresight, Mons did, I can tell you that.’
‘Yes, you can say that again. But you’ve got roots here too, I’m told.’
‘Yes, not on this island, but across the bridge.’ She nodded in that direction. ‘At the end of the fjord. But after the bridge came … It’s nice and quiet here. If, like me, you’ve had a long life working for the health service you enjoy every moment you have, the peace and quiet over a cup of coffee, the radio.’
We Shall Inherit the Wind Page 17
