She chewed her lip and mumbled: ‘No. Yes.’
‘The script says you’re supposed to say: No, I wouldn’t. Yes, not while Cathrine was present.’
‘What do you want?’
‘When I left here, hungover, that morning about a year ago I recall noting something down in the office. “Skarnes, Bønni, Karsten, The Tower”, I wrote. I was wondering if you could tell me what I meant by it.’
She swallowed and gave me a blank look. ‘What you meant?’
‘Or what you meant. After all it was you who’d been talking about them the night before.’
She glanced longingly at the half-full glass. ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of what I was babbling on about that night. You weren’t the only one who had drunk too much. All I wanted from you was a shoulder to lean on and some … warmth.’
‘Don’t take any notice? It’s one thing you straying off the straight and narrow with…’ I patted my chest ‘…and quite another that since then I’ve had confirmed at least three of those names you mentioned. I’ve been to The Tower. I’ve met Bønni and Karsten. And I remember very clearly what you confided to me that night. “They’ve got a hold on me,” you said. What did you mean by that?’
‘I was babbling, I told you!’ Now she was unable to resist any longer. She reached out a hand, grabbed the glass, drained it, poured herself another and banged the bottle hard down on the table. ‘It was because you said you were … a private investigator. I thought it would make me interesting, didn’t I.’ With a disdainful pout she added: ‘And obviously it did. Even now, a year later.’
‘What hold have they got on you?’ I persisted. ‘As you still feel you have to protect them.’
She pinched her lips together.
‘I can hear you have a slight accent. Where do you actually come from?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘But you’ve got a Norwegian surname. Divorced maybe?’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Do you know Bruno Karsten from Germany, in other words?’
Her jaw dropped. Then she pulled herself together, raised her glass to her mouth and took another swig, but not so much this time. ‘I don’t know any Bruno Karsten.’
‘Really?’
‘No!’
Our eyes were locked.
‘Then you’re forcing me to speculate.’
Even though she was pressing her lips together she couldn’t hide their sensual curves. However, she resolutely kept her mouth shut.
‘What they’ve got on you must be pretty rock solid. If I were to draw my own conclusions they would be harsh, you being such an elegant, attractive woman. You’ve been a prostitute, perhaps in Germany. Bruno Karsten knew you from those days … or recognised you. In the position you’d reached in this country it wasn’t hard for him to apply some additional pressure on you, perhaps even force you to help him with what he was doing. And that, Maria, is criminality on a large scale. Prostitution, cyber crime, almost certainly the distribution and selling of drugs as well.’
‘How would I be able to help him?’ she whispered.
‘Right. You remember him now, do you? Bruno Karsten?’
Once again she didn’t answer.
‘With the access you had to children who may or may not have been registered? At any rate not as anything more than numbers in a list of stats. Earlier today we talked about hidden statistics, about the children who just disappear without any further investigation because there are no relatives who notice they’re missing and because some of those whose responsibility the children are – let me put this politely – are disloyal servants.’
She jumped up with such force that the wine glass went flying and spilt the contents across the table, where they lay like a lake of thin blood.
‘What are you accusing me of? Selling children to the devil?’
I stood up to avoid any form of aerial attack. ‘You’re getting warmer, Maria. The devil, yes. The last time we met you accorded Skarnes in particular that same epithet. He was the devil himself, you said. In the same breath as Bønni and Karsten. So who is he?’
She was panting now. ‘You’ve got no bloody idea what you’re talking about!’
‘Ole Skarnes? Is it him?’
She went so white that for a moment I thought she was going to faint. Then she slumped back down in the chair, grabbed the overturned glass, recharged it and took another large swig. ‘I don’t know any Skarnes,’ she said, repeating her earlier mantra.
‘No, of course you don’t,’ I retorted, warily sitting back down as well. I stared at the bottle of red wine. It looked so tempting, but I managed to repress my desires. I had to keep my head as clear as possible.
‘Listen, Maria. I know about The Tower. By the way, it’s empty now. The building’s going to be demolished. I know about Bruno Karsten. I know that Bønni was his right-hand man and, to be blunt, his low-life sidekick, here in Bergen. I’ll find out about Skarnes as well. But I can promise you one thing: If you don’t start opening up about what you know you won’t be in that job of yours in Olsvik for very long. I’ll make sure of that. But the choice is yours.’ I gestured with both hands. ‘All you have to do is talk.’
She was slumped over the table now, staring into her red wine as though reading her cheerless future in the dregs. Her jaw muscles were grinding away and I could see her fighting with herself.
Then she raised her chin. In a thin voice she said: ‘And if I talk you won’t say anything … to the office?’
I eyed her intently. ‘That depends on how serious it is what you tell me. I can’t promise anything. But the alternative is certain. If you don’t tell me anything I’ll contact Cathrine as soon as she’s back at work tomorrow.’
She swallowed hard. ‘You were right for the most part. Yes, I’m from Germany. Yes, I have a background as a … prostitute. Not on the street though.’ Again she made a pout I was gradually beginning to recognise. ‘Escort, prostitute, call it what you will. And, yes, I knew Bruno Karsten from those days. But it was a long time ago! Almost fifteen years.’ She paused as though immersing herself in thoughts of how quickly the time had passed or whatever was bothering her now.
‘But what brought you to Norway?’
The same pout followed by three words: ‘The usual. Love.’
‘A herr Nystøl?’
She nodded. ‘He was a client at a hotel in Hamburg who fell in love with me so deeply, he said, that he wanted to take me to Norway and draw a line under what I was and what I’d been doing for years. However, it transpired that after a couple of years of marriage he couldn’t live up to his promise. My past was like a barrier between us and we agreed to go our separate ways, like … good friends.’
‘No children?’
‘No.’
‘And then Bruno Karsten turned up again?’
‘No, no. That was only a few years ago. I studied social work, got a job in Olsvik, first as an employee, the last two years as a director. Then I met Bruno – quite by chance – one night in town, at a restaurant with colleagues. He used his charm and I was unable to keep my workplace a secret from him, and he … found me. Then the nightmare started.’
‘Which means?’
‘He wanted me to hustle again.’
‘Work as a prostitute?’
‘Yes. I was the best, he said. He promised me money. Big bucks. But I refused. And then he threatened to tell Child Welfare what I’d been doing in Germany. In the end…’ her voice became a whisper behind her wine glass ‘…I gave in, several times. Exclusive clients.’
‘Exclusive?’
‘International businessmen. Politicians. So-called celebrities. People obsessed with discretion.’
‘And they found that with Karsten?’ I sent her a sceptical look.
‘They thought they had anyway.’
‘But … you’re a grown woman. I would’ve thought they’d prefer slightly younger girls.’
‘Of course. But some like…’ a muted smile
flickered ‘…mature wine.’
‘Some even prefer very young girls.’
She sought eye contact again. ‘Yes, I know! But … not through me.’
‘Can you vouch for that? You’ve never let any of your girls into that market?’
‘Never!’ She held her left breast. ‘Hand on heart.’
‘What about Karl Slåtthaug?’
‘That was before my time.’
‘You were colleagues, you said earlier today.’
‘Yes, before he had to stop.’
‘But he also had contact with this world. I know that.’
‘With Bruno?’
‘Yes. At least he frequented The Tower, and at the moment…’
‘Yes? What were you going to say?’
‘At the moment he’s in prison, one of the accused in the big child-porn case.’
‘Yes, you said, earlier today.’ She gazed darkly into middle distance. Then she shifted her gaze back to me. ‘But I never did anything like that. You have to believe me.’
I sighed. ‘Right. There’s one name we have to return to: Skarnes. What was it that made you call him a devil?’
A grimace flitted across her face. ‘He was a punter. The kind that grows in stature only by making others seem small, if you know what I mean.’
‘Violence?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, and other repugnant stuff. He liked to debase the girls he bought in the most revolting way. I was in the shower for half an hour after I’d been with him, and many times I had to throw up.’
‘Ole Skarnes?’
She barely moved her head in confirmation.
‘And where can I find him?’
She shrugged. ‘No idea. I met him at a hotel whenever we met.’
‘But why did you mention his name alongside Karsten’s and Bønni’s? Was he part of the network?’
‘Yes, that was my understanding. He never paid when we were together. I was part of his reward, he said. He called me his bonus.’ She gulped down another large swig of wine.
‘Reward for what?’
‘How can I know?’ Suddenly she changed her approach. She licked her lips and smiled wearily. ‘But I’d rather be your bonus, Varg.’
I stood up. ‘I don’t think so, Maria.’
She got to her feet and came round the table, slightly unsteady on her pins already. She advanced on me, grabbed my jacket and pressed her body against mine. A strong smell of red wine came off her, drowning whatever perfume she might have been wearing. ‘You know what I can do with a man. Don’t you remember?’
My face flushed. ‘To be frank, I … Only fragments.’
But that was only partially true. I remembered her well enough for my most private parts to remind me. In bed she had been up and down, round and about; being with her had been like a session in a tumble dryer except that I had no idea how long the programme had been set for.
I freed myself and walked towards the door. ‘I’ll take you at your word, Maria. But if I find out you’ve kept something from me I’ll be back. Or I’ll call.’
I took out a biro, wrote down my telephone number on a sheet in my notepad, tore it out and gave it to her. ‘Call me on this number if you should remember something.’
She nodded, without a word, without making any more amorous sallies. As I left she accompanied me out, and when the door closed I heard the sound of the safety chain being drawn. No-one would be welcome here for the rest of the day.
42
Back in Hans Hauges gate, I had another little surprise waiting for me. Madonna came into the hallway to greet me, and while I was hanging up my coat and cap, she rubbed against my trouser leg ingratiatingly. Then she walked ahead of me into the kitchen and I soon saw the reason for the charm offensive. Her plate was empty.
I filled it to the brim, poured water in the bowl beside it and went back into the sitting room while she pounced on the food. After I had started the computer to search for Ole Skarnes she followed me in, jumped onto the sofa and pressed against me again as if to thank me for the food. Surprised, I took my fingers off the keyboard and stroked her neck. Then she lay down in my lap, rolled onto her back and spread her legs like the most brazen Madonna I had met for a long time. After quite a lot of pats and strokes she pronounced herself sated, got up, stretched sensually, slunk past me across the floor and into her basket. Before finding a comfortable position, perhaps for the night, she sent me a last look, as though I had finally been accepted as part of the family. For some reason this made me feel like a new man and no longer an outlaw.
I continued my search on the computer. This time I had more luck. I tried another search under Ole Skarnes and his name appeared in connection with something called Bjørna Fjord Accountancy A/S, with an address in Sandsli. Ole Skarnes was the director. I jotted down his address and phone number and started another search. Looking for Bønni, or Bjørn Hårkløv, as Little Lasse had said, I found a specific address in Fyllingsdalen and a mobile phone number. I scribbled both down on my notepad.
I didn’t get much further. I had a quick shower and went to bed. Another poor night’s sleep followed. I dreamt I was on the run, and again and again was on the verge of getting caught, but escaped by being ejected out of the dream, with such force that I nearly ended up on the floor.
The following day one of the first things I did was ring Sigurd Svendsbø. He didn’t sound completely awake when he answered, so I assumed he had been up longer than me with his computers.
‘Siggen? Veum here.’
‘Oh, hi,’ he grunted.
‘I was wondering if you could check a couple of names for me. If you can get into some systems that are not accessible to everyone.’
‘Should be possible,’ he said, his voice still croaky.
‘One name is Ole Skarnes. He might well be a central figure in this case. I think he’s a director in a company called Bjørna Fjord Accountancy. There were some IP addresses you hadn’t identified, weren’t there?’
‘Yes, a couple.’
‘He might be one of them. Can you get onto police records?’
‘Doubtful.’
‘See if you can find anything about a Bjørn Hårkløv, known as Bønni.’
‘Just a mo, Veum. I have to find something to write with.’ I waited, and soon afterwards he was back. ‘Now I’ll take notes. The first was…?’
‘Ole Skarnes. The second Bjørn Hårkløv.’
‘Great. This might take a little time, but I’ll call you. Any news otherwise?’
‘No breakthrough, but I’m onto something, I think.’
‘And you’ve managed to avoid the cops so far, I can hear.’
‘Yes.’
Afterwards I rang Vidar Waagenes. However, he sounded quite irritable. ‘What’s going on, Varg? I hope you know what you’re doing. Every hour you spend at large will be seen in a negative light when we end up in court.’
‘Even if I have a few tasty titbits?’
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘You have found some, have you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘If you’re just tapping in the dark, you might as well hand yourself in.’ He raised his voice. ‘I mean it!’
‘Give me a day or two, if they don’t ambush me first.’
‘If you’re hauled in it will look even worse for you.’
‘Ole Skarnes, does that name ring any bells?’
‘…Ole Skarnes? Never heard of him. But I’ll make a note. Has he got anything to do with the case?’
‘Maybe. Then there’s a Mr Big with a German background: Bruno Karsten. He’s definitely involved.’
‘Involved in putting this material on your hard drives?’
‘Let’s call it … contiguous criminality.’
‘Contiguous criminality?’ Again the sarcasm was more than clear. ‘That’s a new concept. Let me write it down for future use. In court.’ He repeated it slowly as if copying it syllable by syllable: ‘Con-ti-gu-ous cri-mi-nal-ity.’
‘Noted, Varg.’
‘Have you already had Bjørn as a client?’
‘Hårkløv? No, I don’t think so.’
‘Bønni to friends, if he has any.’
‘In which case I’m not in his circle of acquaintances.’
‘But do you have access to criminal records? Can you find out if he has any convictions?’
He hesitated. ‘Possibly. How important is it?’
‘Closest associate of Bruno Karsten.’
He sighed audibly. ‘Listen, Varg. I know you’re searching for well-trodden paths inside all kinds of criminality. But if this is really something an outsider has put on your hard drives…’
‘It is!’
‘Fine. But what I wanted to say was this: In that case perhaps you ought to be looking further afield than inside normal criminal milieus.’
‘I already am.’
‘Anything you want to share with me?’
‘…No. But you said you would check out a colleague of yours, regarding Åsne Clausen and her death.’
‘Yes. Well … he didn’t have a lot to tell me. Her father, Kåre Kronstad, seemed to put a lid on anything connected with the private side of the case. Not only that, he barged into his son-in-law’s company and took it over.’
‘Yes, any reason for that?’
‘It’s said that Nicolai Clausen broke down completely after the suicide. He couldn’t take care of the day-to-day running, and as Kronstad also had financial interests in the company he took responsibility for almost everything.’
‘You’re a lawyer. Tell me, wouldn’t a suicide automatically trigger some form of police investigation?’
‘In principle, yes. An autopsy at any rate. But if you have the right connections and can add gravitas to what you say, which you expect Kåre Kronstad would be able to do, it’s not that certain it will be taken so seriously. I mean, if no-one suggests it might be a criminal act; and, obviously, the police have their hands full with other cases.’
‘Thanks for telling me. We know all about that. Have you heard anything from them?’
‘From the police?’
Wolves in the Dark Page 20
