Frølich sat on the sofa.
An embarrassed silence overtook them both. Frank cleared his throat. ‘So his parents are still alive?’
‘My sister is. His father was spared this terrible business.’
Svinland shook his head sadly and became lost in thought, then he continued: ‘Fredrik had just turned forty-eight. No children. Thirty years younger than me. What can you say? How meaningless is something like this?’
‘Do you know what happened?’
Svinland shook his head. ‘He was attacked at home. Someone must’ve been in the house. An intruder perhaps. No one knows.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘Katinka. His mother. She was informed by the police this morning and called me afterwards.’
‘Was she told what happened? How he was killed?’
‘No.’
There was another silence.
‘You’re a private investigator,’ Svinland said.
‘That’s correct.’
Svinland studied him with steel-grey eyes from under bushy eyebrows. ‘Last time I spoke to Fredrik he mentioned your name. He wrote a book in which the Oslo police came in for some harsh criticism, I understand. He said you had a past in the police and were given the boot.’
‘Did he now?’
What the man was really saying was that Andersen had not only researched his background, he had also talked to others about it. That at any rate was interesting.
‘Fredrik said you were a good man. Trustworthy. You know I don’t trust the police to handle this case satisfactorily, Frølich. I don’t think they’ll make a good job of it.’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’
‘Fredrik was afraid of the police. He was frightened they’d do something like this.’
‘Kill him, you mean? Did Fredrik think a police officer would hurt him?’
The man didn’t answer at once. They ended up eyeing each other for a few eloquent seconds.
Frank wasn’t sure if he liked the thoughts that were beginning to form in his flat.
‘The police do a lot of strange things, but they don’t kill people,’ he said. The old man kept shtum.
‘You’re on a wild goose chase, Svinland.’
‘Have you read Fredrik’s book – about the Sea Breeze disaster?’
He shook his head.
‘My daughter died on board the Sea Breeze,’ Svinland said. ‘My only child.’
‘My condolences,’ Frank said, for lack of anything better to say.
‘She would’ve been fifty this year if she’d lived. We might’ve had grandchildren. Well, what you don’t know can’t hurt you, we try to think. However, my wife can’t think like that. She hasn’t been herself for thirty years.’
Svinland paused. Obviously moved, he was searching for words.
‘Fredrik used to write novels. I remember telling him he’d be better off sticking to reality instead of fantasy. Reality throws up more sensations. A few years passed. Then he made the move to reality and with a vengeance. The police don’t come out of his book well. Nor the crew, nor the shipowners.’
Svinland searched for words again. ‘Fredrik had found an eyewitness.’
Frølich hoped the man would soon come to the point. He coughed.
‘I can see you’re becoming impatient,’ Svinland said. ‘I’ll get straight to the point. You’re a private investigator. I want to hire you for a job.’
22
Frank reacted by throwing his arms in the air. He had no idea what this man was imagining he’d say, nor where this conversation was going. But he hoped the proposed job had nothing to do with what they had been discussing. He was on the point of mentioning his reservations when Svinland explained:
‘I want to hire you to find the person who was with Fredrik last night.’
‘Someone was with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t you think the police are better qualified than me to do this work?’
‘As I said, I don’t trust the police in this instance. You see, I’m fairly sure the man who was with Fredrik last night was the eyewitness on the Sea Breeze.’
‘And how can you know that?’
‘I’m a hundred per cent certain. What do you know about the ferry disaster?’
‘Very little.’
‘What actually killed the people were the gases that developed as the paint on the corridor walls caught fire. It was all over in a few minutes. The paint burned, formed hydrogen cyanide and they died. One of the great mysteries surrounding the tragedy is how the ship kept burning for hours – although there was no combustible material that could go up in smoke. Everyone who has lit a fire in a hearth knows you have to throw on more wood to keep it going.’
‘Are you saying that someone on board must’ve been throwing wood on the fire?’
Svinland nodded and took a deep breath. ‘The answer’s in Fredrik’s book. What kept the fire burning was diesel. It was pumped up from the ship’s tanks and into the cabin corridors. Members of the crew were behind the sabotage. They rigged up some pipes and pumps so that the diesel could burn in the passenger areas.’
‘I know that’s what he wrote,’ Frank said. ‘I had a look on the net. But it’s not only the police who refuse to listen to Fredrik’s claims. A parliamentary inquiry views the sabotage claims as nonsense.’
‘The parliamentary committee commissioned several reports from experts. One of them confirmed Fredrik’s revelations. But the committee made a political decision. When they received this report confirming sabotage, they quickly ordered a new one. It was obvious they wanted a different outcome. That was what they got. The new report was commissioned and drew the conclusions they wanted. So the committee could lean on the experts’ report and sweep all the dirt under the carpet. You can search the company the committee used on the internet. You can examine the company’s areas of expertise. It doesn’t have any competence in fires at sea. In other words, the parliamentary inquiry’s report is a political commission which is worth zero. Parliament was playing to the gallery. The state machinery of power wanted to put a lid on the case and presided over a show in which the police and politicians played roles. But despatching scandals into oblivion is nothing new in Norwegian politics. I only have to mention the trials of the Nazis or the surveillance of communists during the cold war. Or the surveillance of the political radicals in the 1970s, or the Alexander Kielland oil-rig disaster. I could go on. But there’s no point. I haven’t come here to discuss political science with you. The point is that the man who was with Fredrik last night wasn’t evacuated from the Sea Breeze. He was on board until the ship was towed to land in Sweden. He was an eyewitness. And he’s sitting on the truth of what actually happened.’
‘Why was he on board?’
‘I don’t know,’ Svinland said. ‘But the fact is that he was there. This man watched the crew sabotaging the boat.’
‘It’s the same old story,’ Frank Frølich said.
‘As I said, this man’s an eyewitness. One of the things he can say something about is lifeboat number nine.’
‘Lifeboat number nine?’
Svinland nodded. ‘I know that Fredrik was supposed to meet the man last night. This man was ready to spill the beans.’
‘What about this lifeboat?’
‘It disappeared.’
‘How is that relevant to the case?’
‘There’s one thing I’d like to find out. And there’s one man who knows. The man who was on board and met Fredrik last night, who saw what happened – Fredrik called him Ole Berg. I want to hire you to find this man – Ole Berg.’
‘A man who’s a rumour? This sounds like part of a conspiracy theory, Svinland.’
Svinland shook his head. ‘Ole Berg’s real. And he was with Fredrik last night. I know it.’
‘OK, let’s say this man was with Fredrik last night, but why is it so important for you to find him?’
‘I lost my only child thirty years ago, Frøli
ch. She had just turned twenty. She was travelling with her best friend. They went to bed at around midnight. My daughter couldn’t sleep. Witnesses have told me she came back up to the bar, without waking Karin, her friend. Half an hour later the fire alarm went off. At first my daughter ran up to the deck, apparently. Then she ran back into the ship. I’m sure she wanted to wake Karin and save her life. My daughter was found kneeling with her forehead against the wall outside the cabin. She had fallen to her knees and died in that position, in a sea of flames, alone with her mortal dread. Have you got any children?’
23
No, Frølich didn’t have any children.
‘Nothing feels worse to a mother or a father than the inability to alleviate a child’s suffering,’ Svinland said, breathing in deeply. ‘Whether it’s fear or pain. You spend every day for year after year of your life wondering: What could I have done if I’d been there? How could I have stopped it? Why did she die and not me? I can see it in your face. You think I’m going to say some rubbish about losing the apple of my eye. I won’t bother you with that. I’ll just list a few objective facts. Vilda was a great pleasure to her parents for as long as she was allowed to live. The sound of her light footsteps in the morning gave our lives meaning. Apart from that she was a talent. She liked am-dram. Cared about everyone, friends and family. But her goodness isn’t where the pain lies. Nor the joy she spread around her. These are hooks my wife and I have been left with. Hooks we can hang our memories on. What’s more important to me is that I was meant to leave Vilda behind me on earth. She was taken away from me by the ship of death, the Sea Breeze. She was killed by cynics who did dirty work for money. But those who killed her didn’t just remove Vilda from the face of the earth. They destroyed much more – they also destroyed living people. My wife’s still woken at night by Vilda’s screams of pain. This has scarred her and it has scarred me. Our memories of our child and the dreams we had for her have been destroyed – and all we’re left with are the shattered remains. We’ve been stripped of all that was good in our lives by bastards who never gave us a thought. But Lise and I are only two of a large number of victims. These arseholes killed more than a hundred and fifty people. They wiped out whole families. And they destroyed the lives of parents and children who survived. There are victims all over the country. Now they’ve taken Fredrik from us, too. I want to hire you because I have to do something about this. For thirty years I’ve watched the police stick their heads in the sand when it comes to the Sea Breeze. I’m bloody sick of it. I believe – no, I know that the police won’t find out who killed Fredrik and ensure that he gets his just deserts.’
‘I know the man running the investigation,’ Frølich said. ‘He’ll find the answer.’
‘I understand your naivety in this matter. After all, you worked in the police for a long time. But I’ll still do everything I can. For Fredrik’s sake. Fredrik talked to me about most things. He thought the police were out to get him. He thought you were also being manipulated – part of the police’s game.’
‘Me?’
‘I know Fredrik paid you an advance to do a job. Now he’s dead. You can’t work for him anymore. The job he gave you is irrelevant now. But I’m here to ask you to do something for me instead. I want you to find Fredrik’s eyewitness. Ole Berg’s sitting on the truth about what happened. Not only about who killed my daughter. Ole Berg also knows what happened to Fredrik last night. I want you to find him before the police do. So that we can be sure the truth comes out.’
Frølich leaned back in his chair. Was this something he should rack his brains over? Was this something he should spend any time on? Trespass on Gunnarstranda’s territory? Every single cell of the nerves in his spine screamed in unison: no.
On the other hand…
He lowered his gaze, self-critically. What about the other hand? A man comes to your office. He says he knows something you want to know. He wants information from you, but doesn’t get it. He puts twenty thousand in an envelope and leaves. He avoids you, doesn’t pick up when you ring, despite the fact that he must know why you are ringing, despite actually wanting to talk to you to get information.
Then he is killed.
He got up, walked to the window and looked out.
‘Will you take the job?’
He turned back to Svinland. ‘You say this eyewitness was with Andersen last night. Do you think their meeting has anything to do with Andersen’s murder?’
Jørgen Svinland inclined his head in silence.
‘Have you any idea?’
Svinland took a deep breath. ‘Will you take the job, Frølich?’
He stood by the window, weighing up the matter. His spine was still screaming no. But he also had other things to take into account. He owed Andersen twenty grand. He could give the money back to Andersen’s mother. Or he could make himself useful. He could spend the money on doing something sensible for Andersen. Something sensible? His spine jeered at him, but he repressed the feeling and turned back to Svinland.
‘What about this lifeboat that went missing?’
Svinland took a deep breath. ‘In the mayhem, when the passengers were leaving the ferry in lifeboats, there was one on the starboard side that got stuck. It hung alongside the ferry for quite a long time and the passengers in it panicked. There were forty of them in a boat that wouldn’t go up or down, you know. Hanging there, they see another lifeboat further aft being lowered into the sea. In this lifeboat there are only two people – two uniformed crew members. The passengers in the lifeboat stuck on the side of the boat cry for help. But the two crewmen don’t take any notice. They just start the engine and make for the horizon. There are close on forty survivors who say the same thing. In the middle of the chaos the two crewmen flee the burning ferry. Ole Berg has an explanation for why it happened. What is it?’
This assignment seemed innocuous enough: locate a person who had dinner with Fredrik Andersen last night.
‘Actually I owe Andersen a job,’ he said.
Jørgen Svinland stretched out a hand. ‘Now you’re working for me. Let’s shake hands on it.’
Frank ignored the feeling in his spine and took his hand. A strong, dry hand.
‘Ole Berg was the cover name Fredrik gave him. When Fredrik and I discussed the events he was always referred to as Ole Berg. I doubt it’s his real name.’
Was that all Svinland had to say? ‘You have to give me more than that,’ Frølich said. ‘An Ole Berg who doesn’t exist in the national register isn’t a lot to go on.’
‘There is one thing,’ Svinland said. ‘Fredrik talked about a crewman, a Rolf Myhre. This Myhre’s supposed to be connected to Berg in some way or other, although I don’t know how.’
Rolf Myhre, Frølich thought. He had come across that name not so long ago, but where?
The man hobbled towards the door.
Frank stayed where he was, by the window. He searched his memory while the man opened the door, turned and sent him a look. ‘Let me know when Fredrik’s advance is used up. I’ll transfer more money immediately.’
‘Have you got a telephone number?’
The man leaned on the crutch and one hand bored into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Here,’ he said, passing him a business card.
Frølich crossed the floor and took it.
‘I’ll send you a contract. Sign it and return it to me,’ he said, and added: ‘All the formalities are covered now.’
Svinland nodded.
‘How’s the girlfriend?’
‘Which girlfriend?’
‘Your daughter’s.’
‘Karin? She survived. She managed to escape from the cabin just before Vilda went back.’
24
He drove to the city centre in case he needed his car later. Found a bay free in Oslo City multi-storey car park. Shortly afterwards he unlocked the door to his office. Repeated the routine with his chair, which rolled against the wall with a bang. Sat down and went through what happened here a day a
go. Andersen scribbled down a telephone number on an envelope containing twenty thousand kroner. Andersen put it on the table and left. He followed him, came back, stuffed the notes in his pocket and drove to Andersen’s flat.
The envelope? Where had he put it?
The waste-paper basket was empty. So the cleaner had been in. He walked out of the office and down the stairs. Located the cellar door. Opened it. Switched on the light. Nothing. No refuse room. He walked back and into the backyard. There were some green plastic containers here. One was for paper recycling. He opened the lid. It was half full, but he could barely reach in. He sighed. There was nothing for it. He went back up the stairs and fetched the chair from beside the office door. Placed it in front of the container, opened the lid, climbed up on the chair and started rummaging through the pile of used newspapers and shredded letters. Ten minutes later he found it. The envelope was addressed to Fredrik Andersen. Two stamps with a picture of a Norwegian mountain plateau. With a postmark.
In the top left-hand corner of the envelope was the sender’s name. A company logo. Rolf Myhre. Timepieces bought and sold. The address was Porfyrveien 7b.
Frank got into his car and turned onto the inner ring road and up Tråkka to Oslo West.
As he swung into Stasjonsveien, Matilde rang. She seemed uneasy. She said she had gone to where they had agreed to meet, but Guri hadn’t appeared.
‘I can’t get hold of her.’
There was an anxious edge to Matilde’s voice. He wasn’t sure how to respond, apart from trying to calm her nerves.
‘She’s bound to show up.’
‘But we’d agreed the time and place. I don’t like this. Now that writer’s been killed.’
‘Have you rung her?’
‘Several times. She isn’t answering.’
‘She has to show up. There might be something at work preventing her from getting to a phone.’
‘I’ve rung there, too. She’s not at work. This is her day off and that was why we were going to meet, of course.’
Sister Page 7
