The Consorts of Death (9 page)

‘You’ve done a great job, Varg. But I still think we should
consider
hospitalisation.’

‘Let’s give him one more night, eh?’

‘OK. I’ll go with that.’

We went back to Cecilie and Jan. ‘Must be bedtime soon, right?’ I said. ‘Are there any exciting books up there?’

Cecilie nodded. ‘The one we started yesterday was nice, anyway. About Winnie the Pooh.’

‘I’ll come up with you.’

On the stairs I said to her: ‘Shall I take this shift?’

‘Would you like to?’

‘One of us definitely ought to be here, and since you did last night then …’

She nodded. ‘It would be nice to go home and change clothes anyway.’

She still helped Jan put on his pyjamas, wash and clean his teeth, though. When finally he was in bed, she sat on the chair beside him and asked: ‘Should Varg read perhaps?’

He looked at me.

‘I’m wolf-keen to read,’ I said.

He lowered his head stiffly, and Cecilie and I exchanged places.

‘Here,’ she said, and I began to read. ‘“The Piglet lived in a very grand house in the middle of a beech tree, and the beech tree was in the middle of the forest, and the Piglet lived in the middle of the house. Next to his house was a piece of broken board which had ‘TRESPASSERS W’ on it. When Christopher Robin asked the Piglet what it meant, he said it was his grandfather’s name, and had been in the family for a long time.”’

Cecilie sat on the other chair and stayed there until Jan’s eyes had begun to flicker. When he seemed to be falling asleep, we motioned to each other and crept into the corridor.

We were standing at the top of the stairs. In the distance other noises came from the house: the television set on the ground floor, the hissing in the pipes and excited falsetto voices from one of the other rooms.

She said: ‘In a way, this has been a nice day.’

I nodded and smiled.

She came over to me, put her arms around my neck and gave me a hug. I could feel her warm, light body against mine as the door behind us banged open. Like lovers with a bad conscience we jumped apart and turned around.

Jan had opened the door and now he was coming towards us with his head down, not looking ahead. ‘Don’t!’ he shouted before hitting me in the stomach like a battering ram. For a second or two I stood swaying. Then I lost my balance and fell backwards down the steep stairs.

So Cecilie had to spend the night there after all. I was driven to A & E by Hans who had only just managed to squeeze himself in behind the wheel of the Mini. There, they confirmed a bad strain and a pulled muscle in my right arm, but as the on-duty doctor laconically added: ‘If you hadn’t grabbed hold of the railing, things could have been a lot worse for you.’

‘What the hell was that all about?’ Hans had asked me on the way there.

‘Don’t ask me! But it’s given me something to mull over …’

Again and again I went back over the absurd moment when I lost my footing and lurched down the stairs. I struck out blindly with my right arm, grabbed hold of the railing, lost my grip, got hold of another support, gripped and held on so tightly that I broke my fall but pulled a muscle in my arm, which felt as if it had come out of the socket and would never settle back.

For a second or two I seemed to have passed out. Then I heard Cecilie from above: ‘Varg! Are you alright?’ – and Hans come charging out of the vestibule office: ‘What the hell’s going on?’

I turned over and crawled up into a kneeling position before slowly getting to my feet. I looked up the stairs. There were Cecilie and Jan standing together. She was holding his arms tight while both stared down at me as if they had seen a ghost.

I met Jan’s gaze. It was black with fury.

‘But, Johnny, I thought we were friends.’

‘I hate you! I hate you!’ he screamed, his face bright red.

‘Now, now … Don’t say that,’ Cecilie said in a consoling tone of voice, but who she was consoling I was not at all sure. ‘Come on …’

She led Jan back into the bedroom while Hans supported me out of the building and to my car. When A & E were finished with me, he said: ‘I can drive you home, Varg. I don’t live that far away.’

‘Well, I’m not going to say no. I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to change gear at this moment.’

That night I slept even worse. I lay brooding until the early hours, and when I did finally fall asleep I was drawn into a
nightmarish
dream where once again I mixed up Jan with Thomas, and on waking I was confused as to which of them kept pushing me down the steep stairs again and again. And the matter was not made any better by Beate replacing Cecilie at the top of the
staircase
, with a gloating expression on her face: What did I say? Even this is too much for you!

In the end, when I got up, my whole body hurt and a headache was pounding away behind my forehead. I rang the office and explained the situation to them. They wished me all the best and said I shouldn’t concern myself about Jan. They had already
conferred
with Cecilie and relief was on its way. ‘Besides Hans Haavik already has competent staff out there, so everything is in hand, Varg,’ they comforted.

A little later Cecilie rang and said the same.

‘And what about you, what are you doing?’ I asked.

‘After two nights at my post I will be taking a day off, at home,’ she said. ‘And you relax,’ she added with an undertone I thought I recognised from the other woman with whom I had shared the last years of my life, intonation that bespoke mistrust and scepticism.

‘And Jan, did he say anything – afterwards?’

‘No. He fell into a kind of coma. Hans is getting Marianne out there this morning, and then it’s up to her. I’m afraid it will be hospitalisation. But you …’

‘Yes?’ There was another sound in my head, as if I were in a concrete cellar.

‘Neither Hans nor I have mentioned a word of this to the – police. But perhaps you ought to contact them yourself. I mean … with reference to what he said to you on Tuesday.’

‘Yes … I’ll see.’

For an instant I could see them all together. Vibecke Skarnes and Jens Langeland. Mette Olsen and Terje Hammersten. Hans Haavik and Cecilie. Jan coming towards me like a torpedo:
I hate you! I hate you!
And what he had said to me on Tuesday:
Mummy did it
.

In my mind I balanced them against one another: Mette Olsen with or without Terje Hammersten in one pan of the scales and Vibecke Skarnes in the other.

I had only a vague image of Svein Skarnes from a black and white family photo. After forcing down a skimpy breakfast, I decided to do something about just that.

Skarnes Import turned out to be a very small company. They had offices on the second floor of a building in the part of Olav Kyrres gate that had survived the 1916 town fire. I was received by a
secretary
with red-rimmed eyes and a sniffly nose which she tended, throughout our conversation, with a tiny crumpled lace
handkerchief
that could hardly absorb more moisture than a stamp.

She introduced herself as Randi Borge and burst into floods of tears when I explained the purpose of my visit. Age-wise, I would have put her at about forty. She had groomed dark blonde hair and was wearing a tight-fitting black dress that, from where I was standing, on my side of her reception desk, put me in far from a funereal mood.

She kindly explained that, apart from Svein Skarnes and herself, the company had consisted of one technician, Harald Dale, who was out on a maintenance job that day.

‘No one else? But they’re heavy machines you import, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, they are. Photocopiers and franking machines. But we hire in extra help for when the biggest machines have to be positioned and installed.’

‘And what were Svein Skarnes’ duties?’

‘But …’ She sent me an angry look. ‘That’s obvious! It was his company. He’d built it up from scratch. First he worked for – one of the bigger enterprises. Then he realised there could be just as much money working for himself. And there was. All the
contracts
, all the marketing, all the dealing with customers … that was his responsibility. And he travelled a lot. We have customers up and down south-west Norway, from Ålesund to Flekkefjord.’

‘I see. I didn’t mean it like that. But what will happen now, now that he’s no longer …?’

Her eyes widened as though the future was revealing itself in all its gruesome detail to her inner eye.

‘Will his wife take on the company, do you think?’

‘Vibecke!’ It sounded like a trumpet blast, rich with contempt. ‘Can’t imagine that at all.’

‘No?’

‘No, she simply doesn’t have – the capacity. So unless Harald can take over …’ Again the tears burst forth. ‘Well, then I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to go to the job centre …’

I leaned across the reception desk. She looked up at me. Her shapely legs pointed flawlessly downwards beneath the short dress, and I had to concede that she made an extremely tasty impression, perfect bordering on almost painful. The only thing that spoiled the image was the tearful expression on her face and her red-rimmed eyes; however, that lent her an even more human aspect, a touch of openness and intimacy that invited closer attention.

‘Tell me,
fru
Borge …’

‘I’m not married …’

‘Indeed?’

She met my gaze and blushed. ‘What was it you were going to – say?’

‘Yes, it was … In such a small company as this and with, if I have understood correctly, Skarnes and you alone here in the office for most of the time …’

Her eyes flashed and the redness of her cheeks assumed a more fiery hue. ‘What do you mean?’

‘No, no. No offence intended. I was just thinking … People talk. You may have had lunch together. You knew each other better than you would have done in a larger company, I would imagine.’

‘Yes, we did. And so?’

‘We at social services are most concerned about Jan. About how he’s going to be. And so I wondered … if we could form a picture of what the relationship was like at home. With his foster parents.’

‘But can’t Vibecke tell you that?’

‘Yes, but you know how it is. Often an outside view may be
necessary
. Those involved in the situation often become myopic.’

‘Well, I didn’t see much of either her or the boy. They very rarely came by the office. That’s also one of the reasons there won’t be any more … now that Svein …’

Once again her voice faltered. Her expression was distant. It struck me that she bore a slight resemblance to Vibecke. Or a roughly ten-year older version of her. They had the same regular features, the same well-groomed hair, they held their heads in the same slightly proud way. I wondered if it was Skarnes’ taste in women that was being reflected, in both his secretary and his spouse. Not bad taste anyway, but a bit conventional, perhaps …’

‘What was he like, Svein Skarnes?’ I asked tentatively.

‘I …’ She searched for words, and when she eventually found them, there was a new warmth in her voice. ‘He was a good person. Kind to other people. A good boss and one who never let the demand for maximum profit control the business. We had lots of small customers – small firms, many of them in outlying areas, and he insisted they were given the best possible deals and offered fair after-sales. In fact, Harald said that if things went on as they were doing, they would have to employ at least one more
technician
to take care of the more remote districts. Well, I think … Lots of problems can be solved over the phone, but of course it’s Harald who’s sent off if there’s anything serious.’

‘And, on a personal level? How long had you known him?’

‘Right from the start.’

‘The start of …?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘When the company was set up, five years ago. We had the five-year anniversary last autumn. An
anniversary
dinner at Sunnfjord Hotel in Førde.’

‘In Førde? Why there?’

‘Well … it was in connection with a sales meeting. Both Harald and I were up there anyway, and so Svein said: Today I think we’ll treat ourselves to a decent anniversary dinner.’

‘Aha. And Vibecke,
fru
Skarnes, was she with you?’

‘No, she certainly wasn’t! Why should she be? She hardly set her foot in here, as I said, unless there was something she needed copying.’

‘And Jan didn’t either, from what I understand?’

‘No. I only saw him a few times. The boy was Svein’s big worry, I can tell you.’

‘In what sense?’

‘Listen
herr
… Veum, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t have any … any children myself. But I can easily
understand
… the longing for a child. And I know Svein took it very hard, that he and Vibecke couldn’t have … their own children. So when the opportunity came along, he made a quick decision and said yes. First to the enquiry about whether they wanted to be foster parents, later to the adoption.’

‘And how did it work out?’

‘At first everything seemed to be going well. But it turned out that the tiny boy … he was a time bomb waiting to go off. There were so many strange reactions in that boy, and thinking back to all the incidents Svein told me about … once – well, no point covering it up – a few months ago, he came to the office in the morning and I could see that something was bothering him. In the end, I couldn’t restrain myself. I went into his room – there …’ She tilted her head towards an open door behind her. Through the opening I could make out a large desk and a vacant chair. ‘He told me that Johnny boy had bitten his hand the night before! And I do mean bitten. You should’ve seen the mark! When I was told on Wednesday morning what had happened and heard that … You can imagine what thoughts went through my head, can’t you.’

‘Naturally.’

She looked at me, with insistent eyes now. ‘Could that be what happened, this time as well?’

I met her gaze. Her eyes had a shimmer of green in the blue, like an ice wall in a glacier. ‘To be quite frank,
frøken
Borge, I don’t know. But, yes, it’s certainly a possibility.’