Sohlberg and the Missing Schoolboy: an Inspector Sohlberg mystery (Inspector Sohlberg Mysteries) (7 page)

That’s it.

I have to find out if she has any blackmail information on me hidden away somewhere . . . ready to be released if she croaks or winds up badly injured.

If she doesn’t have that insurance then I’m going to literally rip her to pieces.

~ ~ ~

The Otterstads sent their oldest son Leif to pick up the Sohlbergs at exactly 8:00 P.M. in one of the Otterstad’s motorboats. As usual the boat was a Bénéteau from France where the 120-year-old company kept Mathias Otterstad on a short waiting list for new powerboats like the
Antares 42
model.

“Wow,” said Fru Sohlberg to her husband when the breathtaking 49-foot Bénéteau
Monte Carlo 47
model docked in front of the Sohlberg pier.

“She’s a beaut . . . ain’t she?” said 22-year-old Leif Otterstad while he helped Fru Sohlberg come on board. “So are you Fru Sohlberg!”

Both Sohlbergs laughed.

“I’m serious,” said Leif. “Fru Sohlberg is a good-looking woman.”

Harald Sohlberg nodded while his wife said:

“Well thank you Leif. This boat is incredible . . . it looks like an elegant torpedo on steroids.”

Leif gave them a quick tour of the luxurious interior and then raced the boat south around Malmøya Island and then north across the Oslofjord. They drew gaping stares from everyone who saw them. The trip to the Otterstads took less than 20 minutes before they approached the northwest shores of Malmøya Island.

Although Malmøya and Ulvøya islands are separated by less than half a mile of water there’s quite a big jump in net worth and income for those who live on the bigger island of Malmøya. Sohlberg spotted the Otterstad dock the minute he saw a massive Bénéteau
Swift Trawler 52
floating on the placid waters near his host’s spectacular home on Skjellveien.

~ ~ ~

“I want to go home,” said Karl Haugen.

The woman with kind eyes smiled. “This is your new home.”

“No! I want my Daddy. I want to go home.”

The woman tried to hug the little boy but he turned away from her and started crying.

~ ~ ~

A crowd of about 50 adults and children on the beach cheered when the Sohlbergs stepped out of the boat and onto the pier. Matthias and Nora Otterstad waved at them from a bench under a grove of cedars.

The two couples hugged.

“Welcome Emma and Harald!” said the always effusive Nora Otterstad. “I’m so glad you’re here. Finally home. Will you stay this time and live here in Oslo?”

“Who knows,” said Fru Sohlberg before Sohlberg could say anything.

Matthias Otterstad interjected:

“Interpol must be somewhat like the French Foreign Legion . . . you never really know where you are going to posted . . . eh?”

“True,” said Fru Sohlberg while Harald Sohlberg nodded.

Nora Otterstad pointed at two long tables. “Now come along Emma. Let’s get something to drink and eat for us and our boys . . . I’ll also introduce you to some folks you may not know.”

The women left for the enormous koldtbord that offered amazing mountains of salmon—glazed and smoked and marinated and broiled. Slabs of crayfish and mountain trout towered over all sorts of cold cuts from Norway and Italy including prosciutto and mortadella along with salads and breads and pastries and desserts.

“It’s been a long time,” said Matthias Otterstad, “since we met in person . . . eh?”

“Too long.”

“I saw your parents before they left for Texas. I invited them over for dinner.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you did that. They rarely go out any more . . . even during those few weeks when they’re here in Norway.”

“I was surprised I found them here and not in Houston. . . . You’re very lucky that they’re still around. And in overall good shape for folks in their mid-eighties.”

“I’d be glad to be in half as good health as they are when I get that age.”

“I understand Emma joined a cult.”

“What? . . . Did my mother . . . or father tell you that?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Just what cult are you talking about?”

“You know . . . that cult from America. . . . Maybe I shouldn’t have used that word. But it’s something I’ve been very curious about.”

“Matthias . . . I’ve also been very curious about something and yet I never asked you about it for years and years.”

“Go ahead . . . ask me.”

“As I remember . . . you faced nasty lawsuits from Goldman Sachs. They alleged that you had stolen some of their employees and clients. You prevailed in the lower courts . . . and won again at the Supreme Court until two justices mysteriously switched their votes and recalled their original opinions in your favor. . . . You lost a lot of money and swore you’d get even. . . . Right?”

“So far you’re right Sohlberg.”

“Well now . . . you can finally tell me . . . were you the anonymous tipster who led me to find those two corrupt justices in the court? . . . Did you do that to get even with those two crooked pieces of garbage?”

“Sohlberg! . . . Why would you think that?”

“Answering a question with a question. Interesting. . . .”

“You too answered my cult question with a question.”

“So we’re even . . . at a stalemate.”

“A good old-fashioned deadlock. . . . Sometimes a deadlock is not a bad thing. It gives you time to think things over . . . figure things out.”

Sohlberg nodded and observed the koldtbord carefully. He shook his head when Fru Sohlberg pointed at the fårikål which he could never digest—not even when he was a teenager. The heavily peppered cabbage-and-mutton stew left him bloated for hours. Unlike most Norwegians he disliked meat including the ever-popular kjøttkaker meatballs. What Sohlberg most wanted—in addition to the grilled salmon—was a heaping plate of Norway’s heavenly muiter or cloudberries. He also wanted a lump of mouth-watering lingonberries spooned on top of the Jarlsberg cheese that he had missed so badly when living abroad.

“Here,” said Emma Sohlberg who arrived with two laden plates for her famished husband.

“Perfect!” Sohlberg grabbed the first plate which was packed full with flatbrød or paper-thin crisp rye bread topped with brunost or carmelized goat cheese. “Oh . . . this is good.” The appetizer disappeared before the two women turned to go back to the buffet table. “Ah . . . heavenly.” Sohlberg digged into the second plate topped with grilled salmon and his other favorite foods.

Matthias smiled at his friend’s voracious appetite. “So . . . tell me . . . are you staying here in Norway for good this time?”

“No,” said Sohlberg between bites. “Just for a conference. Then back to the United States.”

“It’s too bad.” A downcast Matthias Otterstad did not hide his disappointment. “I wish you’d move back here.”

“Why? . . . Are you getting sentimental?”

“Maybe. Besides . . . I don’t like living off my investments. It’s a comfortable but boring existence. Dividends and interest and capital gains aren’t as exciting as running a business. I was hoping you’d stay and come work with me. You’d be a great business partner. We could easily build another company from scratch. As you know almost everyone with brains leaves Norway for better jobs and opportunities. Look at your brother . . . a top-notch petroleum engineer who should be helping his own country find more oil. Instead of staying at Statoil he’s now helping British Petroleum find oil in America.”

“Well . . . they need all the help they can get since a lot of their oil has spilled and polluted the Gulf of Mexico.”

Matthias Otterstad laughed. “Yes. Those crazy British idiots. Unbelievable. And not one of those rats have been prosecuted. Interesting how the enviro-radical Obama people turn a blind eye when it comes to one of their biggest corporate campaign donors. I wish I could buy off politicians that easily and thoroughly in Norway.”

“It would be too expensive.”

Matthias Otterstad laughed. “As the old saying goes . . . politicians don’t sell their integrity . . . they just rent it. It figures that the rent for a Norwegian politician would be much more expensive in good old Norway . . . as with everything else.”

“How true. Norway has gotten way too expensive. Remember the good old days? . . . I still remember our law school days and going to your Nora’s apartment so I could get some food when I was low on funds . . . which was almost always. Your Nora always had good food in her refrigerator. I think she earned more money in one month as a registered nurse than both of us made during all of our years in law school.”

“Yes,” said Matthias Otterstad with a chuckle. “I think we both married our wives because they made so much more money as nurses than we did back then as lawyers. By the way . . . I’m glad to see you and Emma are so happy together. That’s getting to be a rarity nowadays.”

“You name it . . . everything’s getting to be a rarity nowadays.”

“What you and Emma have is quite special . . . which reminds me . . . that you owe me a lot . . . after all Nora and I introduced you to Emma.”

“I’m so glad I married her.”

“Nora and I were so worried about you those two years after Karoline died.”

“Thank you my friend,” said Sohlberg who quickly switched the topic. “But you owe me more for recommending you to your first clients when they asked for references.”

The men laughed.

~ ~ ~

Karl Haugen did not understand why his father no longer looked for him. Several times his father had come so close to him but his father had not seen or heard him. He now felt so far away from his father.

“Daddy!” he yelled.

Silence. As always. The silence sometimes overwhelmed him. Other times he felt happy when he heard the pretty music. He wondered how long he would be kept away from his father.

~ ~ ~

Sohlberg finished eating. He discretely inspected Matthias Otterstad and his immense estate and he wondered how all this had happened to a law school graduate who had never practiced law. He only knew the basic details: that shortly before graduating from law school Matthias Otterstad had inherited $ 200,000 kroner or less than $ 40,000 U.S. dollars from an elderly aunt; and that within a year he had quadrupled his inheritance by investing in out-of-favor stocks and currencies from his home.

Matthias Otterstad caught Sohlberg giving him and his property the once-over. “My good friend . . . look at all this. . . . I owe you. And that’s why I’ve asked you many many times to come work with me. Thanks to your references and recommendations I soon had wealthy investors in Norway and abroad begging me to manage their money.”

Sohlberg nodded. He remembered the fawning newspaper and magazine articles about his friend. Within four years of starting his investment fund Matthias Otterstad was managing large amounts of Other People’s Money for a hefty percentage of profits. Over a ten year period his take-home income added up to tens of millions of dollars and kroner and euros.