The Consorts of Death (8 page)

Langeland interrupted. ‘Don’t put yourself through this, Vibecke! He has no right to interview you like this. I’m your
solicitor
. Let me …’

‘You know the alternative yourself, Langeland. It’s not certain they would be so understanding.’ I turned back to Vibecke Skarnes. ‘I do appreciate that it’s difficult to talk about this.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s … terrible! That that tiny … that he should be such a cuckoo in the nest …’

Langeland again signalled that she should desist. I said nothing. After a pause, she continued: ‘Svein was supposed to stay at home with him until I returned. I didn’t take longer than I had to! But when I … I knew of course that they were at home, so I just rang the bell when I arrived. But when no one opened up, I had to unlock the door and then …’

She raised her head and stared into the distance, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘The first thing I saw was Jan. He was standing in the hall, right in front of …’ She took a deep breath. ‘The cellar stairs. I didn’t know, I didn’t understand … He was so strange. Just stood there staring at me as though he didn’t recognise me. So …
apathetic
, I would say. And I asked him: Johnny boy, what is it? Where’s Daddy? But he didn’t answer, and I walked past him and saw the cellar door open. I must have known then. That something
terrible
had happened. I went down the top steps and there … then I saw him. He lay on the bottom step, twisted … his neck.’ She made an involuntary movement with her own neck. As she continued, her voice was forced, as if she were pushing herself towards the inevitable conclusion. ‘He … I knew immediately from the way he was lying … he was dead. I ran down, bent over him, tried to lift him, held him tight, but I knew. He was dead, dead, dead …’

She burst into tears again and I let her cry. Langeland sent me accusatory glares, leant over and put his arms around her. She turned, half-stood up from her chair and rested against him, sobbing. He patted her back, trying to console her. ‘There, there, Vibecke … There, there …’

For lack of anything else to do, I went to the pan on the ring and lifted the lid, as if to make sure it wouldn’t boil over. It all looked fine.

When I turned back to Langeland and Vibecke, she had let go of him. She was sitting slumped over the table with a handkerchief pressed against her face, staring at the table top.

Langeland said: ‘I think you should go now, Veum.’

I nodded. ‘Perhaps we’ll talk again another time,
fru
Skarnes,’ I said to her.

She gave an imperceptible nod.

Langeland followed me to the door. I whispered: ‘And … the police?’

‘I’ll contact them myself, Veum. You don’t need to worry. I just wanted her to calm herself first. You could see for yourself how upset she is.’

‘Not unjustifiably, I’m afraid to say.’

His eyes probed me.

‘As we drove with Jan yesterday … as we got into the car … the only thing he has said so far …’

‘Yes?’

‘He said: “Mummy did it.”’

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t joined us and lowered his voice further. ‘What?’

‘And he knew nothing about any second mummy, did he?’

‘Not as far as I know. Not unless Vibecke …’

‘Shall we go back and ask her?’

‘No! Not now … I’d rather … If she says anything, I’ll ring you. I promise.’

‘Hand on your solicitor-heart?’

‘Hand on my – yes.’

I wavered for a moment. ‘But there was one thing that made me wonder. I don’t know if you also noticed.’

‘What was that?’

‘She didn’t ask how Jan was. Not a word.’

He nodded in silence as he let the thought sink in. Then he shrugged, went to the front door, opened it and let me out. In the garden, I took a deep breath and wondered what to do next. First of all, however, I needed something to eat.

From a telephone box in Skansenmyren I called Cecilie. But she was not at home. Then I rang Haukedalen. I got Hans Haavik on the line. That was where she was. They were still struggling to get a word out of Jan.

‘Come on over, Varg,’ Hans said and uttered the timely words: ‘We can even offer you some leftovers.’

I didn’t protest. I walked straight to Skansen, got into my car and was on my way.

The row of windows in Haukedalen Children’s Centre glowed with warmth as I got out of my car, locked up and walked to the entrance. It had started to snow again, slightly heavier snowflakes now, and a treacherous promise of a late winter and renewed life on the ski runs around the town. A few degrees higher, though, and it would tip over into rain.

Hans Haavik met me in the vestibule. He seemed concerned. ‘Not a lot to tell you, Varg. I’m afraid we may have to recommend hospitalisation.’

I nodded. ‘Is Cecilie still here?’

He pointed towards the refectory. ‘They’re sitting in there.’

Some youths passed us in the company of a male care-worker. They scowled at me with suspicion before disappearing into the lounge. I followed Hans into the refectory.

The light inside was garish and sharp. Cecilie and Jan were sitting at the same table as the night before. On the table in front of them there were bowls and pans with the evening meal: boiled potatoes, a mixture of greens, half a head of cauliflower, rissoles and gravy. And a jug of water to wash it all down.

Cecilie was eating. Jan was sitting passively on his chair, his hands on his lap, not a movement.

I went over to them. ‘Hiya, Johnny. How’s it going?’

His eyes glinted, his head quivered warily and, without turning, he looked in my direction. His eyelids trembled, as though in some discreet way he was semaphoring a distress call to the outside world:
Help! I’m being kept prisoner! I want to get out
…

I glanced at his untouched plate. ‘You have to eat, you know! It’s snowing and when you’ve eaten we can go outside and – have a snowball fight or something like that.’

He moved his lips soundlessly, like a fish on land. I swallowed hard. At once I felt sympathy for this tiny mite who had had such an aberrant start to his life.

I sat at the place set for me. ‘Well, I’m definitely as hungry as a wolf!’ I began to load my plate. Cecilie and Hans watched, like two public officials checking the composition of my diet. ‘I’m going to wolf this down. My first name, Varg, means wolf, you know. So perhaps I ought to say I’m going to varg it down, eh?’

I had his attention now. He looked at me from a closer distance than before.

‘And you … You’re going to jan it down, you are. I’m sure of that. As hungry as a varg and as hungry as a jan – that’s about the same. Don’t you think?’

He nodded.

Cecilie flashed a sudden smile and Hans sent me a nod of acknowledgement.

‘So I think I’ll swap your food around. Watch … back in the pan with this and a hot rissole in its place. There we are. Hot sauce. And then we shovel a potato onto there. Nothing better for small famished vargs and jans than a bit of gravy and potatoes, eh? And what a big boy you are. You definitely don’t have any problems using a knife and a fork, do you. When you’re even bigger you’ll be driving a car, and if you drive a car you’ve got be able to lick the easy things, like eating with your knife and fork …’

With careful movements, he grabbed first the knife, then the fork. Slowly he pushed a bit of potato through the gravy onto the fork and, like a gourmet chef ready to sample, lifted the fork to his mouth, opened up and took the first tiny mouthful.

In silence, he continued to eat. He cut up the rissole into small pieces, and when the first one had been eaten, I put another on his plate. ‘Jan-hungry boys always eat two rissoles,’ I said. ‘Minimum.’

I was almost fainting with hunger myself, so I used the opportunity, while he was eating, to stuff down two or three
rissoles
. Hans, happy now, took a seat at the neighbouring table and poured himself a cup of coffee from a flask.

Cecilie eyed me across the table with a warm smile. ‘Now we’re almost like a little family, Varg.’

‘Yes, aren’t we.’

She was right. If anyone had peeped through the window they would have seen a peaceful little mini-family, Mum, Dad and small boy – and there was Uncle Hans dropping by – sitting round the meal table at the back-end of the day. None of us said anything, but I was afraid that was how it was at most family meal tables. Conversation had not been that lively when it was Beate, Thomas and I, either. The food was delicious, we ate, and there was more than enough for one sitting.

In the end, he was obviously full. He sat back heavily in his chair and a glow of satisfaction flitted across his face.

‘Pudding?’ Hans asked.

‘What is there?’

‘Prune compote with milk and sugar.’

‘Sounds fantastic, if you ask me. What do you say, Johnny?’

He nodded with a smile on his thin, pressed lips.

‘You heard what Johnny said,’ I said. ‘We would like prune compote!’

It arrived on the table, and everyone ate. Even Hans on the neighbouring table sneaked an extra dish. Unbidden, he topped up Cecilie’s coffee and mine. The family idyll was so perfect that the catastrophe, from all statistical calculations, had to be imminent.

We three adults sat making small talk while Jan finished the whole dish of prune compote as well. Afterwards I asked: ‘And what would you like to do now, Johnny?’

This time he turned his head. He looked me straight in the eye, offended that I had forgotten. ‘You said … a snow ball fight.’

‘So I did! Is that what you fancy?’

He nodded.

‘Can Hans and Cecilie join in, too?’

He shifted his gaze from one to the other and at length he nodded. They smiled gently, happy not to be excluded from the game.

We went outside. It had stopped snowing, but luckily there were enough snowflakes left for us to be able to make a few snowballs, even though they were pretty flimsy and they disintegrated when we tried to throw them.

Nevertheless, we stuck with it for as long as Jan wanted, and he took part in the fight with a passion. When he got his first hit, a snowball that turned to powder on my nose, he laughed out loud, and when we aimed at him but missed, on purpose, he grinned with pleasure.

In the end, the fight flagged of its own accord. As we went back inside, I put my arm round his shoulder and said: ‘That was fun, wasn’t it.’

‘Mm,’ he said with a nod.

‘What would you like to do now?’

He peered up with a start. ‘Wanna go home.’

The door closed behind us, and both Hans and Cecilie held their breath.

I said: ‘I was wondering if Hans had some hot chocolate for us today, Johnny …’

Hans nodded in confirmation.

‘Then we can talk about that while we’re drinking. Agreed?’

He sent me a sceptical look. Then a reluctant nod.

We went back into the refectory and Hans flitted into the kitchen. Cecilie and I sat down with Jan at the same table as before.

I patted him gently on the hand and said: ‘Do you know why you’re here with us, Johnny?’

He shook his head from side to side.

‘You arrived here yesterday, you know …’ As he didn’t react, I added: ‘We came here in my car. You remember that anyway, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘But do you remember what happened … before that?’

He looked at me with big, shiny eyes.

‘You don’t?’

Again he shook his head, but with more hesitation this time.

‘You don’t remember … that you were alone with … your father? Your dad?’

Again came a few powerful semaphore signals from his eyelids. But he said nothing, just blinked several times.

‘You don’t remember … the accident?’

He shaped his lips. ‘A …’

‘Yes?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘Nope,’ he said.

Hans returned from the kitchen with hot chocolate for us all. Cecilie pushed one cup over to Jan, who grabbed it instantly and put it to his mouth.

‘Careful!’ she said. ‘It’s hot.’

He took a big swig, didn’t react, but a shiver ran through him, and he put down the cup straightaway.

‘But you remember your mum coming home?’ I continued. ‘That’s what you told me yesterday.’

His face seemed to close again. ‘Nope,’ he repeated, looking down.

Cecilie sent me an admonitory glance.

‘Well, so … let’s not talk about that any more,’ I said lightly. ‘Is the chocolate good? For famished boys?’

He squinted up. There was a wary appraisement in his eyes that had not been there before. Then it was gone, and he nodded in silence, raised the cup to his mouth and took another swig, more cautious this time and still without saying anything.

‘Well …’ I motioned to Hans and we went into the vestibule, leaving Cecilie with Jan.

‘I heard Langeland, the solicitor, had rung you.’

‘Yes, he … we were at university together. Moderate rebels, both of us,’ he said with a tiny grin.

‘He told you everything?’

‘Yes, I was given the whole story. But I had no idea that Vibecke and Svein were his foster parents. Her name was Størset when I knew them.’

‘Yes, you must have been fellow students, too?’

‘Yes. She and Jens were, I suppose, almost … an item for a while.’

‘They were a couple?’

‘Yes, but not for long. And later we lost contact, all of us.’

‘Not her and Langeland though. He’s their family solicitor, as I’m sure he said.’

‘Indeed, so I understand.’

‘But you didn’t have any contact, I gather?’

‘Not with Vibecke and Svein. Jens and I met up on the odd evening over a beer or two, but nothing more than that. As time went on we developed … in different directions. He became a
law-abiding
citizen, I …’

‘Became an outlaw?’

He grinned. ‘No, no. But you know how it is, Varg. You, me and the law are not always on the same wavelength, are we.’

‘No, you may be right there. Did he say any more about … Vibecke?’

‘No, he didn’t. He was most concerned with Jan. And his state of mind.’

‘Good. What do
you
think? He’s thawed a bit now, hasn’t he.’