The Silent Room (34 page)

‘Anders’ references to Jack’s character are a blessing for us all,’ he said gently. ‘His widow and his children will draw comfort from that note. You should too, Hilde. Your husband loved you. I really wish things could have been different. You should be proud of him. Even after his death he has helped us a lot.’

Still weeping, Hilde stepped away from his embrace. She thanked him for his kind words and Svendsen took her inside. It was disappointing that Anders Freberg hadn’t written down something more substantial that Ryan and O’Neil could use in evidence. The lack of specifics was a bitter blow. But it wasn’t all bad news . . .

At the police station in Tønsberg, the contents of Anders’ note and the hotel receipt that linked him directly to Jack galvanized an international team into action. With reason to believe that there was more to Freberg’s death than previously thought, a murder enquiry was launched by Nystrom, British and Norwegians keen to join forces.

‘Before we get started,’ O’Neil said, ‘I need to step out and make a call . . .’

Ryan watched her wander away from Nystrom’s office, out of earshot of the others, envious of her attention, wishing it were him she was so keen to talk to. He knew one thing. Whoever had her arm was a lucky man.

Finding a number on her mobile, O’Neil pressed the call button and lifted the phone to her ear, urging Maguire to pick up. He did so on the second ring. ‘John, did you revisit Claesson Logistics yet?’

‘Giz a chance, guv. I’ve only just had my bait. I’m knackered. Clocks went back last night,’ he yawned.

O’Neil shook her head, confused. ‘That means you gained an hour’s sleep, not the other way round, so pay attention. Take it on the chin that the Claesson vehicle is missing. Hold on it for now. And that goes for the rest of the team too. I don’t want anyone near them. Understood? Spread the word. I don’t know how, but they’re up to their necks in this and we don’t want to tip them off that we’re suspicious. In the meantime, get one of the team to check them out at Companies House. I want the full low-down on their operation, including the names of their board of directors so we can cross check with QiOil, although I’m pretty certain we won’t find anything.’

‘Key Oil?’

‘Q I.’

‘As in the TV show?’

‘Yes. Google them. They’re Freberg’s employers. With the Norwegian’s help, Ryan and I have them covered. You concentrate your efforts on stuff over there.’

‘OK, call you later.’

‘John, wait!’ O’Neil managed to say before he put down the phone. ‘Any sign of Wardle yet?’

‘No, tomorrow.’

‘Good. Keep on it.’

She hung up. With his track record, O’Neil didn’t trust Maguire enough to let him handle something as important as Claesson Logistics. She needed all her ducks in a row before she started firing, otherwise it might frighten them off. She’d seen it happen before: documents tampered with or missing, logbooks mysteriously destroyed. Fortunately for her, some offenders didn’t have the sense they were born with. Many failed to get rid of the evidence quick enough. Her plan was to give herself the element of surprise.

By late afternoon, the full capacity of the Norwegian police was at O’Neil’s disposal. Nystrom had made contact with senior management at QiOil and sent a team over to retrieve Freberg’s laptop for examination, another to establish whether or not the company server held any information relevant to their investigation. Company staff were 100 per cent in agreement. They had nothing to hide and gave their cooperation freely.

It turned out that Freberg’s laptop had been left in storage, unused since the day he died. It contained information on a Russian-owned exploration and production syndicate trading under the name AMKL-Exploration Inc. Ryan quickly established that the company had nothing whatsoever to do with his work. It was pretty clear that Freberg had been mirroring Jack, investigating under the radar, a fact that led Ryan to the conclusion that – at long last – he was on to something big.

O’Neil felt it too. ‘Is there any link between QiOil and AMKL?’ She was looking at Nystrom. ‘Any crossover of staff recently, any correspondence?’

Nystrom shook her head. ‘Not that we have been able to establish.’

‘What about QiOil and Claesson Logistics?’

‘Negative,’ Nystrom said. ‘Hans Claesson, the man who started the company, is in fact Swedish, not Norwegian.’

O’Neil didn’t argue. Norwegians were a proud race and very patriotic.

‘That’s right, guv.’ Ryan looked up from a borrowed laptop. ‘Claesson used to work offshore out of Aberdeen. When he made enough money, he began his own company, a logistics operation – very lucrative it is too.’

‘You knew this?’

‘No, I found it just now on the Internet. There’s a feature on him in
Living North
magazine. He sounds like another mega-rich entrepreneur who probably doesn’t pay his taxes in the UK.’

‘Ha!’ Svendsen’s eyes were wide. ‘You should try living here. Our taxes are much higher than yours.’

‘Does Claesson have an office here in Tønsberg?’ Ryan asked.

‘Not here or anywhere else in Norway.’ Svendsen seemed relieved by that fact. ‘I’ll check if there is any connection between AMKL and Claesson. Let’s hope we come up with something.’ With that, they parted.

64

Ryan and O’Neil had planned to sit down in the hotel bar to discuss the day’s events, but the room was decked out with streamers and balloons, ready for a party. A covered buffet was set out on a long table on one wall. No free drinks, Ryan noticed. The price of them here, that didn’t surprise him. Daylight robbery wouldn’t be too strong a description. Consequently, people tended to buy their own – in Norway there was no such thing as getting a big round in.

On the other side of the bar, above the table, a banner read:
Lykke til og gratulere med ny jobb.
Someone obviously had a new job.

Even he could work that one out.

As his eyes took in the sign, Ryan found himself back in the police club in Newcastle surrounded by colleagues as a fractured memory played out in his head. The words morphed into:
Good riddance, Pete!
Police humour to see a mate on his way. The image brought a lump to his throat. That particular banner had been hanging from the ceiling at a retirement bash for a much-loved colleague in Special Branch, a DCI who’d decided to cut and run while he was young enough to enjoy a newly acquired holiday home in Greece. It was the very last night Ryan had spent in Jack’s company and they’d both required a helping hand into a taxi afterwards.

‘Penny for them,’ O’Neil said.

Ryan looked at her. ‘Just thinking about a party Jack and I went to.’

‘He’ll be a hard act to follow, assuming you intend to stay in the job.’

‘Yeah.’ Ryan’s eyes found the floor.

‘Will you . . . stay?’

‘Depends if I’m demoted after my misdemeanour.’

‘It hasn’t taken you long to give up giving up. I’m glad, by the way.’ She held his gaze as he looked up. ‘A reduction in rank isn’t on the cards, Ryan. Not if I have anything to do with it. Please don’t worry about that.’

Something close and meaningful passed between them. Ryan suddenly felt awkward in her company – but also stimulated at the prospect of . . . he didn’t know what. For a detective super, Eloise O’Neil was easy to rub along with, except this was no teacher/pupil relationship. Despite her rank, there was no discernible demarcation line, no formality. They had an obvious rapport. They might be two strangers at someone else’s party but it felt good.

Would you care to dance, guv?

An electric guitar kicked off the celebrations, killing the moment. Revellers began popping streamers. As music blasted out, a local girl jumped on to a chair, grabbed a bottle for a microphone and began singing with a voice that reminded Ryan of chalk scraping on a blackboard. Partygoers didn’t appear to notice the lack of talent. In seconds, the place erupted, everyone on the floor, dancing and having fun.

‘Outside?’ O’Neil suggested. ‘I can’t hear myself think.’

They sat as close as they could to the water’s edge. For the time of year, it was a very mild night. No wind. Not a ripple on the surface as they took in the view. The moon reflected on still water drew a shard of sparkly light across the bay, a sight so atmospheric Ryan found it hard to draw his eyes away. The few people arriving were heading inside, leaving them free to talk openly about the case.

‘So,’ O’Neil asked. ‘Shall we recap?’

Ryan nodded, his mind still on romantic possibilities. Her mouth was moving but he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the words. Something about Nystrom and QiOil. Then he remembered Roz and his vow never to get involved with a colleague. Relationships were tricky enough without the added complication of working for the same employer. O’Neil probably held the same view. What
was
he thinking?

‘Hello!’ She waved a hand in front of his face.

‘Sorry, guv.’

‘I said that QiOil seem to be in the clear.’

‘According to Nystrom, they have a great safety record.’

‘Yeah, she told me. Mostly down to Freberg.’

They watched two gulls fly down and settle on the
brygge
where fishermen hauled their catch off trawlers to sell on locally. There was nothing to see, but still the birds pecked at the edges of the jetty, scavenging for the remains of shellfish that had been tossed away by diners earlier in the day.

They knew a good restaurant when they saw one.

‘I think Freberg was party to information he just couldn’t keep to himself,’ O’Neil said, interrupting the magic. ‘But if he felt compelled to act, why not blow the whistle without involving Jack? You said yourself he was the foremost authority on safety.’

‘That’s why Jack approached him in the first place.’

‘Precisely my point – it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be listened to, is it?’

‘I can’t answer your question, guv. Whistle-blowers are often castigated. Maybe Freberg thought he’d be cutting his options down if he were ever to move on. You know how these things work: damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I’m hoping our own expert will be able to help us out on that score.’

Ryan was referring to Alan Matthews, a safety engineer who’d agreed in principle to help make sense of correspondence found on Freberg’s computer. Of particular interest was a Russian guy he’d been emailing before his death. Given that Oliver had died on a Russian-owned oil rig, both O’Neil and Ryan were convinced that those emails were pivotal to the enquiry.

‘Did you get hold of him?’ O’Neil asked.

‘Matthews? Yeah, he’ll hop on a plane in the morning.’

O’Neil shivered, rubbing her arms.

‘You want my jacket, guv?’

She was shaking her head, scraping hair away from her face and tying it up. ‘I’m going to turn in soon, but thanks for the offer.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘You’re spoiling me, Ryan. I’m not sure Maguire would’ve been so gallant – not since our chat.’

Ryan suppressed a grin, not wanting to appear smug. ‘I wonder if he’s still sulking.’

‘Actually, he didn’t seem to be when we spoke earlier. Maybe he’s seen sense. He’s not a bad detective when he puts his mind to it.’

Ryan raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘You said that out loud, guv.’

O’Neil laughed. ‘I mean it. Yes, he needs direction
and
I need to rein him in occasionally, but it was this thing with you and Roz Cornell he couldn’t take. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she broke his heart running off with you.’

‘He’d shaft anyone in order to make himself look good. He’s known for it.’

‘Nice sidestep. I didn’t say he was perfect.’ Seeing that Ryan didn’t want to go over old ground, especially if it involved his former lover, O’Neil picked up her drink and promptly changed the subject. ‘What you said about Jack seeking out the best? I think I would have too in his shoes.’

‘No-brainer,’ Ryan said. ‘Oliver was his kid brother. He idolized him. But his death on that oil rig had no connection whatsoever to Freberg or QiOil. We already determined that. Let’s hope Svendsen can link it with Claesson and AMKL. He said he’d work on it tonight and report back by morning.’

O’Neil noticed the melancholy expression on his face. ‘Ryan? Something bothering you?’

‘Not exactly but it wouldn’t surprise me if Freberg put the shutters up initially because of Jack’s approach.’

O’Neil took her drink away from her lips. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, he was a great guy and a wonderful mate and I’d never have a word said against him—’

‘But. . . ?’

‘He wasn’t the most diplomatic of souls. He could go in too hard sometimes. Frighten people off. We often talked about it. Freberg was a senior project engineer. It stands to reason he’d have had concerns talking to strangers on such a sensitive subject. He’d have to be careful, wouldn’t he? I mean, a loose tongue in this litigious climate can get you into a whole lot of bother, especially if you’re pointing the finger at a global organization, a multibillion-dollar player with first-class lawyers.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘He probably thought Jack was off his trolley. Hilary said he was so racked with grief he couldn’t see straight. Don’t forget, Freberg wasn’t made aware of what was going on until much later. The first reference to anything in his notes is six months prior to his death, years after Jack first made contact.’

‘Well, if we’re reading it right, the information came from Moscow,’ O’Neil said. ‘Let’s leave it there. We’ll find out tomorrow.’

Seeing off her drink, she said goodnight, telling him she needed to soak her aching body in a hot bath. Ryan would’ve liked nothing better than to have climbed in next to her, then taken her to bed to explore a little of that amazing landscape – and he didn’t mean Norway.

65

Dawn was breaking over Tønsberg. Matthews’ flight had already touched down and he’d set to work examining Freberg’s laptop. While they waited for results, O’Neil called a mini case conference in Nystrom’s office. Overnight it had been converted into a makeshift incident room. Coffee and pastries had arrived. O’Neil, Ryan, Svendsen and Nystrom had just sat down to discuss progress when the internal phone rang. An alert staff member of QiOil asking to speak with the English detective who’d visited her company HQ yesterday. She was adamant it couldn’t wait.