The Writing on the Wall (14 page)

SUDDEN DEATH
affects us all. If nothing else, it makes us older.

Randi Furebø also bore the traces of the past few days’ events, if not as visibly as Gerd Nikolaisen. Her firm body seemed somehow to have shrunk. Her shoulders were slightly hunched over, as if she had made a vain attempt to disappear into herself in order to keep reality at bay.

She was wearing the same brown skirt but this time with a black blouse and a grey and white cardigan tightly buttoned up in front. Instinctively, but unnecessarily, she adjusted her short-cropped dark hair as she scrutinised me. ‘Veum?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry, but I’d like another word with Åsa …’

‘She’s at school,’ she said coolly. ‘Besides, I really thought …’

‘Yes?’

‘That it was the police who were looking into this case now.’

‘Of course it is. I’m just making a few background enquiries.’

‘And whose background is that, may I ask? Shouldn’t it be Torild’s family you’re visiting?’

‘Perhaps not so soon – afterwards. Maybe the people they sometimes used to go about with instead …’

A hint of curiosity appeared in the brown eyes. ‘The people … You don’t mean …? Does it have to do with …?’ She glanced down the hill, where the Fantoft stave church had stood before it was burnt down.

‘Perhaps I could come in for a moment …’

She looked at me doubtfully as though I’d been a Jehovah’s Witness and she was not sure how she would get rid of me again. She stood aside, with a slightly irritated look. ‘You can hang your coat up in here.’

This time I was allowed upstairs. The living room was simple and stylish with parquet floors, green plants at the windows, shelves containing books and discreet ornaments and a slightly formal-looking piece of furniture in red and mahogany which proved very comfortable to sit on. On one of the walls hung a set of family photographs, including a photo of what looked like the first day at school, showing Åsa beaming optimistically at the
photographer
as though no ill could ever befall her.

I looked at the clock. ‘What time are you expecting Åsa home?’

‘Trond was supposed to be fetching her. We have to keep a special eye on her just now. Otherwise, I’m afraid … this thing with Torild has obviously affected her a lot.’

‘Of course it has. I’d rather thought she might have stayed at home.’

‘Well, we – and her too actually! – decided it was best to carry on as usual, to go to school as though it was just an ordinary day and behave as though nothing had happened …’

‘Yes. Not a bad idea, I’m sure.’

She seemed like a woman in full control of the situation, so I came straight to the point. ‘Listen, Mrs Furebø, when I first started working on this case … I quite quickly stumbled upon circles where it looks as though there was a certain amount of –
prostitution
with young girls.’

She paled visibly. ‘Not Åsa!’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘Absolutely not!’

‘No, there’s nothing I’ve found that points to that …’

‘Oh!’ She let out a sigh of relief. ‘But why did you … say it as though …’

‘But there’s everything to suggest that Torild was involved, and she and Åsa were best friends …’

‘Yes,
were
! But I had the impression they were a lot less so, that they spent a lot less time together than – before. Åsa would never…’

‘There was that episode with the leather jacket.’

She looked at me slightly surprised. ‘Leather ja –. Yes, but … it was a real shock for us, of course, that Åsa was involved in
pilfering
…’

‘
Pilfering
?’

‘All right, shoplifting, if that’s what you want to call it! But from that to … Anyway,
that
matter’s over and done with now!’

I ran my hand over my forehead. ‘Let’s hope so.’

‘Yes, well it is. But what are you getting at actually?’

‘Er … according to what you say, Åsa and Torild were spending a lot less time together than before.’

‘Yes, Åsa didn’t say much – loyalty’s always been important in our family but I did understand that Torild … that she was
skipping
school a lot, that she had other girlfriends, and boyfriends – well, boys who were a good bit older than her, from what I gather… In other words … she moved in other circles.’

‘But Åsa went into town too sometimes, didn’t she?’

‘Course she did. What century are you living in, Veum? It’s no good keeping them locked in, however much one would like to!’

‘But as recently as last year, at Whitsuntide, they were on a Guides trip together.’

‘Yes, they were – but that was when they were still …’

‘Then they suddenly dropped out, the pair of them. That was very sudden, wasn’t it? That they stopped going, I mean?’

‘Yes, perhaps it was. But they’d grown out of it. Both Åsa and …’

‘You went to visit them at their camp …’

‘Did we? … Yes, perhaps so, we usually did … if it wasn’t too far away, that is.’

‘And you didn’t notice anything about the girls then to indicate that they would so suddenly …’

‘Notice anything? I really can’t remember.’

‘It was yourself and Torild’s father who visited them …’

Her expression hardened. ‘Is there anything unusual about that?’

‘No, I …’

‘Trond was on a hiking trip over Folgefonna Glacier at Whit, and Sidsel was just not feeling too great that day. You’re surely not suggesting that … Where did you find out all this, anyway?’

Before I managed to reply, she continued. ‘Sidsel and Holger and Trond and I, we’ve been close friends for – for nearly twenty years now. We’ve been on holidays together, we’ve spent several weeks on the same sailing boat, we’ve taken saunas together, we’ve been the closest of friends without it ever occurring to us, even for a moment, that we might, that there might be anything … Is there something wrong with that?’ She looked at me accusingly.

‘Of course not! Did I – ?’

‘But nowadays, everything is so fixated on sex that two close friends, such as Holger and I, can’t even drive up to Radøy and visit our girls at Guides camp without people starting to talk behind our backs. Because it’s certainly not from Sidsel that you got this, and if it is …

‘No, no. I assure you it’s not –’

‘Listen, Mr Private Investigator! You’re probably used to
spending
your mornings on visits to women who’ll go to bed with you, if you just turn on that charming smile of yours –’

‘Now, now …’

‘But me, I wouldn’t look twice at somebody like you, even if you paraded about and posed right here on the carpet in nothing but your swimming trunks!’ She broke off her own tirade as though suddenly overhearing herself and, with bright red roses on her cheeks, tried to shrug it off with a false-sounding laugh.

‘There wouldn’t be much cause to carry on like that, I agree.’

‘Well, let’s say no more about it. But let me tell you
this
, Mr Veum … if it’s a family on the verge of breakdown you’re looking for, take a trip up to Furudalen. It was that relationship that broke down, not the one between Trond and me, even though we’re obviously the first to regret it. I mean, everything’s changed now. I can still meet Sidsel, and Trond and Holger work together, don’t they? But we four, we can never do anything together again, and I miss that, I really do.’

‘You don’t work?’

‘No, and I don’t miss it either! But good friends I do miss.’

I nodded. ‘Have you talked to any of them since Torild was found?’

‘Yes, I called as soon as I heard and spoke to both of them. It was Holger who answered the phone, he’d – just popped in … But what can you say? To lose a child, can there be anything worse? They’re so young, still developing, and you’ve looked after them for such a long time, with all your love and affection, then
suddenly
– they’re not there any more!’

She glanced anxiously at the clock. ‘The way I see it, you just can’t imagine it until it happens to you personally. They must be going through hell. I only hope …’

‘What?’

‘That the guilty party is arrested, of course!’

‘Naturally. Åsa never mentioned the names of any of these friends of Torild’s, did she?’

She shook her head gently. ‘Not that I recall.’

She accompanied me sadly down to the front door.

At the top of Birkelundsbakken I encountered a white
Mercedes
on its way down. I caught a glimpse of Trond Furebø at the wheel. On the seat beside him sat Åsa.

For a moment I wondered whether I should turn round and drive back after them but soon decided that the family was scarcely ready for yet another visit from someone who, strictly speaking, no longer had anything to do with the case.

I turned right and headed towards Sædalen instead.

SORROW BECAME SIDSEL SKAGESTØL.
A kind of serene beauty had permeated her features, and she almost seemed taller, as if straightening her back against the harsh wind that was blowing.

I followed her into the large sitting room.

It was curiously silent in there. No radio, TV or CD-player was on, and the house was so far from the main thoroughfares that not even the distant roar of the traffic could be heard up here. It was as though she had decided not to let anything upset her
contemplation
of the situation she suddenly found herself in.

I almost felt embarrassed by the creak of the plum-coloured leather chair as I sat down, while she sat on the far side of a little round table with an inlaid, hand-worked brass plate in the centre, covered in some sort of hieroglyphs.

Sidsel Skagestøl was wearing a mixed grey, long-sleeved acrylic top with loose-fitting black trousers. With a quick sideways glance she took a cigarette from the edge of an ashtray, checked it was still alight and inhaled so slowly that her eyes almost seemed to take on the colour of the smoke.

With a sad smile she said: ‘We think we have them forever. But it’s a lesson we have to learn. We don’t.’

‘No.’

‘There’s something special about the oldest. She who was the only one for a while. I can still remember … I stood there
watching
her while she slept. Stood there listening to her breathing. Saw the little bump under the eiderdown with teddy bears on it.’ Her voice rose in intensity. ‘So innocent! So unblemished by –
anything
at all! And now, sixteen years later, here I sit, and she … She is …’ She made a vague movement of the hand holding the cigarette, making a kind of smoke ring, as though her daughter was somewhere in the room, invisible to us, but still present.

‘This must have been a very difficult time. I mean, even more difficult maybe, because of the press reports.’  

She gave me a strangely distant look. ‘Oh, those … It was
probably
worse for Holger. Me, I’ve shut all that out in a way. But Holger …’  

‘Did he take it hard?’  

‘When the first report was published, I don’t know if you saw it, the one with the photo … he started to weep. And I mean weep, really weep. I hadn’t seen him do that since his father died, and that’s nearly twenty years ago now. He couldn’t even bring himself to weep over
Torild
, but that report shocked him so deeply that … Afterwards he talked about sorting them out then all he did was put me in a taxi and go off himself – to the paper, I assume. When he came back, he was ashen-faced. He looked ten years older as though it was only
then
that it had really hit him?  

‘Where is he now?’

She shrugged. ‘Back at work. With the police. I don’t know.’  

‘But he’s offered to help you, I mean, the last few days, hasn’t he?’  

‘He offered to sleep here, yes. But what good would that do? That’s all over anyway.’  

‘For good?’  

She nodded silently, leaned forward and tapped the ash from her cigarette.

‘A situation like this can often patch up that type of conflict.’

‘Not this one.’

It was not the right moment to ask why. Besides, strictly
speaking
, it was no business of mine. Instead I said: ‘Anyway, the police have detained – a witness.’

‘Yes, Helge … Hagavik, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. I haven’t yet found out … Does it ring any bells?’

‘No.’ She shifted her gaze out through the large picture window, where we could see the western side of Gulfjellet Mountain, the new housing developments in Sandalen and the slightly more established one in Midttun and Øvsttun. ‘But I’m starting to see that my daughter … that Torild had a life, outside home – one I knew nothing about.’

‘Has somebody said something?’

She made a vague movement of the head. ‘Said anything about – what?’

‘Erm, I was thinking of … that young man. It was apparently someone she knew, wasn’t it?’

‘Apparently.’ She sighed. ‘Now, afterwards, you think of all the times you
didn’t
show up. You think that – maybe that’s why it happened – that if only you’d gone to that handball match, taken part in that cake raffle, in the election for the parent teachers
committee
at school, everything would have been different.’

‘Like when you didn’t go to visit her at Guides camp in Radøy last year?’

She looked at me puzzled, frowning in thought. ‘Radøy … But I was ill then, wasn’t I?’ She placed her hand on her stomach as though she could still feel the discomfort there.

‘Yes …’

She was suddenly more focused now. ‘What on earth made you bring that up now?’

‘Oh, er … nothing.’

‘On the contrary, I’m asking you for an answer!’ she said sharply. ‘This is no time to beat about the bush.’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just something that came up, I had a word with the Guides leader, Sigrun Søvik, and she happened to mention that it was just your husband and Randi Furebø who came to visit them.’

‘Oh yes? And with that dirty private investigator’s mind of yours, you immediately spied a – source of conflict?’

‘Oh no, I –’

Suddenly she laughed. But it was not genuine laughter. ‘To be honest, you look as though you’ve been caught with your pants down! Now I really regret having contacted you. If this is the result, then … I can assure you that if Randi and Holger had been up to something – inappropriate during that trip to Radøy, something I couldn’t imagine in my wildest dreams, the chemistry between those two has always been so good, I can promise you at any rate that that wouldn’t have been enough to tip me over the edge. The reasons why Holger and I are drifting apart go much deeper than that …’ She touched her temple with her finger ‘The whole way we think, our entire personalities, do you see? And that’s all I have to say about the matter. All!’

She stood up. ‘Now I think it’s time you were going.’

I threw up my arms as I rose from the leather chair. ‘You must believe me when I say that I had no intention of –’

‘Don’t bother to come back, Veum. I hope this is the last time I see you, is that clear?’

My face seemed to freeze and instead of an apologetic smile all I managed was a grotesque grimace.

In the outer hall I turned to face her again for the last time. ‘In that case, I wish you all the best for the future …’

‘Sincere thanks from all the family,’ she said with biting sarcasm and closed the door ostentatiously behind me.

As I walked down the short garden path I heard a sound I couldn’t quite make out behind me: as though she was banging her fists against the wall, stamping on the floor or writhing about in convulsions.

Then a door slammed so hard that the whole outer wall shook.

She could not have emphasised it more clearly.
Partir, c’est mourir un peu
, as the French say. But this was a full-blown execution.

When I got into the car it was with a feeling that something absolute and irrevocable had happened. It was just that I hadn’t grasped what it was yet.