Where Roses Never Die (14 page)

As soon as I was back on the mainland I drove to a lay-by off to the right of the road. I took out my phone, rang Haakonsvern and asked to speak to Svein Stangeland. After a short wait he came to the phone. I said who I was and he grunted.

‘Let’s get straight to the point, Stangeland. I think we need to have another chat.’

‘Oh, yes. Why?’

‘It turns out you weren’t actually at your cabin on the day little Mette Misvær went missing.’

I was met with a silence at the other end, so long I wondered if we were still connected. ‘Hello! Are you there?’

‘… Yes.’

‘Do you agree that we need to talk?’

‘Only if you insist.’

‘So let’s say I do. I’m not that far from Loddefjord now. Can I meet you at work?’

‘No,’ he said at once, so quickly that he felt he ought to explain. ‘After 9/11 it’s more difficult for outsiders to get in here than it is to steal a plane. I’ll come out. We can meet … at Vestkanten, the café on the first floor – in half an hour.’

‘OK.’

He rang off without another word. I sat musing, then pulled back on to the main road and drove through the tunnel towards the roundabout that sent traffic in every direction of the compass, one of them to Loddefjord.

Vestkanten was the name they had given to the renovated version of the mall that had once been called Loddefjord Market. It lay like a
stranded chunk of concrete at the bottom of the valley and really didn’t invite passers-by to drop in, unless they were already going there for a reason. I drove into the rear and parked under a roof, the shortest possible distance to the entrance. In the mall, I found myself in a world the sun never reached, but there was eternal light from the ceiling, the walls and inside the packed shops. It was a place you could easily get lost in, but I found my way to the café on the first floor I hoped he had meant. I ordered a cup of coffee and a bun and sat down at an unoccupied table with a view of the concourse outside. I should at least catch sight of him when he appeared.

It was around 2.30 when he trudged slowly up the sloping walkway between the two floors. His gait was lumbering and without much energy, but perhaps it had been a hard day at the main Royal Norwegian Navy base, what did I know?

I waved my hand in the air to show him where I was sitting. He spotted me, nodded and made a beeline for the counter to get a cup of coffee before he came over, placed the cup on the table between us, shoved back his chair, slumped down and looked at me as if I were an overgrown fly in his cup. His thin, dark hair was possibly even flatter on his scalp than the last time I saw him, and the rash around his mouth seemed angrier, with dry white flakes over the irritated skin.

‘Thank you for talking to me,’ I said.

His eyes emitted a cold gleam. ‘What did you want to say to me?’

‘What I told you on the phone. It appears you weren’t at the cabin that day.’

‘Yes, I got that bit. Who have you been talking to?’

In my mind’s eye I saw his wife on the school playground with her coat wrapped tightly around her in the chilly weather. ‘I’ll keep that to myself.’

He grimaced. ‘In which case I’ll keep what I know to myself too.’ He made to leave, saw his coffee, stayed and took a quick swig.

‘Then you give me no option but to go to the police.’

‘To the police! It’s no bloody secret to them. I told them back then.’

‘Oh, yes. And what did they say?’

‘They’d take note, they said. I never heard any more.’

‘So … where were you?’

He looked past me. As though he was deliberating. ‘I had a meeting.’

‘Oh, yes. Who with?’

‘What business is this of yours, Veum?’

I leaned forward. ‘It’s my business in the sense that I’ve been commissioned to find out what happened to Mette Misvær the day she went missing. Therefore I will not leave a stone unturned. You are one of the stones – and the fact that you were not at the cabin that weekend.’

‘I was! I went back … afterwards.’

‘After what?’

Again he went quiet. Perhaps he was one of those people who need a little extra time to make up their mind.

All the easier for me. Sometimes provocation was an effective tactic. ‘A rendezvous?’

He blushed. ‘What are you getting at? Who do you take me for?’

I shrugged. ‘Perhaps your neighbours’ games rubbed off on you … I did eventually find out about them.’

He glared at me. ‘So now you know what made Synnøve and me leave?’

I nodded.

‘And how does that tally with the suggestion you just came up with?’

I angled my head. ‘The circumstances could be different. You could have met someone…’

‘I hadn’t met someone, as you put it, but…’ He gulped. ‘Alright then! Things weren’t going well between me and Synnøve at that point. We seemed to be going round each other, without saying anything. It wasn’t working. And there were so many others who… were breaking up. I … I was at a showing that Saturday.’

‘What kind of showing?’

‘A flat! Somewhere else to live. But I didn’t want to tell Synnøve, of course. So that was why I just said I had a meeting. Something to do with work. She didn’t have a clue. But when this Mette stuff came up I had to tell her. So that she wouldn’t think…’ He looked away, as if the thought of what she might have wondered made him uneasy.

‘And then she said…?’

‘Well, what did she say? We had a heart-to-heart. Talked things over. Everything fell into place. It – moving out – was never a topic of conversation again.’

I looked at him. The provocation had helped, but was he telling the truth? ‘And you can verify this, can you?’

‘Verify … that I was looking at a flat twenty-five years ago? Are you out of your mind, man? But … I did tell the police, as I said, at the time, they must have checked it out, because I didn’t hear any more.’

‘Are you telling me you weren’t at home at all that Saturday?’

‘No.’

‘Can you swear on that?’

‘What would I have been there for?’

‘Mm, that’s the question. So … if anyone had tried to ring you that day – at home I mean – you wouldn’t have answered the phone.’

‘No, my dear man, I wouldn’t have. Have you got any more intelligent questions?’

‘It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.’

Like two experienced synchronised swimmers we raised our cups of coffee at the same time, staring furiously at each other. Neither of us liked what he saw and we didn’t try to conceal it. We emptied our cups, got up and each went in our own direction, me back to my car, him back to work and then to Synnøve and whatever the rest of the day would bring them and their hitherto apparently perfect relationship, with just a tiny scratch on the surface.

I found Dankert Muus in the garden this time too. He was cutting dry twigs from a tree and with big branch loppers in his hands he looked no less dangerous than the last time.

Nor was the look he sent me the friendliest. ‘Veum! Again? Don’t tell me you’ve solved the case!’

‘No. If only…’

He leaned forward heavily. ‘So what’s the reason for you coming here a second time and disturbing me while I’m gardening?’

‘I’m chasing bits and pieces.’

‘Tell me something that would surprise me, Veum.’

‘You mentioned yourself that you investigated registered sex criminals – or minor offenders. One of them was called Jesper Janevik.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Yes?’

‘He was in custody for twenty-four hours, I’ve been told.’

He maintained the same expression and repeated himself, a little louder this time: ‘Yes?’

‘I’ve just left him.’

‘Yes … what led you to his door?’

‘Well, his name cropped up, as I said. But … why did you decide to arrest him?’

‘It was … We thought there was a good chance we had the right man.’

‘Because…?’

‘He had a record and he’d been seen up there.’

‘On the actual day?’

‘No. He had an alibi and then he was released. We put a tail on him for a while, but nothing was ever … nothing ever turned up. Nothing of any consequence anyway.’

‘And what was his alibi?’

‘A family gathering. A niece’s birthday – photos were taken. His sister vouched for him and later we were sent photos of Janevik with the little girl on his lap.’

‘With a date?’

‘No, this was before that was possible, at least not on the equipment that was used. But there was nothing else that pointed in his direction – apart from the business on Askøy. Indecent exposure or whatever it was.’

‘Great. Something else, Muus…’

‘Ri-ght?’ He sent me a sceptical look.

‘Cecilie Lyngmo said she had a strange feeling there was something funny about the atmosphere in that co-op. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Did you experience anything similar?’

He snorted with contempt. ‘Veum … I’ve always based my investigations on facts. Never on intuition.’

‘In other words, you never noticed it?’

‘Veum … I believe I told you last time: we checked out every single one of the neighbours carefully. We went through every single house, from cellar to attic. We found nothing.
Nada, nichts
, Veum!’

‘So you never heard about what some of them call the New Year games?’

He yawned. ‘Eh? New Year games! Which ones, if I may be so bold?’

‘From what I understand it’s a form of wife-swapping. New Year’s Eve 1976, around nine months before Mette went missing.’

‘Wife-swapping! You mean…?’ He gesticulated with his arms. ‘You can have mine, if I can have yours?’

‘Sort of.’

He still looked a bit taken aback. ‘No, I have to admit … we didn’t get a sniff of that. But … what’s this got to do with the Mette Case?’

‘Yes, that’s the question a lot of people have asked me over the last few days.’

‘And what do you answer?’

‘Well…’ I stretched out my arms. ‘What was it old Ibsen used to say? I only ask, answering is not my call.’

‘That sounds like an excellent description of you, Veum.’ The old grin was out again. ‘Bursting with questions, but hardly ever any decent answers.’

‘I have one more…’

He rolled his eyes and went chop, chop with the big branch lopper in the air. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

‘One of the neighbours, Svein Stangeland, a civilian worker at Haakonsvern: he and his family were supposed to be at their cabin that weekend, on Holsnøy, unless I’m much mistaken. However, it transpires that in fact
he
was in Bergen. To see a flat, he says. Does that ring any bells?’

Muus stared into the air. ‘Yes, now you mention it. We were informed and I think we checked it out with the estate agent as well. He had been there.’

‘Hardly for hours though?’

‘No, probably not.’ He looked at me pensively. ‘Do you have reason to believe he had anything to do with the disappearance?’

I shrugged. ‘Not yet. But I’ve mapped most things out and this was a little side road I’d missed earlier. I was also told about a phone that kept ringing in one of the houses. Did you study the phone calls up there that day?’

‘This was long before mobile phones, as you know. In those days no one was very interested in checking calls like they do today. It’s far more difficult now to deny you’ve been somewhere if there’s been activity on your phone – either calls or messages.’

‘Of course. Everyone knows that, but nevertheless…’

‘No, Veum, I can’t remember that we did much investigating of phone calls.’

‘Well … I’m afraid that’s the last of my questions.’

‘Don’t be afraid. I think you’re doing very well.’ He nodded with a good-natured expression on his face. Although irony glinted in his eyes.

‘I’d better be getting on.’

‘You do that. And Veum…’

‘Yes?’

‘Don’t come back until you’ve solved the crime. And I’m afraid that means: never.’

‘Never is a word I’ve never learned to use, Muus.’

‘That’s twice in one sentence.’ He stretched up with the lopper and brutally severed a little twig. ‘Hah!’ he said with a look of triumph. ‘Caught in the act!’

‘Thank you – and the same to you.’ I nodded and strolled away. I knew this. The Muus that roared had never been like other policemen. Somewhere he had a screw loose, and it wasn’t that small, either. Now he was taking it out on the closest vegetation; once it had been whoever strayed across his path.

From Fredlundsveien I drove in slow motion back to Bergen town centre, where, as usual, the traffic at this time of day was like a serious bout of constipation in the digestive system, for which no one had prescribed the correct medicine.

When at last I was at home I found Bjarne Solheim’s telephone number and rang him on the off-chance he was there. As I had suspected, he was still in his office.

‘Bobby still on his beat?’ I said.

‘If you knew how much paper we have to deal with, Veum. It’s good to put in an hour at the end of the day to get rid of it.’

‘I can sympathise.’

‘I don’t suppose you got in touch to express your sympathy, though. Have you dug up anything on the robbery?’

‘Nothing cast-iron, but there are a couple of things I’d like to ask you about.’

‘Fire away.’

‘First of all … the owner of the jewellery shop was very keen to know if I was from his insurance company. Do you suspect any skulduggery?’

‘Schmidt? Not on the face of it, no. What sort of skulduggery?’

‘Well, I wondered if he’d made a very high claim for the goods that were stolen during the robbery … Or he may have had something special hidden in the safe that he didn’t want to divulge.’

‘You’re not suggesting … what are you suggesting?’

‘I’m not sure. But let’s imagine, for example, illegally imported items that might be converted into cash without paying any duties.’

‘No, we … That’s an aspect we hadn’t considered.’

‘Have you got a list of the employees there?’

‘Yes, we get one purely as a matter of routine. We check out whether anyone knew of any special procedures, when most money was in the shop, where the most valuable watches were, that sort of thing. Not everything was taken. The robbers took mainly the most expensive watches.’

‘Exactly. You couldn’t send me the list, could you?’

It was a while before he answered. ‘And for what purpose?’

‘I talk to a lot of people. You never know what can come up.’

‘Well … I’ll consider it, Veum. Perhaps raise the matter with my colleagues. Have you got an email address?’

‘I have.’ I gave it to him and went on: ‘I had a little chat with the two women who were customers in the shop when the robbery took place.’

‘Why?’

‘In fact they have a tangential connection with the case I’m working on at the moment.’

‘Uhuh.’

‘The younger of the two, Liv Grethe Heggvoll said she thought words were exchanged between Nils Bringeland, the victim, and one – perhaps more – of the robbers, before he was shot.’

‘Yes, I think we picked up on that as well.’

‘But she didn’t hear what they said.’

‘No.’

‘Could Bringeland have recognised one of them? Did they remove their balaclavas before they ran off?’

‘No one said they did. According to our witnesses they were wearing them as they crossed the street, boarded the boat that was waiting for them and then escaped.’

‘But is it possible?’

‘You think we should comb Bringeland’s circle of acquaintances, do you?’

‘That’s really for you to assess. Have you got any further with the hypothesis that one of the robbers might be a woman?’

Solheim’s voice sounded a little desperate when he answered. ‘Veum, we’ve got enough cases on our hands. This robbery is three months old. Of course it’s still on the pile, but actually nothing new has emerged since you were last here – day before yesterday, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, but … There’s just one more minor matter I’d like to discus with you.’ He waited quietly. ‘Earlier today I went to Sotra, in connection with a case. There was a car behind me the whole way, and after I’d finished talking to … some people there, it was parked close by. I drove behind it and took note of the number. The occupants of the car didn’t appreciate that. Two unpleasant individuals, to be frank. Then I jumped back into my car to avoid a direct confrontation, but … I couldn’t ask you to check whose name the car is registered in, could I?’

He sighed, but immediately sounded a bit more cheerful. ‘Are you going to report them? What if you have a secret admirer, Veum?’

‘If so, they wouldn’t be driving round in an Audi with tinted glass.’

‘No? No, perhaps not.’ I heard the sound of busy fingers on a keyboard. ‘You said you had the number?’

‘Yes.’

I gave him the number and heard him key it in. Then a soft whistle.

‘Looks like you’d better watch your back, Veum.’

My stomach region instinctively reacted. ‘Right.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard the name Flash Gordon?’

‘Popular cartoon character in my youth, otherwise no.’

‘Well, he seems to have made his mark in criminal circles over the last couple of years, so unless you have contacts in the underworld, I…’

‘Not on a daily basis.’

‘Gordon Bakke. The car’s registered in his name. Would you like his home address as well, perhaps?’

‘Like? Not really, but…’

‘Anyway, he’s central. In Klostergaten.’ He gave me the number as well. ‘And would you like to know why they call him Flash Gordon?’

‘Love to.’

‘Because he strikes with lightning speed, they say. And strike is the operative word. He uses his fists and occasionally his feet. He’s well trained in some oriental martial art and is supposed to be a nightmare to confront. I’d recommend you keep several arm-lengths away. Eye-witnesses say he just whirls through the air – and they end up on their backs. Those that confront him.’

‘So why don’t you lock him up?’

‘We do! He’s been inside. Several times. But he always gets out again. That’s how it is with our clientele. We never get rid of them entirely.’

‘And what’s he registered as in GLEI Norway?’

He chuckled. ‘A heavy.’

‘Really?’

‘No. To be honest I don’t think he’s registered anywhere except with us. But as I said … I’d recommend you keep out of his way.’

‘And there was another guy with him. Big, solid. Hoodlum type.’

‘Description fits so many, but I think he often operates with someone known as Thor the Hammer.’

‘Yes, that’s right. He called him Thor.’

‘Heavier-handed than Flash Gordon, but effective in his way too, of course. Where did you meet them, did you say?’

‘Sotra. Not so far from Ågotnes. I was talking to the owner of a garage out there, Tor Fylling.’

‘Really? Is he still in business?’

‘Erm … What do you mean? Tor Fylling?’

‘Yes, he’s in our files somewhere too. Not that we’ve ever had anything on him.’

‘… On him … What sort of thing?’

‘Well, I suppose it’d be receiving stolen goods. A few years ago he came under the spotlight in connection with what we saw as the organised trafficking of stolen cars. Several insurance companies were involved then.’

‘And Fylling’s role was…?’

‘A kind of necessary middleman. He took in the cars, re-sprayed them, made other cosmetic changes and then they passed along the
system. He was never the one to deal with re-registering or that kind of thing. That’s why we never got anything on him. But we caught the big fish and I think actually Fylling kept a low profile after that.’

‘Right, that’s news to me. He came onto my radar in connection with the Mette Case. He was one of the neighbours in the co-op.’

‘I see.’

‘When was this car case, more or less?’

‘Early nineties. 1992–3 and to some extent in ’94.’

I jotted down the years in my notebook although I couldn’t see what connection there could be with what I was doing. ‘This Gordon Bakke, to come back to him.’

‘Yes?’

‘Has he ever been done for sexual offences?’

‘Not that I know of. I’ll have to check up on that though, but right now I don’t have the time, Veum.’

‘Thanks for your help anyway. So far.’

We ended the conversation on a friendly note and promised to get back to each other if we came across anything useful.

I took a soup packet from one of the kitchen drawers, mixed the contents with water and made myself a thick tomato soup, with a tin of tomatoes and two hard-boiled eggs, and cut three slices of bread, which I ate with the soup. On the other side of the table I placed the unopened bottle of aquavit, like a message of doom:
Thus far and no further
.

I still hadn’t finished the day’s work, the next item on the programme was another trip to Solstølen. And now they had more to answer for, most of them.