Cold Hearts (23 page)

SLOWLY LIFE
began to stir again.

I rang Cathrine Leivestad a few times to hear how things were going with Hege. The answer was discouraging. She was on the streets again. ‘We can’t stop her, Varg,’ she said. ‘It’s a free country. What she does with her body is her decision.’

I rang Thomas and told him about my meeting with his old classroom girlfriend. He did not allow himself to be affected and was more interested in telling me that Mari and he had decided to get married. ‘That’s nice,’ I said, but still went back to Hege: ‘She said you’d gone out together for a while.’ ‘Yes, I suppose we did. But not for long.’ After a short pause he added: ‘I’m sad to hear that.’

Alf Torvaldsen was brought before the magistrates’ court again. This time there was no doubt what verdict the court would reach. He would be under lock and key until the trial came up, a temporary date had been set for May or June.

Kjell Malthus and Rolf Terje Dalby were charged with unlawful restraint and serious threats. The trial against them was scheduled for April, and I was already anticipating meeting them in court with mixed feelings. When I called the number for Malthus Invest an automatic message announced that the business had closed down until further notice. Enquiries could be directed to a specified number. I rang it, and a woman’s voice answered:
Kristine.
I asked if Kjell was at home, but he wasn’t. He was away, the woman said, before her tone sharpened.
‘What did you say your name was?’ she asked. ‘Veum,’ I said, and she cut the connection without any further ado.

At the end of March I was visited in my office by Vidar Waagenes, early one Thursday morning. He rejected the offer of a cup of coffee and sat down in my client’s chair. ‘I thought it would be better if you heard this from me before anyone else, Varg.’

I looked at him expectantly and motioned for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. ‘Alf Torvaldsen died in his cell early this morning. A massive heart attack. His life couldn’t be saved. The burden of all the accusations was too heavy to bear.’

We sat observing each other. I sensed a mute accusation in his eyes.

‘He had confessed to three murders, hadn’t he?’

‘Yes, indeed. Under very mitigating circumstances.’

‘We-ell.’

‘We-ell?’ He seemed affronted. ‘I’m convinced I would have had a good case. A manager on the local council attacked in his own home by two dubious young people with a criminal background.’

‘Neither you nor I was there when it happened, Vidar. Therefore I reserve my right to repeat my reservation: We-ell.’

‘I last visited him yesterday. He was in despair that what he and his wife had considered an idealistic mission, committing themselves to three children with a very difficult home life, should have been turned upside down as it has been … by you and those like you.’

‘May I be so bold as to remind you that two of the children are dead and the third is in Sandviken Hospital for an indefinite period. That is the concrete result of their so-called idealism.’
He was about to say something, but I continued: ‘And the two dead children died at your deceased client’s hand.’

‘It was self-defence. If the case had come before a court I’m sure the jury would have understood the tricky situation in which he found himself.’

‘And what about Tanya Karoliussen? Was
that
self-defence as well?’

‘She tried to rob him.’

‘And that justified him killing her? But perhaps that is how it is in your world as well? The life of a prostitute is not worth as much as that of a manager on the council. A drop in the ocean, eh, Vidar?’

‘You know I don’t think like that, Varg. I don’t have figures for all those I have defended, also from life’s shady side. For me a case is a case and an individual an individual. But there are nuances in this case to which neither you nor the police have paid sufficent attention.’

‘Let’s say that then until the contrary is proven.’

As he left I sat back with a feeling that it would be a long time before he sent me a job again.

A couple of hours later Helleve rang and told me what had happened. I pretended I hadn’t already heard. In passing, I asked what progress they had made with the investigation. He hummed and hawed, then said there was a good chance the case would be shelved until new evidence appeared.

A week later Alf Torvaldsen was buried at Solheim chapel. There wasn’t a big turnout, for a variety of reasons. I didn’t attend.

On a couple of evenings I drove out to C. Sundts gate and looked for Hege. I spotted her on the second. But as I pulled in and rolled down the window, she moved away as if she didn’t
want to talk to me. I engaged the handbrake, got out onto the pavement and followed her. When I called her name she turned and made it clear she did not want anything to do with me. At once a dark-haired man with a mass of coarse stubble appeared from a doorway and blocked my path. He asked me what I wanted, with an obvious accent. And what did that have to do with him? I replied. His face darkened. If I wanted another girl he would get me one, pronto. I watched Hege in the distance, she rounded the corner towards Strandgaten. No, thank you, I said. Did he have a business card I could have … for later use? But evidently he didn’t, so I turned on my heel and went back to the car. I was furious inside. Hege had new protectors, this time of foreign origin. What annoyed me most was that there was little I could do about it. As Cathrine had said, we lived in a free country. She could do with her body what she wanted.

In April I summoned up the courage, drove to Sandviken Hospital and asked if it was possible to visit Siv Monsen. The duty doctor said it was, but we were unlikely to get much out of it, neither Siv nor I. She didn’t talk to anyone. Not even the most skilled therapists had broken through her firewall. I said I would like to venture an attempt anyway. Afterwards my name was registered in the visitors’ book and I was ushered to a lounge with a view of Munkebotn and Sandviksfjellet
mountains
. The trees on the slopes bore a touch of mauve. It was a question of days before spring would break out with green hair fluttering in the wind.

Siv sat with her back to the window, her skin so pale it could have been transparent. If you squinted, you could see right through her. She was wearing a blue and green jumper with long sleeves and dark jeans. She didn’t react to my arrival in
the room, and when I sat down beside her, I saw that her gaze was vacant, blank.

I said her name, but she didn’t react to that, either. I tried a few standard questions. How are you? … Have you any contact with others in the ward? No response.

I looked around. A young girl sat at the other end of the room, peering at us over the top of a magazine and openly
giggling.
A man of my age sat in between toiling over a jigsaw. He seemed to be very fcocused and had not registered that I was there. A little woman in her fifties appeared in the doorway, scanned the room, but turned around and was gone, possibly because she had noticed a strange face.

After a further couple of attempts I gave up. I patted her gently on the hand, got up and said: ‘I’ll be back another time, Siv. When you’re in better shape.’

On my way out, I was stopped by the doctor. ‘Well? Did you make contact?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Thought so.’

‘What’s the diagnosis?’

‘Catatonia, provoked by shock, combined with acute depression.’

‘And what’s the prognosis for the treatment?’

He looked at me with doleful eyes. ‘Hard to say. It can go both ways.’

‘Has she had visits from anyone else?’

He flicked through the records. ‘Not many. I remember them both. A colleague from work and a friend, about the same age.’

‘Nils Åkre?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And the friend?’

‘Leif Larsen.’

‘Leif Larsen?’ I was taken aback. ‘Do they have to show ID?’

‘Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Well …’

‘Not her mother?’

‘No.’ He looked, if at all possible, even more doleful.

I thanked him for his kindness and went out into the spring sunshine. April is a deceptive month. All of a sudden there could be sleet in the air, a greeting from a delayed winter. I ambled down to the car and a thought struck me: I might have had summer tyres fitted a week too early.

Home once again, I checked the telephone directory for Leif Larsen. Leif ‘Shetlands’ Larsen, Bergen’s Second World War hero, had clearly left his mark because there were quite a lot of people with that name, in Bergen alone, and I had no reason whatsoever to visit any of them. Besides, she had said that she had a male friend, hadn’t she?

Towards the end of April the case against Malthus and Dalby came to court. I was called as the principal witness and did my best to avoid their eyes when I gave evidence. The Defence Counsel did what he could to sow doubt around my statement, but it was not so easy to knock me off my perch. Both received a conviction, Dalby’s was more severe than Malthus’s, based on a legal judgment that was too sophisticated for me to understand in its entirety. The prison sentence was not much of a deterrent: eighteen months for Dalby, twelve for Malthus. I thought to myself: eighteen months. That was what my life was worth. I would have to get into training before they were released. It was evident they themselves considered the punishment too severe.
Both appealed, and the appeal trial was scheduled for August or September. Something else to look forward to.

May passed somehow. I had a few minor cases, a couple of them for Nils Åkre. Life was back on track.

But I couldn’t get the case out of my head. Back in town after the wedding in Løten I followed an impulse, drove up to Minde, parked the car and went to the house in Falsens vei.

There were new curtains on the ground floor and there was a new sign on the door. I rang Else Monsen’s doorbell without getting an answer. So I rang the bell on the ground floor. The young woman who opened had a little child in her arm and looked somewhat flurried. When I explained the situation she nodded and stepped aside. ‘Yes, she is undoubtedly a bit special,’ she commented before I took the stairs to the first floor. ‘We’ve just moved in.’

I knocked on the door upstairs. Only after a long wait did I hear sounds inside. There was some fiddling with the lock, and Else Monsen appeared.

She had not changed much. Perhaps there was an element of new pain visible in her face. If so, that was all. But the cigarette was in place, and if I was not mistaken she was wearing the same outfit as on the first time I visited her: beige pullover and brown trousers.

‘I’m Veum. Do you remember me?’

She nodded and turned around, confident that I would follow her. We entered the sitting room. There were no changes there either, apart from the fact that she had emptied the ashtray. It was already well on the way to filling up again.

‘You haven’t visited Siv, I understand.’

She looked at me with a tiny scrap of surprise in her eyes. ‘I never go out.’

‘You don’t? How do you do your shopping then?’

She held the glowing cigarette in front of me, as if to show what generally constituted her shopping. ‘I have what I need delivered to the door every Friday.’

‘But do you know where she is?’

She shrugged. ‘Isn’t she at home then?’

I sighed. ‘Listen, Else. There is something I’m wondering about. When Siv came here that day in January that I’m sure you remember … did she have something with her?’

‘With her. A heavy bag.’

‘A bag?’

‘Yes.’

‘And … where is it now?’

‘It was lying around. In the end, I put it in the cupboard.’

‘Does that mean … it’s still here?’

‘No, it’s not here any more.’

‘It’s not?’

‘No, her friend came to collect it.’

‘Her friend?’

‘Yes, that’s what he said anyway.’

‘Mm.’

‘When was that?’

‘Oh …’ She waved her hand airily, causing the cigarette smoke to settle like a silk veil between us. ‘Several weeks ago.’

‘Did he say his name, this friend?’

She delved into her memory, so deep that she went dizzy. ‘Leif, wasn’t it, think it was.’

The following day was a beautiful, hot June day. I drove to Sandviken, found a vacant parking spot and approached the same ward as on the previous occasion. There was a new doctor on duty, quite a young woman, and when I asked after Siv, she
smiled and pointed to the park at the rear of the house. ‘You’ll find her there,’ she said. ‘With Leif, I dare say …’

THEY WERE SITTING ON A BENCH
in relaxed poses, enjoying the summer day like any other lovers. She was wearing bright, airy summer clothes. Her hair was full of life, as if she had just washed it, and she had more colour in her cheeks than when I visited her in May. He was wearing light, baggy shorts and a dark red singlet. He’d had his hair cut short and had grown a moustache since I had last seen him, and the marks of the beating were gone, but I had no difficulty recognising him.

Where they sat the radiant sun filtered through the
luxuriant
green growth of the treetops. I felt like an interloper into Paradise as I stopped in front of them, my shadow falling obliquely across their bench. She looked up; he had recognised me from some distance. At once an air of vigilance and tension overcame him, as though he was prepared for the worst.

‘Hi, Siv,’ I said.

‘Hi,’ she said in a hushed voice without any signs of recognition.

‘Varg Veum. Do you remember me?’

She nodded, with a faint smile, as at a distant memory.

‘So this is your new girlfriend, Lars,’ I said to Lars Mikalsen.

He shrugged, but did not refute my statement.

I looked at Siv. ‘You told me you had a new friend, Siv. I should perhaps have made the link earlier.’

She wore a faraway smile, as though barely comprehending what I said.

‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Is it all beginning to drift into the past?’

‘The past,’ she repeated, like an obedient child.

I was unsure how present she actually was. There was an invisible membrane over her eyes, a silk shawl protecting her from the surrounding world.

A few small birds chirped in the bushes behind them. Others pecked at the ground under some large rhododendron bushes with violet flowers. Now and then they made sporadic forays and struggled through the gravel, which surrounded them like a cloud.

‘Are you perhaps ready for a chat about it?’

Lars Mikalsen half-rose from the bench. ‘Veum,’ he said, but I wasn’t sure what he meant.

‘Yes?’

‘Be careful!’

‘With reference to what?’

He lowered his voice. ‘She’s not … fine yet. It would take nothing for her to have a relapse. The doctors have not yet allowed the police to interview her.’

‘This isn’t an interview. I have no official status. This is a little chat in the sunshine, so to speak.’

He opened his mouth, but I interrupted him: ‘But I can start with you. You haven’t been admitted to hospital, I take it?’

He stood up and came over to me. ‘We can talk, but let’s move away. Siv …’ He turned to her. In a much gentler voice he said: ‘Veum and I are going to have a little chat. You just relax.’

She gave a sweet smile, and we did as he had suggested and withdrew to a spot some metres away.

‘What do you want to know?’

I looked around. The main building lay bathed in sun. There were several people outside walking, others sat at tables, some with a bottle of mineral water in front of them. It was difficult to distinguish between patients, nurses and relatives.

‘Leif Larsen … what sort of name is that?’

‘One I made up.’

‘Useful for getting around incognito perhaps?’

‘What do you want to know, I asked!’

‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we. You dropped by
fru
Monsen, I heard. Collected the bag Siv had left there. Where is it now?’

He tried to retain control of his expression, but failed to hide the distaste he felt. ‘None of your bloody business!’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘They’ll find it anyway once they’ve started looking.’

‘They?’ He paled visibly.

‘Yes, you know … Your debts have not shrunk since we last spoke. Malthus and Dalby may be inside, but there are others who feel you have trodden on their toes. The suppliers in Denmark, for example.’ After a suitable pause for effect I added: ‘Or the police.’

He pursed his lips, but it was not difficult to see: he
preferred
the police to the suppliers.

‘Or,’ I said. ‘We can arrange an anonymous return of the goods. Out of consideration for Siv. I’ll give you a hand, if you’d like.’

He sent me a sceptical look. Then he shook his head. ‘You have no idea what you are suggesting.’

‘Oh, yes, I do. Bit by bit I’m beginning to get a pretty good feel for the situation. Does she know that Torvaldsen’s dead?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve told her.’

‘How did she take it?’

‘Like everything else. With apathy.’ In a surge of emotion he added: ‘The reason she’s here …’ He broke off.

‘Yes?’

He hesitated a few seconds more. Then he seemed to decide to lay his cards on the table. ‘She feels a dreadful, heavy sense of guilt!’

I waited, but he didn’t expand. ‘You mean … for what
happened
to Margrethe and Karl Gunnar?’

He nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And not entirely without reason perhaps. She had known for a long time that something was going on at Torvaldsen’s. That was why she visited her mother and went down to the cellar that day. Because she’d been involved in the planning, from the very first moment.’

‘No! She hadn’t.’

‘No?’

‘She knew nothing.’

‘But you said …’

‘The arrangement was that we would share the money and that Margrethe and Karl Gunnar would lie low for a week and then … go abroad.’

‘Really? Listen then to what I’ve worked out. The short version, if you like. Siv, Margrethe and Karl Gunnar had a very difficult childhood, and ever since they’ve been adults they – whenever they met – fantasised about how they would get even. How they would avenge themselves. And there was a lot to avenge. It was one thing that the damned committee had held the family together and prolonged the father’s abuse of his two daughters for years. But quite another that two men on
the committee had themselves sexually assaulted Margrethe, and now that they were showing up in the red-light district, she went to pieces. She wanted the whole thing finished. She wanted to take her revenge now. And in fact that was very
convenient
. You and Siv had got together and exchanged
confidences
. She knew about the package you were going to collect in Denmark. You told me yourself the plan was to make this the last trip, then you would do rehab and get back onto an even keel. But then you changed plans and decided to keep the whole package for yourselves. Or share it with Margrethe and Karl Gunnar. That was still a great deal more than you would have got from Malthus. Margrethe and KG were on
Skoltegrunn
Quay to meet you when you arrived. They drove you to Skuteviken, the package changed hands, and KG knocked you about for appearance’s sake, so badly that a taxi driver intervened and drove you to A&E. Well thought out, but not quite clever enough to fool Malthus and Dalby. You were given another going-over, but obviously you kept your mouth shut.’

He swallowed and glanced at Siv. She sat with her face half-turned to the sun with the same serene smile. There was nothing to suggest that she had caught any of what we were saying.

‘Margrethe, KG and Siv met at her place. She would keep the drugs there while they carried out what they had been waiting to do for many years. It was now or never, for as soon as they had shared the money they would make good their chance to leave the country … perhaps for ever. Then they went to Falsens vei.’

‘No!’ he broke in. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Siv knew nothing about Margrethe and KG going there. She was
convinced
they would leave the country and that was it. That was
the agreement. To Oslo, sell the drugs and then … off. But they just went missing without taking their share.’

‘I see! So you were left with the whole package, in Siv’s flat. That must … that must have felt like sitting on a ticking bomb.’

He looked at me, his eyes weary. ‘No one knew a thing about Siv and me. Except Maggi and KG. The drugs were safe.’

He was right about that to a certain extent. I had been to her place myself, with the package in the adjacent room, in a loft storage room or wherever she had chosen to hide it.

‘And what had you been planning to do with your share? Take it to Copenhagen? You wouldn’t have sold it locally, I presume?’

He shrugged. ‘We had our … plans.’

‘Well. Let me go back to Falsens vei. What happened there we’ll never know for sure, since all those involved are dead. What we feel fairly confident about is that KG and Margrethe called on Mobekk and caught him on the hop – with death as a consequence. Before leaving they messed the place up so that it would look like a burglary. But with Torvaldsen the boot was on the other foot. He was able to defend himself, and he did it so well that they ended up in his freezer. The stolen car they had used when they appeared to rob you was found by the police with KG’s fingerprints on the wheel and hers on the door handle. They never got any further. Their journey stopped there, more or less where it had started.’

I looked at Lars Mikalsen. Once again it was clear a terrible battle was going on inside him. I added: ‘Shall we say that more or less summarises the whole business?’

He tossed his head and threw out his arms. Then he said in a low voice: ‘What did you say about sending it back … anonymously?’

‘If you tell me where I can find it, then …’

‘I can go with you. You won’t find it on your own.’

‘Of course it’s impossible for me to guarantee the police won’t find their way to you anyway. And you’ll have to live with your relationship with the suppliers for a long time, I would guess. But, hopefully, there will be no consequences for Siv, and right now that ought to be the most important issue … for both of us.’

He looked at Siv. A tender smile lit his face, and turning back to me, he said: ‘OK. Let’s agree on that. Did you come by car?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you can give me some time with her alone, then …’

‘I’ll be waiting down in the car park.’

‘Thank you.’

We strolled back to Siv. I held out my hand. ‘I’m off, Siv.’

She looked up, reached out and gave my hand a limp shake and smiled the same, nigh on transparent smile.

‘I wish you all the best. Just remember this. What happened was not your fault. The course had been set years ago, and by others, not you three children. The guilty ones in this matter are those who should have been your guardians, your biological parents and the people who committed themselves to looking after you. Most of them are gone now.’

She nodded, and in a strange way I felt as if I had been
forgiven
, as if it were me standing there representing all guardians from the dawn of time until today. And perhaps I was. Perhaps we were all accomplices, every last bastard who hadn’t opened their eyes in time. Perhaps we were all carrying around our generation’s guilt towards the weakest, the youngest and those with least protection.

I could have asked about her father’s death of course. Whether she had made use of the key she had and entered the home that day as well. But I chose not to. Some questions are best left unanswered. It would not have made any difference one way or the other.

Together with Lars Mikalsen I drove to the copse in Fana where he had buried the package that never arrived at its
destination
in January. The same afternoon I handed it in to the police station. I told Atle Hellev I had been given an
anonymous
tip-off. He didn’t give the impression he believed me, and of course he had good reason.

In September, Kjell Malthus and Rolf Terje Dalby stood before court for a second time. My life was still worth no more than eighteen months, but the jury extended Malthus’s
sentence
by four months, from twelve to sixteen. I registered the result, but felt no reason to celebrate.

At approximately the same time Siv was discharged from Sandviken Hospital. On the grapevine I heard that she and Lars Mikalsen had moved to somewhere in Jutland where
reliable
sources informed me there was a rehab centre for drug addicts that boasted excellent results. I never saw either of them again.