The Consorts of Death (12 page)

We followed him up the slope from the lake, fast at the beginning, slower as we approached. We were almost there when it happened.

The rifle shot rang out like a whiplash in the darkness. With a splintering sound the glass lens of the large searchlight was smashed, there was a scream, followed by more, and the
flickering
lights in front of us suddenly scattered in all directions, away from the area where the searchlight had stood. Then it was dark. Completely dark.

Through the darkness came the sound of piercing laughter from somewhere up in the scree. It was an eerie, almost
supernatural
sound.

Reidar Ruset switched off his head lamp and mumbled in local tones between clenched teeth: ‘Yeah, isn’t it what they’ve always said? That there are ghosts here …’

‘That’s because they never found the body,’ Grethe mumbled, shaking the rain off her sou’wester with a swish of her head.

Reidar Ruset beckoned to us to move forward again. Without the light from his head lamp it was even more difficult to see where we should walk. The terrain was trickier now, the path overgrown, impassable in places. The darkness lay thick around us, and it felt as though the rain had penetrated all the fibres of our clothing. Grethe had grabbed my hand tight. I kept close to Reidar Ruset, if for no other reason than not to lose sight of him.

Somewhere ahead we heard voices: a hushed animated discussion.

‘Hello!’ Ruset whispered.

‘Reidar?’ came the answer.

‘I’ve got the bloke from Bergen with me.’

Something came crashing through the birch trees in front of us. A well-built man in a police uniform with a nose reminiscent of a deformed potato filled the path ahead of us in the evening gloom. Reidar Ruset stepped out of the undergrowth so as not to stand in his way and half-turned towards me.

‘Sergeant Standal,’ said the newcomer, holding out an ample wet hand.

‘Veum,’ I said, passing him mine.

‘Good you could make it. I suppose Grethe’s explained the
situation
to you?’

‘In rough outline.’

‘We have what we assume is a hostage situation. A killer on the run who has taken a girl from the neighbouring farm with him and has now holed himself up in the scree here. You heard the shot, I take it?’

‘Yes.’

‘He smashed our bloody searchlight! But you know the boy, I understand?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. I was involved in … had some dealings with him ten years ago in Bergen. I haven’t had any contact with him since then.’

He came closer in the darkness. ‘You operate as a kind of private investigator, I’ve been told.’

‘Yes, I –’

‘You can make ends meet doing that in Bergen, can you?’

‘I’m surviving anyway.’

‘Well, well. Each to his own, as the bride said. At any rate, the boy has informed us that he won’t speak to anyone except you.’

‘So I heard.’

‘In fact … he said
to
Varg
, and we found out, with the help of a bit of detective work – we country constables can do that too, you know – it had to be you.’

‘I don’t share my name with many, shall we say.’

‘No, you don’t. My name’s Per Christian, so that’s more like the opposite.’

Grethe cleared her throat impatiently behind us. ‘Shall we try to make contact then or what?’

‘Yes, yes, yes, of course. We’re just chatting,’ said the sergeant, looking as though he would love to continue. He angled his head and said, ‘We’ve got a megaphone over here.’

We staggered on through the dark. Half hidden behind a clump of trees stood a handful of policemen. The metal on their weapons glinted, several had night sights.

They greeted us in low voices. One of them had a large
battery-operated
megaphone in his hand.

‘Give me it, Flekke,’ said the sergeant.

It was difficult to see him in the dark, but Flekke appeared to be a relatively young officer. He passed the megaphone to Standal, who passed it on to me with a sweep of his arm.

I took the megaphone. The amplifier was designed to hang over the shoulder from a broad strap. I grasped the handle, which was attached to the amplifier by a flexible cable.

Standal pointed upwards in the gloom. ‘He’s up there. You’ll have to see if you can make contact, but … move around a bit. Don’t stand on the same spot for long.’

I understood what he meant by that and instantly felt a chill go down my spine. I had been elevated, not to a place in heaven, but to a moving target.

The only place on my body that was dry was my mouth. ‘Anyone got anything to drink?’

‘Just water,’ came a chuckle from somewhere in the dark.

‘And coffee, boiled to death.’

‘That’s what I was after. Bit of water perhaps?’

From the murk came a bottle of mineral water. It had been drunk from, but I relied on Sogn and Fjordane germs being no more deadly than those from Hordaland, and took a good swig. I rinsed my mouth thoroughly before swallowing.

Then I cleared my throat, raised the megaphone to my mouth and called: ‘Jan Egil! Are you there?’

The sound was muffled, dead, and young Flekke leant forward to the amplifier. ‘You have to turn it on first.’

‘Can you do that?’

He performed the action with a little click. A green light went on and I raised the megaphone again. This time the sound
reverberated
between the mountain walls: ‘Jan Egil! Johnny boy! This is Varg here!’

Everything was quiet, both around me and in the dark night. All we heard were nature’s own sounds: the rain against the trees, dripping leaves, the trickle of rivulets between our feet.

‘Can you hear me?!’

No answer.

‘You remember me! Varg from Bergen! You asked me to come and talk to you!’

Suddenly there came a shout from above: ‘There ain’t nothin’ to talk about!’

‘But
you
asked me to come here! I’ve driven all the way from Bergen just to meet you!’

Again there was a silence, as if he was thinking.

‘It’d be nice to see you again! It’s ten years since you left, isn’t it! You’ve grown up since then!’

From above came a sound that we could not decipher.

‘What was that? I didn’t hear!’

‘Bullshit!’

I lowered the megaphone and had a think. Then I raised it again. ‘Cecilie says hello. You remember her, don’t you!’

No answer.

‘Johnny boy! Is it OK if I come up to you?’

Standal shook his head and raised a flat palm in the air, as if to say he could not allow that.

‘Are you so keen to snuff it?!’

‘No! But it’s so tiring shouting at each other like this! I can come up and keep my distance. Then at least we can see each other!’

After a short pause, the answer came. ‘Just you!’ But there was no warmth in the intonation. He sounded more like a big troll trying to entice me out onto the bridge and thence down into the abyss.

‘I don’t know if I can allow this, Veum,’ Standal said with heavy authority.

‘It’s why I was called in, wasn’t it.’

‘But you heard what he said.’

‘He’s a big mouth. Believe me. I’ve worked in social services and I know the type. He’d rather shoot himself than me.’

‘Yes, and we’d rather not have any of that! We’ve got a murder case to solve.’

I waited for a while. Then I said: ‘Do you have any idea where he is, more or less?’

‘Yes, it was light when we came up here earlier today. Follow the path for forty to fifty metres until you see an uprooted tree. Then go straight up the scree from there. He’s holed up behind a promontory of large rocks.’

‘Have they got any food? Drink?’

‘Haven’t the foggiest.’

Again he raised the megaphone. ‘Johnny boy!’

‘Stop calling me that!’

‘Jan Egil!’

No answer.

‘Have you got any food up there? Anything to drink?’

‘We’ve got enough to be getting on with!’

A short pause. I wasn’t sure, but I had the feeling I’d heard a higher-pitched voice up there.

Then it came. ‘You can bring a bit with you!’

I sent Standal a contented nod. ‘There you go … He won’t shoot me until he’s had something to eat anyway. What have you got?’

‘We have some iron rations.’

‘Spam?’

‘No, some nutrition bars and that sort of thing. Energy-rich dried foods. And we’ve probably got some Coke back there, haven’t we, boys?’

‘If you mean Coca-Cola, then …’

Chuckles broke out around us.

‘Be careful, Varg!’ Grethe grabbed my arm.

I nodded dolefully. ‘Well, at least something will happen now. I could imagine a lot more tempting places to spend the night rather than up here.’

‘Oh yes?’ she whispered, with a sudden glint in her eye.

‘Mm,’ I answered, turning back to the sergeant.

Standal had found a plastic bag. In it he had put a few
emergency
rations and a big bottle of Coke. ‘I still don’t know if I like this, Veum. On your own head be it.’

A voice from the dark said: ‘Perhaps he ought to take a handgun with him?’

Standal fixed his eyes on me. ‘Have you had any weapon training?’

‘No, but I wouldn’t have brought anything with me whatever. You don’t solve conflicts like this with guns.’

‘I hope not.’

I unhitched the amplifier and passed it to Flekke. But before switching it off I raised the megaphone and sent a last message: ‘I’m on my way now, Jan Egil! Give me a shout when you can see me. It’s as black as hell up here!’

He didn’t answer. I shrugged and handed over the megaphone.

Grethe gave me a quick squeeze and whispered in my ear: ‘Take care …’

Standal and the other officers nodded as I passed. Slowly I began to proceed along the narrow path. I could hardly see half a metre ahead of me, and I had no idea what awaited me. In my chest I had a kind of vacuum, a burial hole dug ready for someone to move in soon.

Once again I felt an unpleasant chill go down my spine. It was my brain sending warning signals up and down, forwards and backwards, without getting the answer it was waiting for.

Now I was alone in the black night. The only sounds I heard were the trickle of rain and the gurgle of streams.

I grabbed hold of branches hanging heavily over the path for support, put one foot in front of the other with care, moving one step at a time. Gradually my eyes became accustomed to the
darkness
. The contours of the countryside emerged, and a few stone’s throws beneath me I could distinguish the vast black surface of Lake Trodalsvatn.

I peered ahead. I still couldn’t see the uprooted tree.

There was a sudden movement in the undergrowth in front of me. I gave a start, but seconds later I heard the wings of a large bird flapping, driven from its repose by this unwelcome intrusion.

I breathed out and continued on my way. Wet branches slapped into my face, and I repeatedly had to swerve to the side or back to get past. Then I came to a clearing in the forest. Down to the left there was a little creek where the greyish white water foamed against the shore. Just ahead of me I could make out an uprooted tree, and against the slope there were more huge rocks, the remains of an earlier landslide. I allowed my eyes to wander upwards, but all I saw was a grey-black amorphous nothingness. There was no sign of movement, nothing that might reveal where they were hiding.

I stood hesitating for a second or two before taking the first step forward and entering the clearing. Consoling myself that if I couldn’t see him, he could hardly see me, either. Swiftly I crossed the open area, stumbled forward against the fallen tree and, keeping my shoulders down, found shelter there.

Then I poked up my head and shouted into the scree: ‘Jan Egil! Am I in the right place?!’

A second passed. Then came the answer. ‘Come on! But slowly! And with your hands in the air!’

‘All I’ve got in the bag is food – and a drink!’

‘Come on!’

I walked around the tree and peered in the direction the voice had come from. I still couldn’t see anything.

With my hands in the air, I started climbing. A few times I had to reach out with my arms to regain my balance on the wet rocks, and once I tripped and had to go right down on my knees and grope my way forward with my hands. He didn’t react.

I stared upwards with such intensity that it strained my eye muscles. Now I could distinguish a raised edge, two or three larger rocks forming a kind of redoubt at the top of the scree. And there, just above one of the rocks, I saw the first sign of life: a head, a shoulder and the faint glimmer of something that could have been a weapon.

‘Jan Egil?’ I said, my voice at normal volume now.

‘Move forward slowly!’ he replied. ‘I’ve got you in my sights.’

That gave me a shock. It wasn’t the first time by any means. During the nine years I had worked as a private investigator I had found myself on at least two occasions in this same situation: on the wrong side of a gun. And I had survived both experiences unscathed. However, on the other hand … at the back of my head I had the grim story Grethe had told me on the way into the long valley, the image of his foster parents, shot and murdered in their own bedroom. What if … if it really
was
him who had done it? How far would he go?

My mouth had gone dry once again, and a shudder went through me. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Jan Egil. I’m here to help you.’

‘Do what I tell you!’

‘Of course.’ I couldn’t see his face yet, but he seemed tall for a seventeen-year-old. The girl who was supposed to be with him was nowhere to be seen.

‘Approach slowly until I say stop!’

Nature seemed to be holding its breath as I trudged up the last bit. It wasn’t raining quite as hard any more. For some reason that made me feel even colder, as if the temperature had plummeted in the wake of the great quantities of precipitation.

I fixed my eyes stiffly on the silhouette above. Gradually he emerged from the darkness, but he had his anorak hood pulled down over his forehead, and all I could see of his face, when I was finally close enough, was the broad nose, the taut mouth and the drops of rain that had settled in the down over his top lip. It was impossible to recognise tiny Johnny boy from this angle.