We Shall Inherit the Wind (11 page)

Karin raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Are you sleeping here tonight?’

‘Yes, she asked me if I would.’

‘If she’s in the right mood, see if you can get her to open up.’

She looked at me disapprovingly. ‘If she does, don’t rely on me passing anything on to you.’

‘OK, OK … but there is something.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t know, I can’t quite put my finger on it. Well …’ I glanced towards the sitting room and grinned. ‘Enjoy yourself.’ I leaned over and lightly kissed her on the mouth.

She smiled and stroked my cheek. ‘And you? What are you going to do?’  

‘Drive home.’

But I didn’t. As I got into my car, my mobile phone rang. It was Stine Sagvåg, and she got straight down to brass tacks. ‘Veum? I told you I’d like a word. Is this a good time?’

‘It is. Where can I find you?’

‘In the bar one floor above your office. I saw your sign down below when I arrived.’

I chuckled. ‘Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be there.’

I had to find a parking spot first. Somewhere to leave my car overnight. If I was being invited to a bar there was a distinct possibility I would be there for a while.

She was sitting at a table by the window facing Vågen. When she saw me she nodded, as if to say, yes, you’ve come to the right place.

I nodded to the owner, a jovial guy with smooth, dark hair, a pear-shaped face, white shirt and bright-red braces. ‘The usual?’ he asked.

I glanced over at Stine Sagvåg. She had a green drink in a cocktail glass. I definitely didn’t want anything like that. ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

I went over to her table. She had changed into an evening outfit: a short, black skirt with a tightly fitted top in black shot with gold, which revealed that there wasn’t a gram too much on her body, except where it counted most. Her muscular but slim upper arms testified to the regular use of weights. When she got up to greet me her handshake was firm and resolute, and her beautiful smile came as if cut out of a glossy fashion magazine that retailed at more money than I had in my account. ‘What can I offer you, Veum?’

‘I’ve ordered, thank you.’

Her face was lean, her red hair with grey streaks fashionably dishevelled, and she radiated a strength that made me think of a female marathon runner crossing the finishing line with consummate ease.

The bartender came over with a round tray in one hand, placed a glass of dark-brown Hansa and a small glass of Simers Taffel aquavit on the table in front of me, said ‘Enjoy’ and retired discreetly with an amused smile. The bar was quite new, a couple of years old, and had raised the standard of the hotel on the fourth and fifth floors by several notches. It was located by the hotel reception area, and the view of the fish market and adjacent splendours did not diminish the attraction. The owner was a pleasant man who liked to chat with his customers, but he knew when to withdraw if the situation required.

On a Wednesday evening in September the place wasn’t exactly jam-packed, but we weren’t the only customers, either. There was a middle-aged couple sitting at one table, a group of three, well-dressed young ladies at another, two of them with immense cigars in their mouths, and from the side room I heard loud laughter coming from a party of men out on the town to celebrate something, most probably being out on the town.

Stine Sagvåg raised her glass and looked at me invitingly. ‘
Skål
…’

I chose the dram,
skål
-ed her, sipped the aquavit and felt the taste of caraway ripple reassuringly through my body. ‘
Skål
.’

From a small handbag she took a gold case, opened it and held it out for me. ‘Cigarette, Veum?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke.’

She arched her eyebrows with a questioning expression.

‘Yes, yes, of course. Don’t mind me.’

She nodded thanks, plucked out a cigarette, placed it between her lips and waited for as many seconds as it took her to realise that I didn’t walk around with matches on me, either. Then she took out a lighter and lit the cigarette herself. She inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs, and the image of her as a marathon runner slipped.

‘You may be wondering why I’ve invited you here.’

‘Yes, I cannot deny that.’

She turned her face to the side and considerately blew the smoke in that direction. ‘What happened on the island was absolutely terrible.’

‘We can all agree on that. You were questioned by the police as well, were you?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But what could I tell them? Erik Utne of Norcraft deals with Mæland Real Estate.’

‘So why were you at the survey?’

She smiled indulgently. ‘TWO, whom I represent, has substantial property interests in Norcraft. We’re obviously interested in following up our investments, also at close quarters. Especially when a fairly controversial venture such as a wind farm in virtually untouched nature is concerned.’

‘There’s a beating heart for the environment in TWO as well?’  

‘A controversial investment can soon become a poor investment. Our owners’ main concern is a foreseeable profit.’

‘Surprise, surprise! But you had met Mons Mæland, hadn’t you?’

‘Only peripherally, eighteen months ago, when we seriously began to get interested in this case.’

‘In fact, I’ve come across TWO before.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You’ve checked up on me, I imagine.’

‘I always check up on people I rendez-vous with.’

‘A rendez-vous? Is that what this is?’

She smiled enigmatically.

‘Did you speak to Halvorsen or Kristoffersen?’

‘I didn’t speak to anyone, Veum. I found you in our archives.’

‘Wow! You don’t have a copy of my file, do you?’

‘It wasn’t that thick,’ she said, demonstratively flaring her nostrils.

‘Thick enough,’ I said, taking a sip of beer.

She waited until I had put the glass down. ‘We have an assignment for you, in fact.’

‘Oh, yes? Tell me more.’

‘You probably heard what Johannes Bringeland said on the island. The claims he made about the sale of the property – in 1988, I think it must have been.’

‘Yes. His client Stein Svenson was given a bit of rough treatment on Brennøy. Professional job.’

She waited for me to follow up.

‘I don’t know if you noticed one of the others at the survey. A certain Trond Tangenes …’

‘Yes?’

‘You didn’t hire him, did you?’

‘Trond Tangenes? I don’t recognise the name. In what capacity, might I ask?’

‘I see.’ I shrugged. ‘He has a background as a debt collector, bodyguard, that kind of thing. Have persuasive manner, will travel. If you know what I mean.’  

She raised one hand. ‘If you’re trying to imply that we would have anything to do with that kind of activity I can definitively reject it. At TWO we do not take recourse to such methods.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

For a while there was an invisible arc of tension between us that could have caught fire at any moment. Then I put a damper on the atmosphere. ‘I saw him talking to Jarle Glosvik, the district council man, most of the time.’

‘Then ask him!’

‘I will do if the opportunity presents itself. But back to … What is it you want me to do?’

‘Yes. When the murder … When whatever happened to Mons Mæland has been cleared up we want to get cracking with the project as soon as is advisable.’

‘You literally want the wind in your sails.’

‘Yes. Can we count on you?’

I took another sip of the aquavit. ‘If I understand you correctly, you’re asking me to investigate what happened in 1988 when the land on Brennøy was transferred from one Per Nordbø to Mons Mæland with the Chief of Police in Lindås as one of the witnesses. That’s all?’

‘In brief outline.’

‘Perhaps not the greatest intellectual challenge I’ve had, but we all have to live.’ I nodded. ‘I can try. Do you know how Svenson is?’

‘No idea. A doctor arrived, and they went into a different room. The rest of us were discharged once the police had finished with us.’

‘Who did you talk to?’

‘Solheim, I think he was called.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Sweet guy.’

I took note. I would have to remember to tell him the next time we met.

‘You’re very sweet, too, Veum …’

Or maybe not.

The bartender was at their table again. ‘Everything alright?’ By which, I now knew, he meant: ‘Anything else to drink?’  

Her glass was empty. ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘One more of the same.’

I drained my beer. ‘I’ll keep you company. Two more of the same.’

‘My treat,’ she said.

‘Can you write it off against my assignment?’

‘That sort of thing.’

‘What is it you’re drinking? Broccoli juice?’

‘Grasshopper. Pleasant taste of peppermint, if you have a taste for it.’

I leaned back in my chair. ‘And what is an attractive girl like you doing at the top of TWO?’

‘Attractive girls do what they want after a while. Didn’t you know that?’

‘In directors’ offices, too?’

‘I’ve got a degree and a business school diploma.’

‘Not just attractive but clever with it?’

Her tongue came out and ran along her top teeth. ‘Very clever,’ she said as the new round from the bar arrived.

‘But you’re not from Bergen …’

‘You have a keen ear, Veum. You can hear the difference between Bergen and Trondheim, in other words.’

‘Refined version.’

‘Trondheim Posh, as it’s called. Though it’s never been a problem so far.’

‘TWO isn’t exactly well known for its environmental credentials …’

Her eyebrows shot up and she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Are we back to business? No, not historically maybe. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have the potential to improve. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Absolutely. And is that what you’re doing now? Wind power and other renewables?’

‘We want to become an environmental beacon, Varg. May I call you that?’

‘Of course. A beacon with maximum profit?’

She leaned forward, spreading a fragrance that was discreet and cool. She was like a perfumed glacier. ‘That’s where the future lies. At the
cutting edge of technological development. Take Toyota, for example. They brought out the first hybrid car, and I’ll guarantee you that in ten to fifteen years’ time at least fifty per cent of all cars off the conveyor belts will have environmental features.’

‘And you want to be part of this?’

‘Not car manufacturing, but in our specialities: shipping, energy, and I’m not just thinking of oil, I’m thinking wind, wave …’ She extended an arm in a circle above us. ‘The sun … We want to be there, Varg, and leading from the front.’

‘With all your money? And the profit …’

She smiled. ‘That, too. All our prognoses point in the same direction. The environment is tomorrow’s investment objective number one. Have you ever seen a wind farm?’

‘In Denmark, yes. But only in passing.’

She looked up. ‘It’s a very attractive sight, I can tell you. The big blades rotating slowly in a rhythmical, almost dancing, fashion. Tall, white against the horizon. And the sure knowledge that this produces energy without leaving behind it the slightest form of pollution.’

‘But there are those who maintain that wind turbines are not that environmentally friendly after all. They make a lot of noise, among other things. And they have the potential to cause harm to bird species.’

‘Yes, and we should take that seriously. Everyone should have their say. But not in the way that … well, you know. I don’t know if you caught the item on the TV news?’

‘No, I was … busy.’

‘This morning it was front-page news in all the papers. The authorities are going to demand an immediate explanation.’

I chuckled. ‘Hamre’s going to be doing overtime …’

‘You’re old friends?’

‘I know most of them in the force, unfortunately.’

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. ‘I haven’t met that many private detectives before.’

‘No? We’re pretty normal people, so long as you don’t cross swords with us.’

‘Are you handy with your sword, Varg?’

I nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Touché, Stine.’

She leaned even closer. ‘Can I invite you to a nightcap one floor up?’

‘Are you staying here?’

‘Mm.’

It was tempting, of course. On the other hand … ‘Shame you’ve hired me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘One of my hopelessly old-fashioned principles. I never get too familiar with my employer. Besides, I’m as good as married.’

She leaned back in the chair with a slightly odd expression on her face. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘Another time perhaps.’

She smiled sourly. We were alone in the bar now. The others had gone. The owner was standing behind the bar polishing a glass with such energy he must have thought it would turn to gold if he rubbed hard enough.

‘Anyway, I was only inviting you for a nightcap.’

I nodded, with a wry little smile.

Again she opened her handbag. From an inside pocket she pulled out another little gold case, the size of a business card, and indeed that was what she took out, placed on the table and pushed in my direction. ‘Here you have all my phone numbers.’

‘If I should change my mind?’

‘When you hand in your report.’

I clocked the card. ‘You’re based in Oslo, I see.’

‘Our division HQ is there, yes.’

‘As close as possible to power.’

‘No, no. Then we would have been in Brussels. Or New York.’

I sighed. ‘But not in Eivindvik.’

‘No, not there.’

She still looked a little put out. Attractive girls do what they want, she had told me, but they don’t always get what they want, however attractive they are. She beckoned to the bartender and paid with one of
her cards. We walked back to reception, where she shook my hand and wished me luck with the assignment.

She sent me a final, lingering look. Then she went upstairs to her room on the fifth. I walked all the way downstairs; I didn’t even pop into the office to check my post. I postponed everything to the following day and strolled home, fairly satisfied with the day’s results. But she had got me wondering, it couldn’t be denied. Clever girl that she was.

Once at home, I poured myself another Simers Taffel to console myself. Gradually a new image was forming on my retina. The image of Mons Mæland on a cross facing the sea with the wind as the only witness. I thought of the quotation from the Bible that had hung on the wall outside the chapel:
He that troubleth his own house shall inherit the wind: and the fool shall be servant to the wise of heart
. Mons Mæland had inherited the wind, there was no doubt about that. Who was foolish and who was wise was still a moot point. I felt quite well qualified for both myself, and I was pretty sure which category Stine Sagvåg had put me in, lying in her bed in Strandveien, alone with her dreams – of profit or whatever it was people like her dreamed about when it was night and they were alone and had no one to be clever with.