We Shall Inherit the Wind (2 page)

Barely a week before, we had driven down to a quay in Nordhordland. We had parked in the space allocated, behind the large shop, but when we got out there was no one waiting for us.

Karin looked at me in surprise. ‘She said she would be here. It’s twelve o’clock, isn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘The clock strikes twelve and there’s no one to be seen. Send for Sherlock.’

She took out her mobile phone. ‘I’ll see if I can call her.’

While she was doing that I mooched around. The quay at Feste ran alongside Radsund, the main waterway north of Bergen for boats that were not too large. The Hurtigruten coastal cruises were further out. There was a black-and-white navigation buoy in the middle of the sound. On the other side there was a tall, dense spruce forest, something that might have been a bay or another sound, and beyond that we could glimpse some red-and-brown cabins.

Karin had got through. ‘Yes, we’re on the quay … Fine. We’ll wait here then.’ She glanced at me and rolled her eyes, then switched off the phone.

‘Everything OK?’

‘She’d forgotten the time. You wouldn’t believe it was her husband who had gone missing.’

‘Perhaps it’s not the first time.’

‘Well, I think it is. That’s why she’s asked for help.’

‘You know …’

‘Yes, I know you don’t do matrimonial work, but this is different. Take my word for it.’

‘There’s so much more of you that I would rather have.’

She sort of smiled; well, it wasn’t a great remark, but what else can you come up with on a chilly Monday morning in September with summer definitively on the wane and autumn beckoning on the horizon!

While we waited we nipped into the shop and bought a couple of newspapers. High in the gloom behind the cash till sat the shopkeeper, a friendly smile on his lips. He must have been wondering who we were and what our business was. This was one of those places where everyone knew everyone and a new face stuck out like a flower arrangement in a garage workshop.

The shop was quiet at this time of the day, and we were given a plastic mug of coffee each while we waited. I flicked through the newspapers. There were no world events hitting the front pages in the second week of September, 1998. Most of the coverage was given over to the Norwegian football team’s defeat to Latvia at Ullevål Stadium, the first at home for seven years and thirty-one matches and a sorry start to the upcoming European campaign. The Prime Minister was still off sick, and Akira Kurosawa had died in Japan. The eighth samurai had found his permanent place in the film history firmament.

After a while we went out onto the quay. Karin checked her watch again and peered north. ‘It’s not that far away.’

‘You’ve been here before, have you?’

‘Yeah, yeah, several times. Ranveig and I were at school together. For a few years we worked at the National Registration Office together, before she moved on.’

‘And – how long have they been married?’

‘Thirteen or fourteen years, I suppose it must be now. Mons has been married before. His first wife died – round here, in fact.’

‘Oh yes?’

She was about to expand on this when she was interrupted by the sound of a large, black Mercedes turning into the car park by the shop. The right-hand door opened, and a woman with short, dark hair stepped out and waved to us. Behind the wheel I made out the oval face of a man with slicked-back, steel-grey hair.

‘Oh,’ Karin said. ‘You came by car?’

The woman with the short hair hurried over towards her. ‘Yes, I …’ And the rest of what she said was lost because she gave Karin a big hug and her face was next to Karin’s cheek as she finished the sentence.

The man who had driven her was getting out of the car now, too. He was around sixty, tall with broad shoulders, wearing a brown leather jacket, blue jeans and robust, dark-brown shoes.

The two women released each other and half-turned to their companions.

‘You have to meet …’ Karin began.

‘This is …’ said the woman I assumed was Ranveig. They both paused, looked at each other and smiled.

By then I had joined them. ‘Varg,’ I said, holding out my hand.

She introduced herself in a solemn voice. ‘Ranveig Mæland. Thank you for coming.’

She was wearing a leather jacket too, but hers was short and narrow at the waist, and the tight jeans revealed athletic thighs and slim hips. Her face was pretty and heart-shaped, with quite a small mouth and large, dark-blue eyes. She had a single white pearl clipped to each earlobe. Beneath the lobes I noticed a vein throbbing hard, as though she were afraid of something.

‘Bjørn Brekkhus,’ her companion said, greeting first Karin, then me.

‘Varg Veum,’ I said, and added: ‘Bjørn the bear and Varg the wolf. The beasts of prey are well represented then.’

He shot me a look of mild surprise, then went on: ‘I’m a friend of the family.’

‘I couldn’t stand it out there … on my own, after Mons … Bjørn and Lise live here, on the mainland. Besides, Bjørn was Chief of Police in Lindås,’ Ranveig hastened to add.

‘Yes, but I’ve retired from the force now,’ he said. ‘Since June to be precise.’

She half-turned. ‘Shall we make our way across?’

Brekkhus nodded. ‘That was the idea, wasn’t it? I’ll just park properly.’

He got back in behind the wheel and moved the car a hundred
metres or so to the marked parking spaces at the northernmost end of the quay area. I followed Ranveig and Karin in the same direction. Most of the boats were inside the harbour, safely moored and already semi-equipped for winter, as far as I could see.

The two women had come to a halt in front of an immense, white, glass-fibre ocean-going boat. A broad blue speed-stripe ran along the side of the boat to its registration number and name: Golden Sun.

Ranveig looked at me. ‘I gather that Karin has mentioned … the old case as well.’

I watched her, waiting. ‘You’re referring to …?’

She looked over her shoulder at me and the water. ‘Mons’ first wife, Lea. She disappeared out there as well.’

After her gaze returned, I said: ‘Disappeared?’

‘Yes.’

Brekkhus coughed at my side. ‘I was responsible for the police search, and I can assure you … we turned over every last stone.’

‘But …’

‘She was never found.’

‘Vanished without a trace?’

‘As if borne aloft by the wind.’

‘This we will have to hear more about.’

‘Yes, but …’ He motioned towards the boat. ‘Shall we cross the sound?’

‘Yes, OK.’

He turned to Ranveig. ‘Have you got the keys?’

‘Yes, here they are.’

She passed the keys to Brekkhus. He led the way alongside the boat, grabbed a painter and nimbly swung himself on board. Karin and I found seats at the very back. Brekkhus started the engine and glanced at Ranveig. She released the mooring ropes, he turned the boat in an arc northwards, and we were off.

No one said a word. Ranveig took a seat at the front, beside
Brekkhus
, as if he needed a pilot. I glanced at Karin. The return-look she gave me was inscrutable. When I held her eyes she pursed her lips into
a little kiss and smiled cautiously. The wind caught her hair and raised it from her scalp. With one hand she gathered it behind her neck and focussed her gaze on the sound, where we were heading.

The cabin was situated on a rocky promontory facing the fjord. It was surrounded by spruces, almost certainly planted in the 1950s by Bergen schoolchildren on a re-foresting boat trip. Now the trees stood like dark monuments to a time when not only the mountains had to be clad but every tiny scrap of island skirted by the fjord. Accordingly, spruces lined long stretches of the Vestland coast. No one had thinned the striplings, and no one had cut down the trees, except the cabin-owners who had desperately tried to clear themselves a place in the sun. It looked as if they had given up here ages ago.

The path to the cabin wound upwards from the cement quay. To the north-east lay the islands of Lygra and Lurekalven. On the larger of these, in the middle, we could make out the slate-tiled roof of the new Heathland Centre. On the other, I knew there had been a medieval farm, which had been abandoned during the Black Death and remained uninhabited. Above us hung the sky, grey and heavy with rain, and the cortege making its way up from the sea was none too cheerful, either. We walked in formation: Ranveig Mæland and Bjørn Brekkhus in front, Karin and I right behind.

The cabin was a deep red colour, almost purple, with black window frames and facia boards. It was a classic 1940s cabin, erected either just before or just after the war. A west-facing annexe had been added later, and behind, bordering the forest, there was a structure that must have been an extension of some kind, painted the same colour as the main cabin, but with only one window and a plain wooden step up to the front door.

As we mounted the step, a light went on inside.

‘Ah,’ I said.  

Ranveig craned her head round. ‘No, I’m afraid not. It comes on automatically, at random times. So that it looks as if someone is in.’

‘If only everyone was so sensible,’ Brekkhus said.

Ranveig produced a key and unlocked. She pushed the door open. Then gestured that we were welcome to enter.

We came into a classic cabin hall with small, woven tapestries of various dark colours, a large sea chart on one wall and a long row of hooks for an assortment of raincoats and weather-proof jackets on the other. There was no shortage of sailing footwear, walking boots and knitted socks, and in the corner facing us was a fibre-glass fishing rod, complete with line and lure, ready for use.

We followed Ranveig and Brekkhus to the end of the hall where we emerged into the cabin’s main room, which had a view of the sea and a kitchenette to the right. There was nothing luxurious about the furnishings. Traditional Norwegian pine furniture dominated. The TV set in one corner was between ten and twenty years old, the portable radio on the tiny bureau even older. The walls were decorated with a mixture of landscape paintings, nature photographs and the odd collage, the latter clearly put together by children. Tucked into one corner was a cabinet, which I imagined contained drinks, and along the wall to its right a bookcase so crowded with books that they were stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of one other without any obvious system. The electric radiators under the windows made a clicking noise, but the room wasn’t warm enough for us to take off our coats.

Ranveig went to the kitchenette, ran water from the tap and put a kettle on the stove. ‘I’ll brew us up a nice cup of coffee.’

‘Or two,’ I said.

Bjørn Brekkhus stood musing in the middle of the floor. He appeared uncertain what role to play, whether he should be the host, the guest or some point in between. Karin went over to Ranveig to ask whether there was anything she could do to help.

From the kitchenette Ranveig said: ‘Relax. It won’t take a second.’

I refrained from a witticism, despite the temptation. Besides, Brekkhus was much bigger than me. We each put a slightly under-sized chair
by the pine table, which was scarred from years of use and covered with a red and green runner in the middle, on which sat a pewter candle-holder shaped like a Viking ship with a half-burnt candle inside, probably a present from such close friends that it would have been embarrassing not to display it.

I glanced up at the retired policeman. His steel-grey hair was cut in a short-back-and-sides fashion, but the combed-back fringe was long and parted over the rear part of his head to reveal his scalp. His oblong nose had a visible network of thin veins and resembled a sallow marine animal caught in a red net. His eyes were a glacial blue and his gaze was measured, as though he regarded everyone he met as potential suspects.

I snatched a sidelong glimpse at the kitchen. ‘Could you tell me a bit more about what happened to … Mons Mæland’s first wife?’

He puckered his lips in thought. ‘There’s not much more than I’ve already said.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘Early 80s, one hot August day. She used to go for a morning swim from the quay here, often on her own, but on the odd occasion she managed to entice Mons or one of the children to go with her. On this day she was alone. We found her dressing gown and a pair of slip-ons on the quay. When she didn’t return, Mons began to suspect some-thing was amiss. There were just the two of them out here, and he was dozing in bed. They had been fishing the night before. She used to make breakfast after the swim, but … as I said, on this day, she didn’t return, and when he went to look for her he just found her dressing gown and shoes.’

‘How old was she?’

‘About forty, if I’m not mistaken.’

Karin came in and put out mugs. Ranveig poured freshly brewed coffee from a white Thermos flask. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.

Brekkhus made a vague motion with one arm.

‘Lea?’  

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t understand what she has got to do with this.’

‘Well, Veum was asking about her.’

I nodded. ‘I was just wondering what happened.’

‘The general assumption was that she drowned in a swimming accident.’

‘But?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s no secret that she had her problems. Periods of terrible depression.’

‘She was never found,’ Brekkhus repeated.

‘Did you know them at that point?’ I asked, focussing on Ranveig.

She flushed. ‘Not really. I was employed there later on. In the company.’

‘Your husband’s company?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what does it do?’

‘Property, investments. Mostly property. Developing industrial complexes, housing estates, cabin sites. Lots here in Nordhordland.’

‘And the name of the company is …?’

‘Mæland Real Estate AS. We just call it MRE.’

There was a slight pause, as a couple of us took the first swig of hot coffee. So far we had skated around the reason for our being here. But this was no chance meeting between friends or family. Nor was the cabin up for sale and we were not being shown around.

I considered it an opportune moment to tackle the matter head-on. ‘So your husband has disappeared?’

She had just lifted the mug to her lips. Now it hung in mid-air, in front of her gaping mouth. Her eyes widened a mite, and a helpless, hurt air came over her, which hadn’t really been there before.

She put down the mug, splayed her fingers out on the table, as if to support herself, and said softly: ‘Yes, two days ago.’

‘And you haven’t contacted the police yet?’

‘Present company excepted …’ She glanced fleetingly at Brekkhus, who was sitting with a mug in his hand and a pensive expression on his face.

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t think … I don’t know … When I rang Karin she told me about you, and what you do. I don’t think Mons is … if you see what I mean. We had a … a difference of opinion. Which became a little heated. Raised voices. The upshot was he left, grabbed his coat and slammed the door, and not long afterwards I heard the boat starting up.’

I nodded towards the window. ‘The one down there?’

‘No. We’ve got an Askeladden with an outboard motor.’

Brekkhus cleared his throat to attract attention. ‘It was found adrift to the south of Radsund on Sunday afternoon.’

‘I see! And he disappeared …?’

‘On Saturday evening,’ she said.

‘But …’

‘But the car was gone,’ Brekkhus said.

‘Uhuh?’

She took over. ‘His car was parked by the quay, where we met you. But now it’s gone.’

‘You both had a car?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said in a tone that suggested she was talking to a young child. ‘Even at weekends he often had to travel because of his job, and I had more than enough to do here. At any rate, during the summer.’

‘All the indications are that he took it,’ Brekkhus said. ‘He may have moored the boat, and it worked its way loose or … well.’ He shrugged.

‘You’ve done some investigating?’ I asked. ‘Off your own bat?’

‘I made a couple of telephone calls. That’s about it.’

‘Well … in that case there are a number of leads, but … Karin probably told you, I don’t do, what in our branch we call matrimonials.’

‘Fine, but this isn’t,’ Ranveig said. ‘You do missing persons, don’t you?’

‘Yes, as far as they go. But rarely of this vintage.’

‘Is he too old, do you mean?’ She glowered at me.

‘No, no, please let me explain. What I meant was … the missing persons I am asked to find are usually young people with serious problems. What was your problem?’  

‘Problem?’

‘You said you’d had a row. Or a difference of opinion, as you called it. Could you tell me what it was about?’

She licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was small and pink, like a naked little animal, it poked its head out, took fright and quickly retreated. ‘It was a family … matter.’

‘Mhm?’ I watched and waited.

‘You don’t need all the intimate details to find him, do you?’

‘Not everything maybe, but a rough sketch would help. If you want me to find him, that is.’

‘If I want …! What do you mean by that?’

‘The more you can tell me, the easier it will be.’

Karin and Bjørn Brekkhus sat in silence, listening now. What Ranveig had to tell us was important. She took a mouthful of coffee and pulled a face before starting: ‘Everything centres around Brennøy.’

‘The island in …?’

‘The municipality of Gulen. Quite a way out. About as far as you can go before you hit the sea.’

‘And what has your husband got to do with Brennøy?’

‘At the end of the 80s he bought a large plot there. Nothing to write home about. A few wind-blown cliffs and rocks to the north of the island. But he didn’t pay much for it. An investment for the future, he said at the time.’

‘That was what most people said at the time.’

‘Yes, I know. The worst yuppie period. But Mons was looking further ahead.’

‘By which you mean …?’

‘Renewable energy. He could visualise the rocks being … the perfect place for a wind farm. The technology was being developed. In Denmark and several other countries the first wind farms were already up and running and there were several more on the drawing board. Here, there were plans for wind turbines in Northern Trøndelag and in Nordland. Mons was convinced that Vestland would follow suit, above all with a view to making money after the seabed had no more oil to offer.’

‘A forest of wind turbines along the whole coast? Passengers on the Hurtigruten cruise ships have got something to look forward to.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘Exactly! That’s like listening to his daughter, Else. Green in every respect.’

I arched my eyebrows. ‘Is that what you were arguing about?’

‘You could put it like that, yes. Else was the apple of his eye, of course. She had just turned four when she lost her mother and there had been a few pretty awful experiences before that, in the bargain.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Anyway … Mons had started to listen. Something of a sea-change, I can tell you. Generally he used to, well …’

‘Even die-hard socialists can go green in their old age.’

‘Must be with mould then. Anyway, Mons was never a socialist, I can promise you that.’

‘No, it doesn’t sound like it, but …’

‘But, if I might be allowed to finish what I was saying …’ She adopted a sarcastic expression.

I nodded, and opened a palm.

‘It was two against two. Mons and Else on one side. Kristoffer and me on the other.’ She answered my question before I could ask. ‘Kristoffer’s his son. He’s the one who will take over when Mons retires.’

‘I see. But who is the largest shareholder in the company?’

‘That’s Mons. Still.’

‘So he could do what he liked, then?’

She sent me a desperate look. ‘Why do you think we disagreed?’

‘Fine, but … Was that all? And this – what shall I call it? – ecological disagreement led to Mons slamming the door and leaving? And since then no one has seen him?’

‘Yes.’

‘No other … disagreements?’

‘Like what?’

‘Well … most marriages are like waters littered with submerged rocks. You never know when you’ll hit one.’

‘We didn’t have any other disagreements.’  

‘If you say so, I’ll have to believe you.’

‘Yes, you will, actually.’

‘I assume you’ve tried to ring him? Does he carry a mobile phone on him?’

She glanced at Brekkhus. ‘Yes, but there’s no answer. He must have switched it off. Or else …’

I paused for a moment to follow her eyes. ‘Perhaps you also made a couple of calls regarding this matter, did you, Brekkhus?’

He cleared his throat and looked ill at ease. Stiffly, he said: ‘No activity on his phone has been observed since Saturday afternoon.’

‘Nothing since he disappeared, in other words?’

‘That sounds serious,’ Karin said.

Brekkhus shrugged. ‘It might be. But – as Karin said – he might have switched it off.’

‘Or he might have dropped it in the sea as he left,’ she added. ‘He could have thrown it into the sea for all I know. He could get into quite a temper.’

‘Really? Could he be violent?’

‘No, no, not so that he would hit anyone. Not at all. But he could take his temper out on … physical things. Once when we were quarrelling he slung his mobile on the floor and stamped on it so hard it broke.’

‘Expensive habits. But he didn’t just go straight home, did he?’