in the intervening period and then return to her after she had served her sentence. That was why she asked me to take care of the case, both the legal and other aspects. I was myself here in Forde to assess the new foster home before it was approved.’
‘So you met the two — deceased?’
‘Yes, but just the once, in September 1974. Subsequently neither they nor Jan Egil had any need for my services until… well, now. The arrangement was that social services had registered my name, and they notified me last night about what had happened.’
‘Does that mean that you’ve been officially appointed to represent Jan Egil?’
He flashed a quick smile. ‘I’m certainly taking the case, Veum. This is a boy I will do my utmost to help.’
‘Good. So we’re on the same team. If you should need my assistance
…’
He nodded and gave me a searching look. ‘Don’t rule out the possibility. Let’s come back to that as soon as we’ve been given a rough summary of the situation.’
‘So who actually has parental responsibility now?’
‘Officially, it’s still Vibecke Skarnes.’
‘But she…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m thinking about what happened in 1974 when she confessed to killing her husband…’
‘No, no. She always claimed that it was self-defence, that it was an accident…’
‘Yes, of course, but — Johnny boy — Jan Egil was the only person who was present at the incident, as far as we know. And now there is another murder — a double murder — here, again with Jan as the only person in the house at the time…’
‘We need further information about that particular point, Veum. He tells quite a different story.’
‘What does he say?’
‘I assume you will hear it if he’s asked to talk to you. Besides, there is, in fact, another person who has confessed.’
‘I know, and that was exactly why I wanted to ask you: is it conceivable that the same thing has happened as in 1974?’
‘I’m not quite with you there.’
‘Is it conceivable that the mother assumed the guilt for what her own son — or adopted son, that is — had done that time, to spare him the psychological damage, in the same way that another girl is doing now?’
‘No, no. That’s just speculation, Veum. I thought you said we were on the same team?’
‘A last question, Langeland. Did Jan Egil ever find out that Vibecke Skarnes was not his real mother?’
‘Not as far as I know. The only person who can answer that is he himself. And I doubt if this is the right time to broach the matter.’
‘Right, but then… let’s talk later, Langeland.’
‘Let’s do that.’
I nodded and turned to go. Silje and her parents had gone into another office, followed by Grethe, the woman I presumed was her solicitor and the policewoman. Standal and Ruset stood waiting for us to finish.
‘OK, Veum,’ said Standal. ‘Ready to go in?’
‘I’m ready.’
‘You did a good job up there last night. That’s why I’m permitting this. But I expect something in return.’
‘Oh?’
‘A confession, Veum. It would be good if you could manage that.’
Jens Langeland gave an admonitory cough behind us. ‘Er, I don’t think you should be leading Veum on, Standal.’
Standal, peeved, glared at the nationally celebrated barrister. He had a fair inkling of what would be awaiting him if they ever met in court. ‘Of course not, herr advokat Langeland. We will take note.’
Then he exerted his authority and led me to the partition door. And, without saying another word, escorted me in to see Jan Egil.
27
A uniformed officer stood to attention as we entered. Standal nodded to him. ‘It’s OK, Larsen. Veum may speak to the witness on his own. But I would like you to stay right outside. And, Veum, should you need assistance for some reason, all you have to do is say.’
I nodded. The two policemen left the room and closed the door behind them. I was alone with Jan Egil.
For the first time I had a decent look at him. The night before, up in Trodalen he had been wrapped up in an anorak and hood, and when we came back down to Angedalen he was put in the other police car. Now I saw an overgrown seventeen-year-old I would never have recognised if I had met him in the street. He seemed to be taller than me, even when he was sitting, with disproportionately long arms. He had red scars and fresh spots in the area around his mouth and down his neck, and his facial hair was blond and downy, which further strengthened the impression of a grumpy cockerel. It was the taut, slightly aggrieved, expression around his mouth that I seemed to recall, and when my eyes met his, I caught a glimpse of the demonstratively silent and aggressive Jan that was ingrained within him. He looked down with a scowl on his face. He sat hunched over the table with the palms of his hands on the surface as though he could launch himself any minute and dive forward. It was only when Standal and the other policeman had closed the door that some of the tension seemed to leave his body. He raised his head and scrutinised my face, perhaps in an attempt to raise me from his database, as I had done with him.
We were in a kind of interview room. There was a small window situated high up in the wall. All we could see through it was the sky over Forde, and that wasn’t much to shout about from here, either. Scattered raindrops fell on the pane, becoming thin lines of tears between us and life outside. Now and then we heard the sound of passing vehicles and the odd scream of a child from Kyrkjevegen; distant everyday sounds.
I went to the table edge and held out my hand. ‘Hello again, Jan Egil.’
He looked at my hand in surprise, without showing any sign of wanting to shake it.
I shrugged, smiled to signal it didn’t matter, pulled out a spindle-back chair and sat down opposite him.
Again I met his eyes. The expression in them was let’s-wait-and-see, wily almost, as though he was prepared for anything.
‘You wanted to talk to me, they said.’
He gently tossed back his head, and averted his eyes. Then they returned and he gave a stiff nod.
‘So what’s on your mind, Jan Egil?’
I watched the muscles in his jaw swell. The blood vessels in his temple grew and his face went red. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, unconvincingly.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sure you will have when you’ve had a think.’ I gave him some space, but as he didn’t react, I continued. ‘Yesterday you said I was the only person you wanted to speak to. I’ve come all the way from Bergen to help you and would have come twice as far if it had been necessary. Langeland, your solicitor, has come all the way from Oslo. Grethe from social services. Hans Haavik. We’re all here to help you. You can be sure of that. None of us takes what the police say happened as read. We want to hear it from your own mouth, in your words.’ After a pause I added: ‘What really happened.’
As he still didn’t answer, I said: ‘Silje has given her version of events. The same as she said up in Trodalen last night.’
His mouth twitched, but he still didn’t say anything.
‘Of course you know the story about Trodalen Mads?’
He nodded with a jerk. ‘Heard about him at school.’
‘It’s not at all certain that he’d be sentenced nowadays. I mean, now even a middling lawyer would’ve got him off provided that the trader’s body hadn’t been found. And who knows what was behind it. No one knows. Perhaps it was a miscarriage of justice, too. There have been enough of them over the centuries. The Hetle case.
