other again, I imagine.’
‘Hard to avoid. And should you ever need a private investigator then…’
‘I know who to turn to. Yes, thank you,’ she said, with a brief nod and a smile that lasted a tiny bit longer before departing.
Before I left, I was addressed by the officer behind the counter. ‘Veum? We’ve got a message for you here.’
‘Really? Thank you.’
I took the small handwritten note. It was from Grethe. Going home to rest, she wrote. Ring you later.
When I got down to the street, Oygunn Bratet was gone. I went back to the hotel to have dinner. Alone.
29
When I arrived at the hotel, a message was waiting for me there, too. But it was from Helge Haugen of Firda Tidend. Ring me asap! it said, and I did. I unlocked my room, sat down by the telephone table and rang him at the newspaper.
‘Veum… thanks for phoning. I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you. An interesting point that no one has brought out yet.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘You know… this Klaus Libakk, one of the murder victims inside the house, I’ve been doing a bit of enquiring about him. There’s some evidence to suggest that the police have had him under suspicion.’
‘Really? What for?’
‘Well, now you can guess!’
‘Not an indecency affair, I assume, since he was approved as a foster parent by social services.’
‘No. Indecency…?’ He was quick on the uptake. ‘Has there been any talk of anything like that?’
‘I can’t comment on that.’
‘We agreed to exchange our information, didn’t we?’
‘Agreements only go so far, Haugen, I’m bound by an oath of client confidentiality.’
‘Client confidentiality! A private investigator?’
‘If not to others, then to myself, if you understand what I mean.’
‘OK, OK. I won’t insist. Not yet. But then listen to this… you may have heard of the great smuggling business that was all the local news in the 1970s?’
I felt my whole body tense up. ‘Yes. It even culminated in a murder, I remember.’
‘Bullseye, Veum.’
‘Did Klaus Libakk have anything to do with that?’
He let the question hang in the air for a moment. Then he said: ‘He was never charged with anything. But the information I’ve unearthed says he was responsible for distributing illegal alcohol, to everyone in Angedalen!’
‘Wow! Where did you get that from, and why was he never taken to court?’
‘The thing is, Veum, I’m afraid to say, that the case was never properly followed up. There are lots of loose threads left dangling, if I can put it like that.’
‘And why not?’
‘You know how it is in small communities. Rumour has it that various persons high in the top echelons of local administration were involved — yes, even high-ranking police officials, at least they were on the customer list, and this led in the end to the matter being hushed up. Those behind the actual smuggling were snapped up, but the middlemen by and large went free. In addition, many considered this a political matter, as good as. I mean, Sogn and Fjordane is the only county in Norway not to have its own Vinmonopol — we still have to go to Bergen or Alesund to buy alcohol.’
‘But… the matter was hushed up, you say. For Christ’s sake, there was a murder! Ansgar Tveiten.’
‘You’re well informed, Veum. I’ll give you that. But Ansgar Tveiten himself belonged to the criminal fraternity hereabouts. No one missed him.’
‘He left behind a little daughter…’
‘What? Right… perhaps he did. But no one else. It proved to be difficult to get anyone from this milieu to talk and… anyway the case was dropped. No one was even charged with the murder.’
‘Right. Back to Klaus Libakk. You’re saying he was responsible for distributing alcohol to everyone in Angedalen, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, to those who were interested in buying the product, that is,’ he said, marginally modifying the statement.
‘Like those at Almelid Farm perhaps?’
‘Almelid? I haven’t checked the case in such detail yet. Why do you ask?’
‘OK, I’ll give you a tasty titbit in return, Haugen.’
‘Yes? I’m all ears!’
‘This girl who went up to Trodalen with Jan Egil last night…’
‘Yes, she was from Almelid, that’s right.’
‘Yes, but she was a foster child, too. Her name is Silje Tveiten. Daughter of Ansgar Tveiten.’
‘What! By Christ, that is tasty!’ After mulling this over for a second, he added: ‘That could almost give the girl a motive, Veum. At least if Klaus Libakk had been involved in the murder of her father. Have you thought about that?’
No, I hadn’t. Not until now. And I didn’t tell Helge Haugen, either. All I said was: ‘But how on earth would she have found that out, if the police had dropped the case?’
‘Well, that’s a point. But it’s worth thinking about, isn’t it.’
‘You’ll have to do what you think best. But don’t make any references to me in this.’
‘We always protect our sources, Veum. You can be sure of that. Even if you should decide to break what you call your oath of client confidentiality…’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, just what I told you, and I’ve been richly rewarded. We’ll talk again as soon as there is anything. See you!’
‘See you.’
I rang off and sat staring at the telephone.
Ansgar Tveiten and Klaus Libakk. Terje Hammersten and…
I sensed a pattern beneath all of this, a vague outline of things unsaid and unseen which were slowly rising to the surface.
But what? And where? I asked myself, then made a decision: the next day the search would start in earnest.
30
All roads lead to Rome, they say. But they were wrong. In my part of the world, all roads lead to the bar at Sunnfjord Hotel. Especially during these days when Forde is at the centre of news in what must be the biggest sensation since Alesund burnt down, judging by the media frenzy. The place was swarming with reporters, inside and outside the hotel, and most of them ended up in the bar, as they are wont to do.
After dinner in the hotel dining room — roast venison with sprouts and cranberry sauce — I took a pile of newspapers and slunk off to a free table in the spacious bar. I started carefully with a pot of coffee and a glass of Line aquavit. It wasn’t long before I had company.
Jens Langeland came into the foyer, looked around ignoring all the press people who started waving their arms to attract his attention, caught sight of me, made a gesture and came in my direction. ‘Alright if I sit here, Veum?’
