smuggling?’
‘That’s what I’m telling you! I thought it’d surprise you. I heard you talking about his missus. We called her the dolly. I wouldn’t’ve minded a round with her in the sack, at some point. But she held her nose in the air and never looked in my direction. Svein and I, on the other hand, we were good mates, and both did our own thing.’
‘So when he fell down the stairs…’
‘You know… There was so much going off at that time. The bubble burst in 1973. First of all, it was the fishing smack that was boarded by the customs officers somewhere at sea. Laden with booze. A few days later Ansgar was beaten to death, and the police here as good as rounded up the whole gang.’
‘Not all of them, though, obviously. Klaus Libakk never got a blemish on his record.’
Another grin. ‘Nor me. Nor Svein. We were good at covering our tracks.’
‘So Svein Skarnes had an important role in the business?’
‘An important role! How many times do I have to tell you? He was running the whole bloody thing. He was sitting in Bergen with all his foreign contacts. All his travelling, at home and abroad… it was the perfect cover.’
My brain was reeling. The whole affair was taking on a new perspective. The threads going back to 1974 were even stronger than they had seemed even a few hours ago.
‘Well, OK, then,’ I said. ‘The racket was broken up in 1973, and in February 1974 Svein Skarnes had his dramatic fall.’
‘The bitch shoved him down the stairs.’
‘At least, that was the official version. Now there’s a lot that has to be re-thought, I’m afraid.’
‘Don’t be afraid, Veum. I’ve been afraid for many years, I have.’
‘Yes, exactly. When did you move here?’
‘Well, I met Solfrid here in the autumn of 1973. Svein and I had a sales meeting here while seeing if it was possible to build up something new in the booze market at the same time. I mean… Svein was in a real fix. He owed money for the last load and those waiting for payment were not exactly very patient creditors.’
‘No, I can imagine. They threatened to send in Terje Hammersten, did they?’
‘Hammersten? Do you know him?’
‘Who doesn’t?’
‘But how did you know…?’
‘How did I know…?’
‘That Hammersten was involved?’
‘He was the one who killed Ansgar Tveiten, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, but that… No, I don’t know. People here took care of that. That was what blew the whole thing out of the water, for Christ’s sake! After that it was as good as impossible to start up again. The whole set-up was compromised, and no one dared touch it with a barge pole! We just had to give up.’
‘But you heard from Hammersten as well, I take it?’
He had started sweating. Every now and then he looked over towards the foyer as if fearing that someone he didn’t like could enter at any moment. Then he whispered: ‘Svein got a lot of calls from him.’
‘From Hammersten?’
He nodded. ‘For every day he didn’t pay, the sum went up. Black-market interest rates. I don’t know if you know the system? It’s horrendous once you’re caught up in it.’
‘And if that didn’t help, then Terje Hammersten dropped round, was that how it worked?’
Again he nodded, without saying anything.
‘So, in theory, it could’ve been Hammersten who pushed Skarnes down the stairs on that February day in 1974?’
‘But his missus confessed, didn’t she!’
‘Yes, but what if I tell you that some new information has come to light… Someone overheard a row at the Skarnes household, a row between Skarnes and another man…’
‘Someone? Who was that?’
‘It’s not important.’
‘But…’
‘Then it could’ve been Hammersten. Why didn’t you say anything about this to the police?’
He looked at me as if I were mad. ‘And ruin everything for myself? I would have dropped myself right in it. And when his missus had confessed anyway… I didn’t reckon she would lie about anything so serious!’
‘She must’ve had her reasons?’
‘Yes, they must definitely have been bloody good ones.’
‘Perhaps they were. But back to… It was after that that you left everything and came here?’
‘Yes, as I said… after Svein died and the missus was in clink the company was dissolved. It was Solfrid who lured me to Forde and I got myself a job, for a while.’
‘And you never heard anything — not from Hammersten or any of the others?’
He shrugged. ‘Why should I? I didn’t owe any money. I was just the missing link, as I said.’
‘Right. But time passes, and then this happens: Klaus and his wife are murdered. Didn’t that worry you?’
‘No, why would it? Isn’t it exactly as the papers say, that the case is as good as solved?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. But what if it was all linked with the smuggling business? That that was the motive?’
He gave me a long lingering look. ‘It could’ve been the money, of course.’
‘Which money are you talking about now?’
Yet again his gaze wandered off to the foyer. When he answered, he had lowered his voice so much that I had to lean close to understand what he was saying. ‘There were some rumours going round, in 1973… Listen, Veum… Everything went tits up. No one got their money. But the money ended up somewhere, didn’t it. Someone was sitting on a pot of gold, somewhere in the chain…’
‘And you think that might’ve been Klaus Libakk? Was there such a large turnover in Angedalen?’
‘Angedalen!’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Klaus Libakk was organising sales in the whole region. From Jolster to Naustdal. Everything went through him. He was the bloody spider in the web here. That was why it was so bombproof. The whole thing was built up a bit like a resistance group, with small cells that knew nothing of each other, apart from the closest contact-person.’
‘But you knew a lot, I can see. You’re not scared that you’re in the firing line yourself?’
‘Me?’ He had gone a little green around the gills. I feared he would soon be looking for a suitable place to throw up.
I said quickly: ‘But what you’re suggesting is that Klaus Libakk might have been sitting on quite a sackful of money on his farm?’
He nodded. ‘A fortune, Veum. A veritable treasure chest…’
Now he knew the moment had come. He pushed back his chair and staggered to his feet. He bent forward, grabbed his glass, raised it to his mouth and drained it in one long swig. Then he turned around, and without saying goodbye tottered off towards the toilets.
On the way out he passed a woman. My eyes lingered on her. She was wearing a tight black dress that emphasised her trim figure. Over her shoulders hung a loose coke-grey suit jacket. Her coiffeured hair was arranged in fluffy blonde curls, and it was only when she met my eyes that I saw who it was. Grethe Mellingen, dressed to kill…
By the time she had reached my table I had been standing for quite some time. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’
‘I’m here now,’ she said with a pert smile.
35
‘What can I get you?’
