the bailiff and his assistants the following day.’
‘He confessed to the murder,’ I said. ‘For her sake.’
Her eyes met mine. ‘Does that sound familiar?’
‘What happened then?’
‘The rest of the story is well-known. He had taken a few banknotes and valuables from Ole Olsen and they were found on him. He confessed and was given his punishment. Not until many years afterwards, in 1881, was he released from Akershus prison. By then Maria had been dead for twenty-two years. She died in 1859, unmarried and without any heirs, apart from her apparently fatherless daughter, Kristine, who herself had a daughter after what we today would call a gang-bang, in 1863. My great grandmother, who was given the name Margrethe.’
‘And Maria never came forward with what she knew about the Trodalen murder?’
‘Not to anyone’s knowledge. She confided it to this.’ She gently patted the opened book with her hand. ‘The truth follows our family down from woman to woman.’
‘And now to me…’
‘But you swore an oath!’
‘Yes… and I stand by it. So many years afterwards, Mads Andersen’s reputation doesn’t count for so much, so long as his only descendant…’ With a flourish of my hand I indicated her. ‘… is happy to leave it like that.’
‘But the upshot of this, Varg, did you catch it?’
I nodded. ‘Never rely on what is said. A case is rarely what it seems at first glance.’
‘Then I’ve achieved what I set out to do,’ she said, closing the book with care and putting it on the bedside table. A fragrance arose from her body like mountain and sun, a scent of mothers past.
‘Is that everything?’
She rolled onto her side and slid open her thighs. ‘But I could easily handle a repeat performance,’ she said with a pert smile, pulling me close.
37
The day after was a depressing contrast, one long unbroken decline from the hectic breakfast at Hornnes, after which Grethe had to drive me in all haste to the hotel because she herself was in danger of arriving late for the morning meeting at work.
At the hotel the mood was one of leave-taking. A press conference had been set for twelve o’clock and the reporters who were still in Forde took the agenda as read. The next item would be the court case and the fixing of a date.
‘That’s bad,’ I concluded as soon as I had had my impression confirmed via a telephone conversation with Helge Haugen from Firda Tidend. The pathologist’s and the forensics report pointed very clearly in one direction, and Haugen said that a source of his at the police offices had ascertained that in the course of the day Jan Egil Skarnes would be charged with the double murder and held on remand until the case came to trial, incommunicado for the first four weeks.
I thanked him for the information and looked at my watch. There was still an hour and a half until the press conference.
In much the same way that Maria Hansdottir had her Trodalen Mads, Jan Egil had his Silje. It was the last loose thread. I decided to do a bit of unravelling and with the aid of the telephone directory found where Oygunn Bratet had her office. She had her base in shared office space on the second floor of one of the commercial buildings to the south of the river, east of Lange Bridge.
A reticent secretary told me that Bratet was extremely busy this morning. I turned on the last remnants of charm I had and against all the odds got to speak to her in the front office.
‘How can I help you?’ she said in a measured tone.
‘I was thinking about Silje. She’s something of a key character in this case.’
‘Not any more she isn’t.’
‘No?’
‘She’s withdrawn her confession.’
‘Really?’
‘She admitted she’d done it to help Jan Egil.’
‘And what caused her to change her mind?’
She looked at her watch. ‘A press conference has been called for twelve, Veum. All will be revealed then. You’ll have to turn up.’
‘Where’s Silje now?’
‘At home on the farm. But…’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t try and visit her. She’s not talking to anyone.’
‘It was more her foster parents I fancied a couple of words with.’
‘For what reason, if I might ask?’
‘Well… there’s the question of inheritance hanging in the air. Fru Almelid is, to my knowledge, the only heir to Libakk.’
‘And what does that have to do with this case?’
‘And there are all the other aspects. The 1973 smuggling business, amongst others.’
‘And what was that supposed…?’ She broke off and shook her head. ‘Tell me… Who are you representing actually?’
‘For the time being, your colleague, Jens Langeland.’
‘Uhuh.’ She didn’t seem to appreciate that. ‘Well, if you’re considering visiting the Almelid family, it won’t be without me being present.’
‘OK, but… when?’
‘It can’t be before the press conference at any rate.’
‘You were thinking of going, too, in other words?’
‘I was, yes. So, if I can get on with the day’s business until then, I…’
‘See you there then.’
‘There will be no avoiding that.’
She nodded and left me with the red-haired secretary, who had not become less reticent as a result of overhearing the conversation between Oygunn Bratet and myself. I saluted a goodbye and went on my way.
There was not much else I could do but wait for the said press conference. I bought some newspapers and had a cup of coffee at a cafe by Lange Bridge.
The double murder had moved to the back pages now. Outcome Awaited ran one headline. Double Murder Solved ran another, without any question marks. No one had picked up on the connection with the murder of Ansgar Tveiten. Only Helge Haugen of Firda Tidend hinted at a connection with ‘the great smuggling ring that ravaged the district in 1973’, without going into any detail about what connections there could be.
Nevertheless, the large meeting room at the police station where the press conference was to be held was fairly full. They had put three tables together for a panel presentation. All the chairs were occupied. I nodded to Helge Haugen who had taken one of the front seats and was sitting ready with his notebook open. Further away, at the table, sat Oygunn Bratet. I stood by one of the windows, leaning against the frame with my back to the daylight. When Sergeant Standal, a police official and the KRIPOS detective responsible came in, a storm of flashes went off and everyone eyed the new arrivals with excitement.
Standal seemed almost abashed. The police official looked as if he had won the pools. He was a young man with plain glasses and a well-trimmed beard, to all appearances a newly-fledged lawyer. The well-built KRIPOS detective regarded the whole thing as routine and didn’t allow himself to be affected.
Right behind them came Jens Langeland. He quickly scanned the audience and then took up a discreet position by the door. Spotting me, he gave a brief nod and gestured that he would like to talk to me afterwards.
Standal raised one hand in the air and the room fell silent. He had a typed statement on the table in front of
