The crockery Klara Almelid used was white with small pink flowers and a gold edge. Within ten minutes she had made coffee, put out a bowl of biscuits, cut up a small malt loaf and spread golden farm butter and genuine goat’s cheese on the slices. She was small with an efficient, ferret-like nature. Her darting eyes took in most of what was happening in the sitting room and the kitchen.
Silje sat by a little nest of tables by the window, sullen. Oygunn Bratet had taken a seat on the stool beside her while quietly telling her what had been said at the press conference and explaining to her what the next steps would be.
For the first time I had a chance to study the young girl in peace. She was wearing tight, faded jeans and a dark blue V-necked sweater with a short flower-patterned scarf around her neck. Her dark blonde hair was collected in a ponytail, but when I searched for some resemblance with Trude Tveiten, there was not much I could detect; perhaps the way she held her head, that was all, though. She had nodded sulkily when she saw me, before seeking Oygunn Bratet’s eyes like a drowning person desperate for something at hand to grab.
The front door opened, and heavy steps resounded in the hall. Klara Almelid left quickly to explain the situation to her husband. He growled an answer. A door closed and straight after there was a rushing sound in the heating pipes.
When Lars Almelid came in and stood in the doorway, he had taken off his outdoor clothing and changed his trousers. He had house shoes on his feet, a flannel shirt open at the neck and he smelt of soap. His complexion was fresh and red with a distinct pattern of small, thin blood vessels under both ears. His hair was thinning, but he had large, bushy eyebrows. His eyes were blue, determined, as was the set of his lips.
I stood up and we shook hands. He scrutinised me carefully. ‘And how may I help you?’
‘To be frank, I’d like a little chat with Silje.’
‘Frank?’
‘Yes, I’d like to hear her version.’
‘I understood that, but I believe you said frank? From that I conclude there is something else you’re after.’
I glanced at Silje and her solicitor. Oygunn Bratet returned a mocking look. I lowered my voice. ‘Can we go into the kitchen?’
He nodded silently. We went out and I closed the door behind me. Klara and Lars Almelid were standing by the worktop on the other side of the room, positioned beside each other as if for a family photo.
I looked at Klara. ‘You are the sister of the late Klaus Libakk, I understand…?’
She gave a doleful nod. ‘Yes, I was.’ She faced the window. ‘I grew up on Libakk Farm too.’ Her dialect was as broad as her husband’s.
‘Were there any other brothers or sisters?’
‘Yes, we had a brother. Sigurd. But he was lost at sea when he was very young. So then it was just Klaus and I.’
‘But Kari, she must have had family, I suppose?’
‘Yes, there must be some relatives. But she wasn’t from here, you know. She came from somewhere on the More coast. She didn’t have any brothers or sisters, though. That much I’m sure of.’
‘So perhaps it’ll be you who takes it over then?’
She glanced at her husband. ‘Yes, I suppose it might be. If they don’t find a will.’
‘How was the relationship between you and your brother?’
‘It was good, I think. We weren’t very similar, though.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, you know…’
‘Here on the farm we’ve stuck to our childhood faith, for example,’ said Lars Almelid in a sonorous voice.
‘And they didn’t at Libakk Farm?’
‘At least they never went to… either the church or the chapel.’
‘We never spoke about it,’ Klara said quietly. ‘But we had our own views.’
‘What about… it’s rumoured that Klaus Libakk was involved in the great smuggling ring that operated in the early seventies.’
Her face scrunched up around a tiny pursed mouth while his face darkened even further. He was the one who answered: ‘We’ve also heard the rumours.’
‘But they were just rumours?’
‘We never talked about it,’ Klara repeated.
‘But we saw the vehicles that came to visit now and then,’ said Lars. ‘And they weren’t such small loads he carried in his vehicle, either, a big Hiace, it was.’
‘But you never dealt with him?’
‘We don’t touch that sort of thing!’
‘No… but you know of course who Silje’s father was.’
Klara nodded. ‘Yes, we obviously know that.’
‘Could he have been here — at Libakk, I mean?’
She looked at her husband. He shrugged his shoulders slowly and stiffly. ‘He might’ve been,’ he answered. ‘But that was a long time before Silje came here. He’s dead, too, as I’m sure you know.’
‘Yes, I do. But the mother popped round now and then?’
It was Klara who answered this time. ‘Yes, but not that often. She lives right out in Dale, she does.’
‘That’s not so far.’
‘No, no.’
‘Perhaps you don’t like her coming?’
She straightened her back a little. ‘We don’t think it does Silje any good, if I may put it like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because!’ Klaus said in a strong, clear voice.
For a moment we sat chewing on that. Then I decided to change the topic. ‘Of course you must’ve heard what Silje said about… Klaus and her.’
Klara had a violent reaction, and I saw her grip the edge of the worktop to prevent herself from falling. ‘It’s… impossible,’ she said in a low, intense voice.
Lars looked at me with fire in his eyes. ‘Whatsoever you have done unto these the least of My brethren you have done unto Me,’ he quoted.
‘And by that you mean…?’
‘If what Silje said is true, he’s going to burn in hell until eternity!’
‘So you don’t know any more about it?’
‘She never said anything to us,’ Klara said. ‘Not a single word.’
I nodded. ‘Well, perhaps then…’ I motioned that we could join the others again. Klara took the coffee pot and began to fill the cups. Silje was asked if she wanted a glass of juice, but she responded with a shake of the head.
Oygunn Bratet was sitting on the stool with a cup of coffee in her hand. I was sitting at the table with Klara and Lars. Silje was staring at the floor, cowed into silence by this cheerless assembly.
Klara and Lars folded their hands and said grace quickly before Klara passed round a dish of the malt bread sandwiches, then the biscuits.
No one said anything.
I looked at Oygunn Bratet. She met my eyes; her gaze was measured and cool.
In the end, I spoke up. ‘Silje…’
She peered up with a start, then looked down again.
‘We met in the valley on Tuesday evening. Since then I haven’t had a chance to talk to you. But I’m trying to help Jan Egil as much as I can. That’s why it would be very helpful if you could tell me — in your own words — what happened.’
She mumbled something indistinct.
‘Pardon? I didn’t hear what you said.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she said in a quiet voice, but more distinct now.
‘You had a lot to say up in Trodalen. And afterwards, too, I’m led to believe.’
