46
The following day was a Friday, and we took an early flight to Oslo. The cabin crew served breakfast with a smile, and Hardanger Plateau lay beneath us like a patchwork quilt of grey, blue and brown.
Cecilie sat sipping from her mug of coffee when she burst out: ‘That time in 1984, up in Forde…’
‘Mm?’
‘Did you get to know a colleague of mine — Grethe Mellingen?’
‘Yes. For as long as it lasted. But I never saw her again. It was only the once.’
‘The once?’
‘Yes, the days when…’
‘She said nice things about you.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘At a seminar a few years back.’
‘Right… You know how it is. Some people you meet again. Others you lose track of. And suddenly ten years have passed, and then it’s all too late. Getting in touch after such a long time would be embarrassing.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Are you still… on your own, Varg?’
‘Are you asking me if I…?’
‘You don’t need to answer. I was just wondering.’
‘Yes, but in fact I am. I didn’t find her in Forde, and she hasn’t popped up in Bergen, either. The dream princess, I mean.’
‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘Not at all. I understand. But she told me an interesting story when I was there, Grethe did. About someone they called Trodalen Mads, and who was convicted of a killing he may not have committed — at least if I’m to believe what she told me.’
‘But…’
‘Yes, too late then, too. He was convicted in 1839 and imprisoned for forty-two years afterwards.’
‘Forty-two!’
‘The justification for it was apparently that he had sworn to avenge himself on the parents because it had been their testimony — and especially the mother’s — that had led to him being convicted. That was why he was kept in Akershus until both parents were dead, and it lasted so long, with the accrued interest, if I can put it like that. I can’t help thinking that this is reminiscent of Jan Egil and his story.’
She looked at me in surprise. ‘In what sense? Not that he was innocent surely?’
‘No one knows if Trodalen Mads was innocent. Though, maybe they did. And this revenge business. The only difference is that nowadays murderers aren’t given forty-two years. With good behaviour they are soon out on the street again. Sooner than people like to think.’
‘But… you didn’t answer my question. Do you really think he was innocent? That he was convicted of something he didn’t do? Johnny boy?’
‘And his mother.’
‘The mother? Are you thinking of Vibecke Skarnes or…?’
‘Yes, Vibecke. The foster mother. What if she took the blame for her husband’s murder, what if it was never an accident and she thought that Jan had done it?’
‘So she went to prison for his sake, you mean?’
‘Yes. What if someone else was guilty then as well?’
‘Then… as well?’
‘Yes.’ I sent her a defiant look. ‘I was never convinced that Jan Egil was really behind that double murder in 1984. I’ve always had the feeling that something was overlooked at the time.’
‘But the police had pretty substantial forensic evidence against him, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, they did, Cecilie. They did that.’
We had started the approach to Fornebu Airport. The cabin crew were clearing up after the meal, and we were requested to check that our safety belts were properly fastened.
‘And you, Cecilie? Has the dream prince walked into your life?’
She smiled. ‘If not the dream prince then… Yes, in fact I have got a partner. We’ve been living together for the last four years.’
‘Perhaps I should move to Oslo, too. If that’s where you find them.’
She giggled. ‘Maybe.’
‘So that means I can’t reckon on sleeping on your sofa when I’m there?’
‘I’m afraid that might be a little unpopular.’
‘OK. I’ll have to sweet-talk Thomas then.’
‘Your son?’
‘Yes, he’s still at university. I’ll have to take my chance with the corner of his sofa.’
She smiled. ‘Then everything’s okay?’
‘Not everything, perhaps.’
‘No, you’re right. Not everything.’
We hovered over Oslo in a slow glide, the Royal Palace on our right with Karl Johans gate like a filthy grey carpet edged in green rolled out from the palace steps right down to the central railway station, then Frogner Park, the tree tops autumn-dappled, before landing with a cautious little bump in Fornebu, which would soon be signing off as an Oslo airport. We were let out of the plane in single file, and it wasn’t long before we were sitting on the bus bound for Oslo town centre.
She looked at me with a frown. ‘How are you going to tackle this, Varg?’
‘Somehow I’m going to have to find Jan Egil before he finds me.’
‘You realise that could be dangerous though?’
‘Yes. But what’s the alternative? Sitting on my arse in Bergen and waiting for him to appear, with or without baseball bat?’
‘I have to show my face at work, but… where will you make a start?’
‘First I’ll drop off my bag at Thomas and Mari’s. Afterwards, I’d like to find out a bit more about the murder. Is Hansie the right person to contact?’
‘He can show you round the hospice anyway. Whether you’ll be allowed to go into the flat, I have no idea.’
‘Doubt it.’
‘Just a mo…’ She opened her handbag, took out a wallet and produced a little business card. ‘This is Hans’s card. It’s got his mobile number and so on.’
‘Great. Thanks. And yours?’
‘OK, I can write my number on the back.’ She fished out a biro from her bag and jotted it down.
I took the card, checked the number was legible, nodded and stuffed it in my inside pocket. We got off at the National Theatre, and we stood on the pavement for a moment. She was serious. ‘Take great care, Varg!’
‘I’ve been in tight spots before,’ I said. ‘Even in Oslo.’
She nodded and gave me a quick hug before leaving. Then she headed towards the Town Hall. After phoning first to see if anyone was at home, I took a taxi to Frydenlundgata, where Thomas and Mari had moved since I was last in Oslo.
I rang the doorbell and Thomas came to the intercom before I had finished ringing. Then the door lock buzzed. I walked up the stairs to the second floor of the large block. He was in the doorway waiting. He had hardly said hello before adding: ‘Would have been good if you could’ve given us some notice before appearing on the doorstep. I’m supposed to be at a lecture now.’
I smiled an apology. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, but this came up with no warning. And I don’t have a client paying for it either, so…’
He nodded indulgently. ‘Could you sleep on the sofa again? Course you can. Come on in!’
They had moved from one room and a kitchen in Bislett to three rooms, kitchen and a bathroom close by St Hanshaugen. Thomas gave me a quick run-through on the amenities, fetched a spare key from the bedroom and
