in there. With all the sleepless nights he had suffered, it would be fantastic if he could get some rest. Rolf slowly pushed down the door handle. Too late he remembered the hinges squeaked, and he pulled a face at the harsh sound as the door opened.
Marcus was awake. He was sitting up in bed staring into space, the newspapers in a neat pile beside him. The food was untouched, the glass still full of orange juice.
‘Weren’t you hungry?’ asked Rolf, surprised.
‘No. I have to talk to you.’
‘Talk away!’ Rolf smiled and sat down on the bed. ‘What is it, my love?’
‘I want you to send little Marcus away. To my mother or to a friend. It doesn’t matter which, but when he’s safe and sound I would like you to come back here. I have to talk to you. Alone. Without anyone else in the house.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Rolf, with a strained smile. ‘What’s wrong, Marcus? Are you ill? Is it something serious?’
‘Please do as I ask. And I would very much appreciate it if you could do it straight away. Please.’
His voice was so different. Not hard, exactly, thought Rolf, but mechanical, as if it wasn’t actually Marcus who was talking.
‘Please,’ Marcus said again, more loudly this time. ‘Please get my son out of the house and come back.’
Rolf got up hesitantly. For a moment he considered protesting, but when he saw the unfamiliar look in Marcus’s eyes, he headed for the door.
‘I’ll try Mathias or Johan,’ he said, keeping his tone as casual as possible. ‘A school friend will be easier than driving him all the way to your mother’s.’
‘Good,’ said Marcus Koll Junior. ‘And come back as soon as you can.’
‘Georg Koll knew my father,’ said Silje Sorensen. ‘They were business acquaintances. Even though I only met him a couple of times when I was a child, it was enough to realize the man was a real shit. My parents didn’t like him either. But you know how it is. In those circles.’
She looked at the others and shrugged her shoulders apologetically.
Neither Johanne nor Knut Bork had any idea what it was like to move in the circles of the wealthy. They exchanged a quick glance before Johanne once again immersed herself in the document the solicitor’s secretary had brought in.
‘As far as I can see, this is a completely valid will,’ she said. ‘Unless a new will was made at a later date, then…’
She gave a little shake of her head and held up the papers.
‘… this is the one that applies.’
‘But Georg Koll died years ago,’ Silje said in bewilderment. ‘His children inherited everything! The children from his marriage, that is. I had no idea Georg had another son. That is what it says, isn’t it?’
Johanne nodded.
‘
‘Nobody must have known about him,’ said Silje. ‘I remember my father laughing up his sleeve when the inheritance was due to be paid out, because Georg lost touch with all his children after he left his wife when they were little. He really was a complete bastard, that man. His ex-wife and kids lived in poverty in Valerenga, while Georg lived in luxury. It’s Marcus Koll Junior, the eldest son, who runs the whole company now. I think they reorganized slightly, but…’
She turned to the computer.
‘Let’s google Georg,’ she murmured, staring expectantly at the screen. ‘Bingo. He died… on 18 August 1999.’
‘Almost exactly four months after this was drawn up,’ said Johanne, growing increasingly thoughtful. ‘So it’s hardly likely that he would have made a new will after that. I think our friend Niclas Winter was done out of his inheritance, simple as that!’
‘But you can’t just disinherit children born within a marriage in this country, surely?’ Knut Bork exclaimed.
‘If the estate is big enough…’
Johanne leafed through the thick red book.
‘The legitimate share to the children is one million kroner,’ she said, searching for inheritance law. ‘How many siblings does this Marcus Koll have?’
‘Two,’ said Silje. ‘A sister and a brother, if I remember rightly.’
‘According to this will,’ Johanne said, ‘the three of them should have received a million each, and Niclas should have inherited the rest.’
Silje gave a long drawn-out, shrill whistle.
‘We’re talking big money here,’ she said. ‘But surely there has to be…’
Knut Bork leapt up and grabbed the document.
‘Surely there has to be a statute of limitation,’ he said agitatedly, as if it were his own fortune they were discussing. ‘I mean, Niclas couldn’t just turn up after all these years and start demanding…’
He broke off and adopted a posture that made him look like a keen lecturer.
‘Why the hell did I let that woman go?’ he said. ‘She mentioned something about Niclas Winter ringing around various solicitors more or less at random. He said his mother had just died, and she had told him on her deathbed that there was an important document addressed to him held by a legal practice in Oslo. It would secure his future. Perhaps he didn’t…’
They looked at each other. Johanne had found the section on inheritance law, and was sitting with her hand between the pages.
‘There’s a lot that needs checking, of course,’ she said hesitantly. ‘But at the moment it looks as if he didn’t know about the will.’
‘Why did his mother keep the fact that he was going to be rolling in money a secret from him? Shouldn’t she have made sure that…?’
‘Perhaps she didn’t want him to find out his father’s identity until after her death,’ said Silje. ‘There’s so much we don’t know. There’s no point in speculating any further, really.’
‘But we do know something,’ Johanne interjected. ‘There have been a couple of articles in
‘So we can draw the conclusion that Niclas had no idea who his father was, or that he was the rightful heir,’ said Knut Bork, perching on the windowsill with one foot on Johanne’s chair.
‘Not at the time, anyway,’ she said. ‘In which case the statute of limitation doesn’t run out until…’
The thin paper rustled faintly as she turned the pages.
‘Paragraph 70,’ she said vaguely. ‘He’s got six months. From when he finds out about the will, I mean. But I agree with you, Knut. As far as I know there is a definite statute of limitation… I think it’s…’
The rest disappeared in an unintelligible mumble as she read. Knut waggled his foot impatiently, and leaned forwards to try and see the book for himself.
‘Paragraph 75,’ Johanne suddenly said loudly, following the text with her finger: ‘
‘Fifteenth of April this year,’ said Silje. ‘That’s when the statute of limitation would run out.’
The computer’s screen saver suddenly burst into a silent firework display. Johanne stared at the red magnetic ring around Saturday 17 January. It had an almost hypnotic effect on her. In two days it would be the nineteenth once more, and she felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. Knut put his feet on the floor and stood up.
‘But could Niclas come along and claim everything his siblings have owned for almost ten years?’ he exclaimed. ‘Isn’t that bloody unjust, actually?’
Johanne was lost in thought.
