Mirror image, p.14
Mirror Image, page 14
I wasn’t sure if I remembered standing and waiting for the lights to go green by the Kjøttbasar or if that was another day. After all, I did generally walk the same route every single morning.
The next thing I remembered was – Tigger? Tiggers don’t push or was that exactly what they did do?
Trans World Ocean. Berit and Bodil Breheim. My investigations. I hadn’t forgotten them, anyway. I could recall most of what I had been thinking the evening before. I remembered the conversation with Hallvard Hagenes and all the other people I had met over the last few days: Kristoffersen and Bernt Halvorsen at TWO, the neighbour in Morvik, Harald Larsen in Ustaoset, Sara Breheim, Truls Bredenbekk and frail, old Hans Jacob Neumann.
The only thing I couldn’t remember was – Tigger?
My redheaded friend came back with a creased and dog-eared newspaper, which I flicked through aimlessly. One headline told me it was the ‘End of Sebrenica’. Serbian forces were besieging the town and its Muslim defenders. Now there was a ceasefire, an evacuation was under way, and there was speculation that Western bombers might attack. The Hardanger plateau was still closed for winter, and FC Brann coach Hallvard Thoresen was cautiously optimistic about the evening’s home game against Lillestrøm.
I may have dozed off at some point. At any rate I was startled when the door suddenly opened and six or seven people waltzed in, stood in a semi-circle around my bed and stared at me as if I was something the sea had washed up and they had never seen before.
One man I vaguely recognised leafed through the medical notes hanging at the end of my bed, paused in some places, frowned in others, until, with a disapproving expression, he finally cast a distanced look in my direction. ‘You’ve emerged amazingly unscathed, Veum.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have concussion. You’ve cracked a couple of ribs … here.’ He indicated where on his body. ‘Painful, but with no complications. Your back’s badly bruised and will be every colour of the rainbow for a few days, but as far as we can see, there’s no damage to your spine. And, even better, your pelvis is undamaged. You must’ve landed in a ball and rolled around. Physically, you’re in good shape and your core musculature is strong. That’s what saved you.’
‘So, how long were you thinking of keeping me here?’
He looked at me in surprise. ‘How long? Aren’t you on your way out now?’
A couple of the young men behind him laughed. One of the women rolled her eyes.
He smiled himself. ‘Everything’s fine, Veum. If you promise to take it easy for at least a week, we can discharge you now. Naturally, we’ll give you a prescription for some painkillers, which you can get from the pharmacist here before you leave, and then we’ll have you back for a check-up … Wednesday next week. Will you make a note of that?’ The latter was addressed to one of the accompanying nurses, who nodded and jotted it down.
‘Well, thank you for all your help,’ I said with a strained smile.
‘We don’t want to see you again for a while, Veum. And don’t forget to… ’
‘To what?’
‘Look left the next time you cross the road.’
25
I took a taxi down to my office. I couldn’t bear the thought of being jolted around on a bus. ‘Take it easy for a week?’ Easy for him to say, with a generous pension to look forward to.
I checked the answerphone. No one had tried to contact me. Just as well.
I rang Berit Breheim. She was out, at a meeting, but I explained to her secretary what had happened to me, and said that in the unlikely event that she didn’t hear from me for a few days, this was the reason. She should contact me if there were any new developments in the case I had taken on for her, I added. The secretary was kindness itself and promised to pass on the message.
‘Thank you.’
I had barely put down the telephone when it rang again. ‘Veum? Guess who this is?’
He didn’t fool me. True enough he had put on a kind of standard Norwegian, but his Voss accent shone through, thicker than the cigarette smoke over the Pentagon nightclub during the Voss International Jazz Festival. Atle Helleve was the latest scion in the detective family at Bergen Police, a likeable Hordalander with a far more thoughtful temperament than the recently retired Dankert Muus had manifested. With luck, I would never see Muus again. On the other hand, I wasn’t blessed with great reserves of good fortune. And as Hallvard Hagenes had told me two days ago: this town was too small to steer clear of someone for too long.
‘How can I help you, Helleve?’ I said, hoping I didn’t sound too wry.
‘We were wondering if you could drop by. There’s something we’d like to discuss.’
‘Oh, yes? Actually, I’m on a sickie.’
‘That’s precisely the point.’
‘I see. Well, are you serving coffee?’
‘If you can manage without a chaser.’
‘The chaser you generally offer is not much to get excited about. But OK. I’m on my way.’
‘And Veum… ’
‘Yes?’
‘Look both ways before you cross the road.’
‘I was given the same advice at Haukeland.’
‘There you are then. You have lots of well-wishers.’
‘Strange I haven’t noticed that before.’
We rang off. Afterwards I sat thinking. I just had to admit it. I was in unusually bad shape. The threshing mill in my skull was going for broke, but it was badly maintained and making an infernal racket. The reverberations of it were giving me a headache of immense proportions. There was no choice but to drag myself to the medicine cabinet above the sink and treat myself to two more of the large painkillers I had been given at Haukeland. Then I slowly dipped my face into cold water in an attempt to soothe the feverish feeling on my skin. I was dizzy, I felt sick and as if I were a hundred years old. ‘Up and at ’em, ole buddy,’ I told my reflection in the mirror, but the only response I got was a pale grimace from a face I barely recognised.
When I stepped outside, the light was odd. It was bright and irritating, and felt like a caustic liquid on my pupils. The traffic thundered past, and waiting at the lights on the corner by Lido café, I experienced stabs of fear in my abdomen. Suddenly a realisation came to me. I hadn’t crossed on red. Someone had pushed me.
I waited until people were on the zebra crossing, either side of me, before venturing out. I crossed Vågsallmenningen below the old, dirty-red stock-exchange building, long taken over by a bank, and I was happy to have managed a few more intersections until there was only Domkirkegaten left. Once again, I followed the advice given by the doctor and the police. I looked both ways, and not least over my shoulder, before crossing, entered the police station, reported to the reception desk and took the lift up to the third floor of the new building, where Atle Helleve came out to greet me. They had become stricter about who they allowed upstairs now. I hoped it wouldn’t be as difficult to get out again.
Atle Helleve was sporting a trimmed beard and a recent haircut, but his stout body still threatened to pop the top buttons of his shirt. He smiled warmly, shook hands as if we were old chums, and invited me in. ‘There’s coffee on the go.’
‘How long has it been on the go, though?’
He wasn’t alone in the office. A dark-haired woman rose from one of the chairs, holding a piece of paper in her hand and with a pensive expression on her face. The big glasses she was wearing lent her an intellectual cast, and she was discreetly dressed in a grey suit with a respectable skirt and a cream roll-neck sweater, a small, gold, oval brooch above her left breast, also oval. We stood looking at each other. She smiled sweetly when she saw that I recognised her.
‘Inspector Bergesen has just joined us from Kripos,’ Helleve said as he passed. ‘I gather you’ve met before.’
Her lips turned downward. ‘Herr Veum and I were on the same boat last December. Or in it, so to speak. The Hurtigruten express to Trondheim. On the same case, would you believe?’
‘But that was all we shared,’ I said. ‘What on earth has brought you to Bergen?’
‘Your irresistible charm, perhaps?’ She let the suggestion linger in the air for a couple of seconds, then raised her palms defensively. ‘No. In a way I’d become sick of all the travelling, and besides, I’m getting married.’
I angled a glance at Helleve. ‘Not to you?’
He grinned. ‘No, no, I should be so l—. No, Annemette’s found herself a biotechnologist based at Bergen University.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve invited me here because you need a toastmaster at the wedding? I’m afraid I’m not very witty at the moment.’
‘No, we can hear,’ Helleve said, almost shyly. He and Annemette Bergesen exchanged looks, and he took a deep breath. ‘Take a seat, Veum. Just a second and I’ll pour you a coffee.’
‘Now that’s service.’
I did as he said, and the coffee was surprisingly good, from the very first mouthful. A clean coffee machine perhaps? I glanced from one to the other. For a moment it was as if we were three good friends planning a wedding. ‘What’s on the agenda?’
Helleve looked at Bergesen, who gestured that she would kick things off. ‘As you know, we had an officer posted by your bed at Haukeland hospital.’
‘Yes, afterwards I was struck by your prioritisation.’
‘Solheim’s job was primarily to note down anything you might come out with while you were still more or less unconscious.’
‘That can be quite smutty things, an anaesthetist once told me.’ I glanced at Bergesen and winked.
‘You’re far too old for such thoughts,’ Helleve said.
‘That’s sad to hear.’
‘We have the print-out here.’ He indicated the piece of paper Bergesen was holding, and she passed it over to me.
I looked down at it. It might not have been very smutty, but it still made me blush. Thank God I wasn’t carrying state secrets in my head.
(Sobbing, incoherent rambling)
Harry! We’re falling! Harry? Harry … (Crying)
Incomprehensible.
Tiggers don’t push.
TVO (???) (Tee … Vee … Oh?)
Bodil? No, Berit? No…
Tigger?
(Incomprehensible)
The light … Who was it who…?
Beate?
(Wakes up, looks up at me and asks: Where am I?)
‘Lots of women in this, Veum,’ Helleve said.
‘Whose names all start with B,’ Bergesen added.
‘I have a predilection for women whose names start with B,’ I said. ‘But I can’t always distinguish between first and last names.’ When I saw her cheeks begin to redden, I added: ‘Surely you must’ve noticed last December?’ With an embarrassed smile, she blushed.
‘But only Harry made you cry,’ Helleve interrupted.
‘Yes, but he’s dead,’ I said, somewhat disorientated.
‘Not…? Is this the Birger Bjelland case?’
‘Exactly. February this year. Harry Hopsland. As I’m sure you remember, he lunged at me with a knife on a construction site in Sandviken. In the heat of battle, he plunged to his death. I reported myself to the police, and not even Muus suggested a charge. It was self-defence, Helleve. He’d been after me for years.’
‘He was after you?’
‘Yes, ever since I worked in child welfare.’
‘Right. And he worked with Bjelland?’
‘He was in cahoots with him, on this occasion at least.’
‘Would it be correct to say Bjelland used him against you?’
‘You can certainly say that. But where are you going with this, Helleve?’
He raised a sheet of paper from his desk, as far as I could see a photocopy of what I was holding. ‘These other names. Bodil, Berit, Beate. Can you explain them?’
‘Bodil and Berit are part of a case I’m working on. Nothing criminal as yet.’
‘What kind of case is it then?’
‘Missing persons.’
He eyed me expectantly. ‘And?’
‘We can – perhaps – come back to that. Beate… ’ I cleared my throat. ‘That must be my ex-wife.’
‘Ex?’
I smiled helplessly. ‘We got divorced in 1974. Why on earth would I mention her…?’
‘Young love never dies?’ Bergesen commented from the side-lines. ‘Don’t forget that theoretically you could be a dead man now.’
‘I’ll give that some thought.’
‘The bit that Solheim wasn’t sure about,’ Helleve said, ‘TVO, is that correct?’
‘Yes, good guess. Except that it should be a W in the middle. TWO, Trans World Ocean, a shipping firm. There may be a connection with the job I’m working on.’
‘Dutiful to the last, I see. The present case and your ex. Your last thoughts, theoretically speaking.’
For some reason I found what he said depressing. ‘Well… ’ I looked to Bergesen for help. She just grinned and pushed her large glasses up her nose again.
‘Have you anything to add?’ Helleve asked.
‘Regarding the case?’
‘Yes.’
I shook my head, but stopped at once. It had brought on my headache again. ‘My client has insisted I keep the police out of it. However … if you promise not to say a word and in return give me a helping hand with a bit of genuine information, I can give you the bare bones.’
They exchanged looks, and Helleve nodded. ‘Fine.’
In brief outline, I told them about the disappearance of Bodil Breheim and Fernando Garrido. I mentioned nothing about the events of 1957 and nothing about the Seagull and its delayed departure from Hamburg. ‘There may well be a natural explanation for it all. I suppose that’s why the family hasn’t contacted the police.’
Helleve nodded. ‘And what was it you wanted in return, Veum?’
‘The weekend before he went missing Fernando Garrido was arrested for breach of the peace and spent the night in a cell. I’d really like to see the report of his arrest and, if possible, even better, talk to the officers involved.’
‘Have you got a date?’
‘The night before Palm Sunday – the fourth of April.’
He rang the duty officer and started the wheels moving. ‘They’ll call you back, Veum.’
‘Great. But did you invite me over just to explain this?’ I nodded towards Solheim’s report. ‘What has suddenly made little old me so important?’
Once again, they exchanged looks, as though I hadn’t realised long ago that there had to be more to this. Helleve fixed his eyes on me again. He leaned forward with a serious face. ‘There’s something else here, Veum. Something about Tigger.’
‘Tiggers don’t push,’ Bergesen filled in.
‘Yes, I can see.’ I grinned.
‘Do you remember?’
‘Remember what?’
‘If you were pushed?’
‘To be honest, Helleve … no. I don’t even remember standing at the crossroads as everyone has said I did, but I do know … that I’ve crossed there so many times, and I was standing quite still. I wasn’t moving and I didn’t set off too early. There was no reason to. I wasn’t in any hurry.’
‘So, in other words…?’
I nodded – gingerly, so as not to provoke the headache. ‘Yes. That’s what I assume. Someone must’ve pushed me.’
‘Exactly. We do too. That makes it attempted murder; in which case we’re obliged to investigate further.’
‘But what about—?’
He raised a pre-emptive hand. ‘This is not all we have, Veum. There’s something else. And that’s why we’ve asked you here.’
‘Uhuh.’ I felt a burning pain, like an impending stomach upset. ‘What else?’
‘The following,’ Helleve said, in business-like fashion. ‘One of our undercover officers has sent in a report about a meeting with one of his informants, in which he says… ’ He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and read aloud: ‘“My contact passed on a persistent rumour among the villains that for several months there’d been a contract out on Varg Veum, a private detective – business address, Strandkaien 2 – and the man behind the contract was a previously mentioned B. Bjelland, currently in Bergen Prison.”’
‘Business address?’ I mumbled. ‘Impressive.’
‘Nonetheless a serious matter, Veum, to those whom it may concern.’
‘The whom is me, I take it?’
‘Yes.’
26
Annemette Bergesen and Atle Helleve regarded me sombrely, as though they themselves had delivered this apparent death sentence.
‘This is the sort of crime we take very seriously, Veum,’ Helleve said. ‘We’ll do everything in our power to put an end to this contract.’
‘Hence … your man at Haukeland?’
Helleve nodded. ‘Hence that too.’
I opened my palms. ‘Actually, I’ve been living with this since September last year, when I was in Oslo working on a case that became a great nuisance to one of Birger Bjelland’s – what shall I call him? – business associates there.’
‘So, you’ve known, in other words?’
‘I overheard a conversation while I was there, but … as nothing happened, I dismissed it as an empty threat. A downside of the profession, one might say. It wasn’t by any means the first.’
‘Look at it from another angle, Veum. I doubt his desire to finish the job has diminished in the meantime. After all, you more or less single-handedly uncovered the racket that put him behind bars, hopefully for a good many years to come.’
‘And it could be many more,’ Bergesen added, ‘if we can verify this so-called contract – and find the perpetrator.’
‘They’ll already have had him on the carpet,’ I said. ‘For failing. You’d better hoover that carpet and see if you can find any remains.’
‘Let’s be serious now, Veum.’ Helleve leaned forward. ‘Would you like us to provide some police protection?’
I had to laugh. ‘Sorry, Helleve, that’s the first time I’ve been offered that service. It wouldn’t have happened in Muus’s time.’
