We Shall Inherit the Wind Read online

  As we mounted the step, a light went on inside.

  ‘Ah,’ I said.

  Ranveig craned her head round. ‘No, I’m afraid not. It comes on automatically, at random times. So that it looks as if someone is in.’

  ‘If only everyone was so sensible,’ Brekkhus said.

  Ranveig produced a key and unlocked. She pushed the door open. Then gestured that we were welcome to enter.

  We came into a classic cabin hall with small, woven tapestries of various dark colours, a large sea chart on one wall and a long row of hooks for an assortment of raincoats and weather-proof jackets on the other. There was no shortage of sailing footwear, walking boots and knitted socks, and in the corner facing us was a fibre-glass fishing rod, complete with line and lure, ready for use.

  We followed Ranveig and Brekkhus to the end of the hall where we emerged into the cabin’s main room, which had a view of the sea and a kitchenette to the right. There was nothing luxurious about the furnishings. Traditional Norwegian pine furniture dominated. The TV set in one corner was between ten and twenty years old, the portable radio on the tiny bureau even older. The walls were decorated with a mixture of landscape paintings, nature photographs and the odd collage, the latter clearly put together by children. Tucked into one corner was a cabinet, which I imagined contained drinks, and along the wall to its right a bookcase so crowded with books that they were stacked higgledy-piggledy on top of one other without any obvious system. The electric radiators under the windows made a clicking noise, but the room wasn’t warm enough for us to take off our coats.

  Ranveig went to the kitchenette, ran water from the tap and put a kettle on the stove. ‘I’ll brew us up a nice cup of coffee.’

  ‘Or two,’ I said.

  Bjørn Brekkhus stood musing in the middle of the floor. He appeared uncertain what role to play, whether he should be the host, the guest or some point in between. Karin went over to Ranveig to ask whether there was anything she could do to help.

  From the kitchenette Ranveig said: ‘Relax. It won’t take a second.’

  I refrained from a witticism, despite the temptation. Besides, Brekkhus was much bigger than me. We each put a slightly under-sized chair by the pine table, which was scarred from years of use and covered with a red and green runner in the middle, on which sat a pewter candle-holder shaped like a Viking ship with a half-burnt candle inside, probably a present from such close friends that it would have been embarrassing not to display it.

  I glanced up at the retired policeman. His steel-grey hair was cut in a short-back-and-sides fashion, but the combed-back fringe was long and parted over the rear part of his head to reveal his scalp. His oblong nose had a visible network of thin veins and resembled a sallow marine animal caught in a red net. His eyes were a glacial blue and his gaze was measured, as though he regarded everyone he met as potential suspects.

  I snatched a sidelong glimpse at the kitchen. ‘Could you tell me a bit more about what happened to … Mons Mæland’s first wife?’

  He puckered his lips in thought. ‘There’s not much more than I’ve already said.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Early 80s, one hot August day. She used to go for a morning swim from the quay here, often on her own, but on the odd occasion she managed to entice Mons or one of the children to go with her. On this day she was alone. We found her dressing gown and a pair of slip-ons on the quay. When she didn’t return, Mons began to suspect some-thing was amiss. There were just the two of them out here, and he was dozing in bed. They had been fishing the night before. She used to make breakfast after the swim, but … as I said, on this day, she didn’t return, and when he went to look for her he just found her dressing gown and shoes.’

  ‘How old was she?’

  ‘About forty, if I’m not mistaken.’

  Karin came in and put out mugs. Ranveig poured freshly brewed coffee from a white Thermos flask. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked.

  Brekkhus made a vague motion with one arm.

  ‘Lea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t understand what she has got to do with this.’

  ‘Well, Veum was asking about her.’

  I nodded. ‘I was just wondering what happened.’

  ‘The general assumption was that she drowned in a swimming accident.’

  ‘But?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s no secret that she had her problems. Periods of terrible depression.’

  ‘She was never found,’ Brekkhus repeated.

  ‘Did you know them at that point?’ I asked, focussing on Ranveig.

  She flushed. ‘Not really. I was employed there later on. In the company.’

  ‘Your husband’s company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what does it do?’

  ‘Property, investments. Mostly property. Developing industrial complexes, housing estates, cabin sites. Lots here in Nordhordland.’

  ‘And the name of the company is …?’

  ‘Mæland Real Estate AS. We just call it MRE.’

  There was a slight pause, as a couple of us took the first swig of hot coffee. So far we had skated around the reason for our being here. But this was no chance meeting between friends or family. Nor was the cabin up for sale and we were not being shown around.

  I considered it an opportune moment to tackle the matter head-on. ‘So your husband has disappeared?’

  She had just lifted the mug to her lips. Now it hung in mid-air, in front of her gaping mouth. Her eyes widened a mite, and a helpless, hurt air came over her, which hadn’t really been there before.

  She put down the mug, splayed her fingers out on the table, as if to support herself, and said softly: ‘Yes, two days ago.’

  ‘And you haven’t contacted the police yet?’

  ‘Present company excepted …’ She glanced fleetingly at Brekkhus, who was sitting with a mug in his hand and a pensive expression on his face.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t think … I don’t know … When I rang Karin she told me about you, and what you do. I don’t think Mons is … if you see what I mean. We had a … a difference of opinion. Which became a little heated. Raised voices. The upshot was he left, grabbed his coat and slammed the door, and not long afterwards I heard the boat starting up.’

  I nodded towards the window. ‘The one down there?’

  ‘No. We’ve got an Askeladden with an outboard motor.’

  Brekkhus cleared his throat to attract attention. ‘It was found adrift to the south of Radsund on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘I see! And he disappeared …?’

  ‘On Saturday evening,’ she said.

  ‘But …’

  ‘But the car was gone,’ Brekkhus said.

  ‘Uhuh?’

  She took over. ‘His car was parked by the quay, where we met you. But now it’s gone.’

  ‘You both had a car?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said in a tone that suggested she was talking to a young child. ‘Even at weekends he often had to travel because of his job, and I had more than enough to do here. At any rate, during the summer.’

  ‘All the indications are that he took it,’ Brekkhus said. ‘He may have moored the boat, and it worked its way loose or … well.’ He shrugged.

  ‘You’ve done some investigating?’ I asked. ‘Off your own bat?’

  ‘I made a couple of telephone calls. That’s about it.’

  ‘Well … in that case there are a number of leads, but … Karin probably told you, I don’t do, what in our branch we call matrimonials.’

  ‘Fine, but this isn’t,’ Ranveig said. ‘You do missing persons, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, as far as they go. But rarely of this vintage.’

  ‘Is he too old, do you mean?’ She glowered at me.

  ‘No, no, please let me explain. What I meant was … the missing persons I am asked to find are usually young people with serious problems. What was your problem?’ />
  ‘Problem?’

  ‘You said you’d had a row. Or a difference of opinion, as you called it. Could you tell me what it was about?’

  She licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was small and pink, like a naked little animal, it poked its head out, took fright and quickly retreated. ‘It was a family … matter.’

  ‘Mhm?’ I watched and waited.

  ‘You don’t need all the intimate details to find him, do you?’

  ‘Not everything maybe, but a rough sketch would help. If you want me to find him, that is.’

  ‘If I want …! What do you mean by that?’

  ‘The more you can tell me, the easier it will be.’

  Karin and Bjørn Brekkhus sat in silence, listening now. What Ranveig had to tell us was important. She took a mouthful of coffee and pulled a face before starting: ‘Everything centres around Brennøy.’

  ‘The island in …?’

  ‘The municipality of Gulen. Quite a way out. About as far as you can go before you hit the sea.’

  ‘And what has your husband got to do with Brennøy?’

  ‘At the end of the 80s he bought a large plot there. Nothing to write home about. A few wind-blown cliffs and rocks to the north of the island. But he didn’t pay much for it. An investment for the future, he said at the time.’

  ‘That was what most people said at the time.’

  ‘Yes, I know. The worst yuppie period. But Mons was looking further ahead.’

  ‘By which you mean …?’

  ‘Renewable energy. He could visualise the rocks being … the perfect place for a wind farm. The technology was being developed. In Denmark and several other countries the first wind farms were already up and running and there were several more on the drawing board. Here, there were plans for wind turbines in Northern Trøndelag and in Nordland. Mons was convinced that Vestland would follow suit, above all with a view to making money after the seabed had no more oil to offer.’

  ‘A forest of wind turbines along the whole coast? Passengers on the Hurtigruten cruise ships have got something to look forward to.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘Exactly! That’s like listening to his daughter, Else. Green in every respect.’

  I arched my eyebrows. ‘Is that what you were arguing about?’

  ‘You could put it like that, yes. Else was the apple of his eye, of course. She had just turned four when she lost her mother and there had been a few pretty awful experiences before that, in the bargain.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Anyway … Mons had started to listen. Something of a sea-change, I can tell you. Generally he used to, well …’

  ‘Even die-hard socialists can go green in their old age.’

  ‘Must be with mould then. Anyway, Mons was never a socialist, I can promise you that.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t sound like it, but …’

  ‘But, if I might be allowed to finish what I was saying …’ She adopted a sarcastic expression.

  I nodded, and opened a palm.

  ‘It was two against two. Mons and Else on one side. Kristoffer and me on the other.’ She answered my question before I could ask. ‘Kristoffer’s his son. He’s the one who will take over when Mons retires.’

  ‘I see. But who is the largest shareholder in the company?’

  ‘That’s Mons. Still.’

  ‘So he could do what he liked, then?’

  She sent me a desperate look. ‘Why do you think we disagreed?’

  ‘Fine, but … Was that all? And this – what shall I call it? – ecological disagreement led to Mons slamming the door and leaving? And since then no one has seen him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No other … disagreements?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well … most marriages are like waters littered with submerged rocks. You never know when you’ll hit one.’

  ‘We didn’t have any other disagreements.’

  ‘If you say so, I’ll have to believe you.’

  ‘Yes, you will, actually.’

  ‘I assume you’ve tried to ring him? Does he carry a mobile phone on him?’

  She glanced at Brekkhus. ‘Yes, but there’s no answer. He must have switched it off. Or else …’

  I paused for a moment to follow her eyes. ‘Perhaps you also made a couple of calls regarding this matter, did you, Brekkhus?’

  He cleared his throat and looked ill at ease. Stiffly, he said: ‘No activity on his phone has been observed since Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘Nothing since he disappeared, in other words?’

  ‘That sounds serious,’ Karin said.

  Brekkhus shrugged. ‘It might be. But – as Karin said – he might have switched it off.’

  ‘Or he might have dropped it in the sea as he left,’ she added. ‘He could have thrown it into the sea for all I know. He could get into quite a temper.’

  ‘Really? Could he be violent?’

  ‘No, no, not so that he would hit anyone. Not at all. But he could take his temper out on … physical things. Once when we were quarrelling he slung his mobile on the floor and stamped on it so hard it broke.’

  ‘Expensive habits. But he didn’t just go straight home, did he?’

  ‘No. I checked that, of course. I got Kristoffer to pop up, but there was no one at home.’

  ‘Where do you live in Bergen?’

  ‘In Storhaugen.’

  I had taken out my notebook, and she gave me the house number. Then I jotted down the home telephone number, Mons Mæland’s mobile number and hers.

  ‘And Kristoffer, where does he live?’

  ‘In Ole Irgens vei.’

  ‘Family?’

  ‘Has he got any? – a wife and two children, although I can’t see what that’s got to do with this case.’

  ‘It hasn’t got anything to do with the case. It’s just to get a picture. The daughter?’

  ‘Else lives in Kronstad – in a student collective,’ she added with a sarcastic undertone.

  ‘And the address?’

  ‘Goodness me! Ibsens gate. But I’d rather you didn’t bother them with … this.’

  ‘They know about it though?’

  ‘I told you I asked Kristoffer to pop home to see if Mons was there, but, as I said, there’s no need to bother them.’

  I looked at her. ‘Their father has gone missing, and you don’t want me to bother them with this?’

  ‘What I mean is they can’t know anything anyway.’

  ‘No? But it may turn out that … It may have been quite traumatic when they lost their mother. Else was only four years old, didn’t you say?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at Brekkhus. ‘And Kristoffer must have been, well, twelve, wasn’t he?’ He nodded, and she continued: ‘They don’t want to talk about it.’

  Brekkhus coughed. ‘It was a shock for them, of course. But they weren’t here when it happened, fortunately.’

  ‘Where were they then?’

  ‘Well … in fact I can’t remember, but I think Kristoffer was on a hiking trip with a friend and his family, and Else had a sleep-over at a friend’s.’

  ‘In other words, the parents had a kind of free weekend. With a catastrophic outcome.’

  ‘Yes, that’s about the long and short of it.’

  I turned my attention to Ranveig again. ‘How’s your relationship with your step-children?’

  She hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘Quite … run of the mill. I’m not exactly the evil stepmother of fairy-tales, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything at all. I’ve just noted that you don’t want to bother them with this disappearance …’

  She sighed. ‘Of course you can talk to them. I didn’t mean it like that. But they have their own lives to lead. I can’t imagine they have anything to contribute. That was what I meant.’

  I nodded. ‘Fine. So where do you think I should begin? Where are the company offices?’

  ‘In Drotningsv
ik. But …’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t want me to bother them, either?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll see Kristoffer there anyway. What I was thinking was … if anything should leak out about Mons being … missing. It’s a sensitive line of business.’

  ‘Mine, too. Especially when I’m not given anything to work on.’ I considered the matter. ‘What about Brennøy? Could he have gone there?’

  She studied my face, unsure. ‘It’s just a plot of land. No houses.’

  ‘But that was what the row was about. He may have gone there to see the place with fresh eyes. Maybe see if he agreed with you after all. You and Kristoffer.’

  ‘Mm …’

  ‘There’s another question I have to ask you.’

  ‘Right.’ She gazed at me with apprehension, and I could feel a chill in her eyes.

  ‘Have you any cause to believe … Is it possible that there might be someone else?’

  She heaved a deep sigh. ‘If there had been, well, fine – almost. That at least would have been an explanation. Somewhere to start looking. But no, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, Varg. I have no cause to believe any such thing.’

  ‘Disappoint? I don’t take that kind of case, so …’

  A sudden silence descended over the gathering. I let my gaze wander from Ranveig Mæland to Bjørn Brekkhus – both had equally glum faces – and on to Karin, who also looked resigned.

  As if to rid me of any last doubts, Ranveig said: ‘Of course you’ll be paid for your work. I can transfer the money as soon as I’m home. Just give me your account number and a figure.’

  She jotted them down without any indication of an impending nervous breakdown. Then looked around. ‘Everyone got what they need, coffee-wise?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ came the motley chorus from around the table.

  ‘I’ll just rinse the cups. Then we can go.’

  ‘I can help you,’ Karin said.

  I caught Brekkhus’s eye. ‘Could we go outside for a moment?’

  ‘Dying for a fag?’ he said with an amused glint.

  ‘I don’t smoke. But there was something I …’

  He nodded and got up, and we went out together. Ranveig watched us leave. She looked as if she would have liked to join us. What did I know? Perhaps she was dying for a fag herself?