“Many of the victims were their own biological or adopted children. We couldn’t solve the case. . then I remembered a comment that Ronning once made to me. . I visited him in Spain and he gave me a tip that eventually lead to a webmaster in Amsterdam who secretly posted and hid the videos inside legitimate websites.”
“I didn’t know that. I doubt if anyone knows. . right?”
“That’s right. . thanks to Anton Ronning we exposed dozens of businessmen and women. . accountants. . bankers. . lawyers. . judges. . senior police officers. . NATO generals. . you name it. . A Norwegian Supreme Court justice who likes to watch the raping of young girls. . a top Chinese diplomat at the United Nations. . a deputy director at the F.B.I. and at the B.A.T.F. in the United States.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“We even caught a former Deputy Assistant Secretary of the United States Navy who was good friends of Senator Kerry the presidential candidate. . And of course we had plenty of top level people at UNICEF and the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. The cream of society. . caught red-handed in the sewer. We saved sixty-three children. . took them into protective custody.”
“I don’t remember any arrests of the perverts.”
“Of course not. Only two got arrested. None got convicted.”
“Why?”
“The ususal. . the perverts got their friends in government to drop any charges. Only one got charged. . that former U.S. Navy official. The rest?. . They resigned or retired. You know the usual phony corporate doubletalk. . they left to pursue other interests. . to spend time with family.”
“But the perverts-”
“The perverts got off because they knew too much about the people in power. . the affairs. . the financial frauds. . the perversions. . you name it.”
“Ja. I know whose club you’re talking about. . the lifestyles of the rich and powerful club. These high-placed perverts have their protectors and friends who gladly turn a blind eye as long as these perverts are of use to them.”
“Ja,” said Sohlberg. “You know. . the Too Big To Fail crowd. . ”
“Ja ja,” said Warden Birkeland sadly. “I know very well how that works. Remember the case of the mayor and his teenage boyfriend?”
“Exactly. See what I mean?”
“All too well. Anyway. . I hope you didn’t put dynamite in the boxes for Ronning to blast a hole in the wall and escape.”
“No. They’re Freia chocolates. Our Smiley Face Killer is crazy for any Freia chocolate confection. The melkesjokolade milk chocolate bars are his favorite. . as are the Kvikk Lunsj Quick Lunch chocolate wafers.”
“How charming. . chocolates for a killer. . like visiting a relative. . like me visiting Grandpa Birkeland this weekend.”
“Ronning is now what. . seventy-eight?”
“Eighty. This visit should be interesting. . Just don’t get too near him. He attacked a guard two months ago and broke her wrist.”
Anton Ronning had a good tan. The portly 80-year-old seemed rather hale and quite serene on the patio where he was taking the sun on a lounge chair. The monster listened to music piped into his earphones by an MP3 player. He smiled and looked the epitome of an old retiree enjoying a comfortable government pension. The serial killer reminded Sohlberg more of a retired accountant or a genial grandfather.
“Hello Sohlberg. I’d get up but I hurt my back two months ago. . I had to show this disrespectful guard how to respect me. . so I gave her the proverbial slap on the wrist. . I’m sure some tattle-tale already told you the gossip about the guard’s broken wrist.”
“Ja.”
“What have you there?” said Ronning. He pointed and cast a leering glance at Constable Wangelin and the boxes in her arms
“Your favorite.”
“Ha! That’s not exactly what I meant. . who’s the pretty lady. . your daughter?”
“No.”
“My my my. . well she’s not your wife. . you’re not the kind of man to dump an old wife to marry a newer gal half your age. A mistress? You have a mistress?. . No. That’s certainly not your style. . my straight straight arrow. Don’t tell me. . she’s just a co-worker?”
“Ja.”
“Interpol?. . No. She looks like one of ours. Home-grown I’d say. Quite lovely.”
“She’s Norwegian. . from the Olso district. . if that’s what you mean.”
“That so?. . Are the Police and the Ministry of Justice finally figuring out that it’s best to catch criminals with honey and not with vinegar?”
“I wanted to ask you-”
Anton Ronning raised his hand. “One minute please. . let me hear the end. . oh. . oh. . this is so good. . Vivaldi. . The Four Seasons. . played by Fabio Biondi and Europa Galante. Oh my! How they play. . so much energy. . how exciting.
“I can almost see that redheaded priest Vivaldi playing the violin in Venice like the devil himself! I’m surprised the church didn’t burn him at the stake for such outrageous music. . it just burns with passion. . and lust for life. Just like me. . don’t you think?”
Sohlberg shrugged and said, “I wonder what the world would be like if we brought back burning at the stake for society’s heretics.”
“Hot my boy. The world would be hot for devils like me.” The old murderer laughed lustily at his own joke. “Anyway. . what goodies have you brought me in those boxes?”
“Your favorite chocolates.”
“How kind. How lovely. You know. . I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. . just like Blanche Dubois in A Streetcar Named Desire.”
“I need your help.”
“Again. . so soon?”
“Ja.”
Anton Ronning laughed and took one of the milk chocolate bars and it disappeared into his cavernous mouth in one stealthy move. “Sohlberg I’d like to get transferred out of here. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful very grateful to be here. After my last beating I probably had days to live in Spain before you got me out.
“But I’m getting old Sohlberg. I’ve spent what?. . The last thirty years in prison? More than fifteen years in Spain and more than ten here.”
Sohlberg removed his glasses and carefully cleaned them with a small soft blue cloth that he used only for that purpose. “Crime and punishment. Acts and consequences. One follows the other. . no? As night follows day.”
“But another day follows the night. Doesn’t it?. . Sohlberg I’d like to spend my last days without looking at any walls. I want to move to Bastoy Prison.”
Sohlberg was not surprised. The minimum security prison on Bastoy Island was an idyllic resort-like facility less than 50 miles south of Oslo. Inmates could easily swim to the mainland but did not for fear they’d be sent to less hospitable lodgings. Bastoy Island held 115 inmates who lived in cozy wood cottages when they were not working in the organic farm or horseback riding or fishing or swimming or playing tennis.
“I’ll be honest with you,” said Sohlberg. “Halden is as good as it gets. I will not be personally recommending that you get transferred to Bastoy.”
“Fair enough. Will you at least let them know that’s my request if I help you?”
“I’ll let them know about your request. Now. . will you help me?”
“Ja. Of course. You got me out of that nightmare down in Spain. We have a good working relationship.”
“I and the constable here are going to tell you everything about a case we’re working on.”
“The Karl Haugen case?”
“Oh?” Sohlberg raised his eyebrows. “You heard anything about the case here in prison?”
“Ja but not what you think. Most of the inmates are outraged that someone would take or harm the boy. We were even more outraged at the incompetent police investigation.”
“I’m going to lay out some basic facts to you about the case.”
“Alright.”
“You can ask me all the questions you want. Constable here will answer what I can’t.”
“What do you want to know?”