The rifle shot rang out like a whiplash in the darkness. With a splintering sound the glass lens of the large searchlight was smashed, there was a scream, followed by more, and the flickering lights in front of us suddenly scattered in all directions, away from the area where the searchlight had stood. Then it was dark. Completely dark.
Through the darkness came the sound of piercing laughter from somewhere up in the scree. It was an eerie, almost supernatural sound.
Reidar Ruset switched off his head lamp and mumbled in local tones between clenched teeth: ‘Yeah, isn’t it what they’ve always said? That there are ghosts here…’
‘That’s because they never found the body,’ Grethe mumbled, shaking the rain off her sou’wester with a swish of her head.
19
Reidar Ruset beckoned to us to move forward again. Without the light from his head lamp it was even more difficult to see where we should walk. The terrain was trickier now, the path overgrown, impassable in places. The darkness lay thick around us, and it felt as though the rain had penetrated all the fibres of our clothing. Grethe had grabbed my hand tight. I kept close to Reidar Ruset, if for no other reason than not to lose sight of him.
Somewhere ahead we heard voices: a hushed animated discussion.
‘Hello!’ Ruset whispered.
‘Reidar?’ came the answer.
‘I’ve got the bloke from Bergen with me.’
Something came crashing through the birch trees in front of us. A well-built man in a police uniform with a nose reminiscent of a deformed potato filled the path ahead of us in the evening gloom. Reidar Ruset stepped out of the undergrowth so as not to stand in his way and half-turned towards me.
‘Sergeant Standal,’ said the newcomer, holding out an ample wet hand.
‘Veum,’ I said, passing him mine.
‘Good you could make it. I suppose Grethe’s explained the situation to you?’
‘In rough outline.’
‘We have what we assume is a hostage situation. A killer on the run who has taken a girl from the neighbouring farm with him and has now holed himself up in the scree here. You heard the shot, I take it?’
‘Yes.’
‘He smashed our bloody searchlight! But you know the boy, I understand?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I was involved in… had some dealings with him ten years ago in Bergen. I haven’t had any contact with him since then.’
He came closer in the darkness. ‘You operate as a kind of private investigator, I’ve been told.’
‘Yes, I — ’
‘You can make ends meet doing that in Bergen, can you?’
‘I’m surviving anyway.’
‘Well, well. Each to his own, as the bride said. At any rate, the boy has informed us that he won’t speak to anyone except you.’
‘So I heard.’
‘In fact… he said to Varg, and we found out, with the help of a bit of detective work — we country constables can do that too, you know — it had to be you.’
‘I don’t share my name with many, shall we say.’
‘No, you don’t. My name’s Per Christian, so that’s more like the opposite.’
Grethe cleared her throat impatiently behind us. ‘Shall we try to make contact then or what?’
‘Yes, yes, yes, of course. We’re just chatting,’ said the sergeant, looking as though he would love to continue. He angled his head and said, ‘We’ve got a megaphone over here.’
We staggered on through the dark. Half hidden behind a clump of trees stood a handful of policemen. The metal on their weapons glinted, several had night sights.
They greeted us in low voices. One of them had a large battery-operated megaphone in his hand.
‘Give me it, Flekke,’ said the sergeant.
It was difficult to see him in the dark, but Flekke appeared to be a relatively young officer. He passed the megaphone to Standal, who passed it on to me with a sweep of his arm.
I took the megaphone. The amplifier was designed to hang over the shoulder from a broad strap. I grasped the handle, which was attached to the amplifier by a flexible cable.
Standal pointed upwards in the gloom. ‘He’s up there. You’ll have to see if you can make contact, but… move around a bit. Don’t stand on the same spot for long.’
I understood what he meant by that and instantly felt a chill go down my spine. I had been elevated, not to a place in heaven, but to a moving target.
The only place on my body that was dry was my mouth. ‘Anyone got anything to drink?’
‘Just water,’ came a chuckle from somewhere in the dark.
‘And coffee, boiled to death.’
‘That’s what I was after. Bit of water perhaps?’
From the murk came a bottle of mineral water. It had been drunk from, but I relied on Sogn and Fjordane germs being no more deadly than those from Hordaland, and took a good swig. I rinsed my mouth thoroughly before swallowing.
Then I cleared my throat, raised the megaphone to my mouth and called: ‘Jan Egil! Are you there?’
The sound was muffled, dead, and young Flekke leant forward to the amplifier. ‘You have to turn it on first.’
‘Can you do that?’
He performed the action with a little click. A green light went on and I raised the megaphone again. This time the sound reverberated between the mountain walls: ‘Jan Egil! Johnny boy! This is Varg here!’
Everything was quiet, both around me and in the dark night. All we heard were nature’s own sounds: the rain against the trees, dripping leaves, the trickle of rivulets between our feet.
‘Can you hear me?!’
No answer.
‘You remember me! Varg from Bergen! You asked me to come and talk to you!’
Suddenly there came a shout from above: ‘There ain’t nothin’ to talk about!’
‘But you asked me to come here! I’ve driven all the way from Bergen just to meet you!’
Again there was a silence, as if he was thinking.
‘It’d be nice to see you again! It’s ten years since you left, isn’t it! You’ve grown up since then!’
From above came a sound that we could not decipher.
‘What was that? I didn’t hear!’
‘Bullshit!’
I lowered the megaphone and had a think. Then I raised it again. ‘Cecilie says hello. You remember her, don’t you!’
No answer.
‘Johnny boy! Is it OK if I come up to you?’
Standal shook his head and raised a flat palm in the air, as if to say he could not allow that.
‘Are you so keen to snuff it?!’
‘No! But it’s so tiring shouting at each other like this! I can come up and keep my distance. Then at least we can see each other!’
After a short pause, the answer came. ‘Just you!’ But there was no warmth in the intonation. He sounded more like a big troll trying to entice me out onto the bridge and thence down into the abyss.
‘I don’t know if I can allow this, Veum,’ Standal said with heavy authority.
‘It’s why I was called in, wasn’t it.’
‘But you heard what he said.’
‘He’s a big mouth. Believe me. I’ve worked in social services and I know the type. He’d rather shoot himself than me.’
‘Yes, and we’d rather not have any of that! We’ve got a murder case to solve.’
I waited for a while. Then I said: ‘Do you have any idea where he is, more or less?’
‘Yes, it was light when we came up here earlier today. Follow the path for forty to fifty metres until you see an uprooted tree. Then go straight up the scree from there. He’s holed up behind a promontory of large rocks.’
‘Have they got any food? Drink?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest.’
Again he raised the megaphone. ‘Johnny boy!’
‘Stop calling me that!’
‘Jan Egil!’
No answer.
‘Have you got any food up there? Anything to drink?’
‘We’ve got enough to be getting on with!’
A short pause. I wasn’t sure, but I had the feeling I’d heard a higher-pitched voice up there.
Then it came. ‘You can bring a bit with you!’
I sent Standal a contented nod. ‘There you go… He won’t shoot me until he’s had something to eat anyway. What have you got?’