I sat looking at her. ‘Can we run through that one more time?’
She nodded. ‘By all means.’
‘Jan Egil is out?’
‘On probation. He was let out in May, after serving ten years.’
‘They waited a long time before letting him go. Were there problems?’
‘He wasn’t exactly a model prisoner. Several times he overstayed his home leave and his parole was delayed accordingly as a punishment.’
‘So, what’s he doing?’
‘Well, I suppose that’s part of the problem. The Probation and Aftercare Services found him a job, which he soon began skipping. At a car workshop. Later he had the occasional part-time job here and there, but I’m afraid it’s the same with him as most of the others who do time… The relationships they form behind locked doors pursue them on the outside, and I fear he already has contacts inside the semi-organised crime circle in Oslo.’
‘OK. Go on,’ I said with impatience.
‘He stayed in a hospice in Eiriks gate in Toyen. A kind of private social initiative, run on idealistic guidelines. In fact the person running the place is an old friend of ours, Hans Haavik.’
‘Hansie! So that’s what he did. He couldn’t quite hang up his profession, either.’
‘No, but let me get to the point. On Monday this week a man was found dead in this hospice. Killed over the weekend.’
‘Right, but what has that got to do with Jan Egil?’
‘One of the other inmates found the body and reported it to Hans, who in turn called the police. Just as a matter of routine the police officers went from room to room in the hospice, first of all to see if anyone had heard or seen anything recently. Jan Egil wasn’t in. But they found something else in his room…’ She hesitated before continuing: ‘A bloodstained baseball bat.’
‘That’s an unpleasant reminder of something I’ve heard before.’
She nodded gravely. ‘Furthermore, it was to transpire that the dead man was someone Jan Egil knew. In other words… all the signs are that he’s in a serious fix. For the moment they’re conducting internal enquiries, but it won’t be many more days before it’s in the papers.’
‘Well… alright. I’ll have to find out more. But what were you saying about a — death list?’
‘Right, death list. Perhaps it was a little drastic to call it that, but the woman he’s had a child with told me.’
‘A child! He’s had…’
‘Result of an earlier home leave. But the mother… well, they’re in care.’
‘Sounds familiar.’
‘As he was when he was a child, yes.’
‘This bloody vicious circle that is so difficult to break! This woman… is she reliable?’
‘It’s Silje.’
‘Silje! Not the same Silje who…?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Wow, she’s been loyal. I have to give her that. What did she have to say?’
‘She said Jan Egil had said several times that there were at least two people he had decided to do in. The two people who, more than anyone else, had made him into the person he was.’
‘Made him who he was! But, for Christ’s sake, I never…’
‘You were there when he was taken from his mother, weren’t you? The very first time?’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t the one who…’
‘So I suppose you’ve become a kind of symbol for the hated social services system, which once again has started to take control of his life because we were following the progress of his child with eagle eyes. Hans thought we should warn you, anyway.’
‘You said — two people.’
‘Yes. The other person was killed a couple of days ago. Clubbed with a baseball bat until he was…’ She shuddered in the sunshine. ‘Almost unrecognisable.’
‘But he was identified, I take it?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘And who was it?’
For a moment her gaze wandered off to the fjord beneath us. Then it returned, accompanied by a determined expression around her mouth. ‘You know him, Varg.’
I could feel the alarm mounting in me. ‘Yes? Come on! Who was it? Not…?’
‘Terje Hammersten.’
46
The following day was a Friday, and we took an early flight to Oslo. The cabin crew served breakfast with a smile, and Hardanger Plateau lay beneath us like a patchwork quilt of grey, blue and brown.
Cecilie sat sipping from her mug of coffee when she burst out: ‘That time in 1984, up in Forde…’
‘Mm?’
‘Did you get to know a colleague of mine — Grethe Mellingen?’
‘Yes. For as long as it lasted. But I never saw her again. It was only the once.’
‘The once?’
‘Yes, the days when…’
‘She said nice things about you.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘At a seminar a few years back.’
‘Right… You know how it is. Some people you meet again. Others you lose track of. And suddenly ten years have passed, and then it’s all too late. Getting in touch after such a long time would be embarrassing.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Are you still… on your own, Varg?’
‘Are you asking me if I…?’
‘You don’t need to answer. I was just wondering.’
‘Yes, but in fact I am. I didn’t find her in Forde, and she hasn’t popped up in Bergen, either. The dream princess, I mean.’
‘I didn’t mean to…’
‘Not at all. I understand. But she told me an interesting story when I was there, Grethe did. About someone they called Trodalen Mads, and who was convicted of a killing he may not have committed — at least if I’m to believe what she told me.’
‘But…’
‘Yes, too late then, too. He was convicted in 1839 and imprisoned for forty-two years afterwards.’
‘Forty-two!’
‘The justification for it was apparently that he had sworn to avenge himself on the parents because it had been their testimony — and especially the mother’s — that had led to him being convicted. That was why he was kept in Akershus until both parents were dead, and it lasted so long, with the accrued interest, if I can put it like that. I can’t help thinking that this is reminiscent of Jan Egil and his story.’
She looked at me in surprise. ‘In what sense? Not that he was innocent surely?’
‘No one knows if Trodalen Mads was innocent. Though, maybe they did. And this revenge business. The only difference is that nowadays murderers aren’t given forty-two years. With good behaviour they are soon out on the street again. Sooner than people like to think.’
‘But… you didn’t answer my question. Do you really think he was innocent? That he was convicted of something he didn’t do? Johnny boy?’
‘And his mother.’
‘The mother? Are you thinking of Vibecke Skarnes or…?’
‘Yes, Vibecke. The foster mother. What if she took the blame for her husband’s murder, what if it was never an accident and she thought that Jan had done it?’
‘So she went to prison for his sake, you mean?’
‘Yes. What if someone else was guilty then as well?’
‘Then… as well?’
‘Yes.’ I sent her a defiant look. ‘I was never convinced that Jan Egil was really behind that double murder in 1984. I’ve always had the feeling that something was overlooked at the time.’
‘But the police had pretty substantial forensic evidence against him, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, they did, Cecilie. They did that.’
We had started the approach to Fornebu Airport. The cabin crew were clearing up after the meal, and we were requested to check that our safety belts were properly fastened.
‘And you, Cecilie? Has the dream prince walked into your life?’
She smiled. ‘If not the dream prince then… Yes, in fact I have got a partner. We’ve been living together for the last four years.’
‘Perhaps I should move to Oslo, too. If that’s where you find them.’
She giggled. ‘Maybe.’
‘So that means I can’t reckon on sleeping on your sofa when I’m there?’