‘And what about drugs, can you get them down there?’
‘Down where? At Jimmy’s? In the loos you can buy anything you like, even at Hotel Norge!’
‘Is Torild on drugs?’
‘Is she on drugs? Don’t make me laugh! That stuck-up tart!’
‘At school they said that -’
‘Oh, at school maybe! Who was it you spoke to? Spotty?’
‘But her parents also thought…’
‘Well she probably was on drugs then, just to try it, like everybody does. But she’s not a smackhead, I can guarantee that!’
‘Hm?’
‘Yes, I mean it.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘Nope. Didn’t even know she was missing!’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘The last time? Hey, Inspector Morse, what do you think I am, an elephant?’
‘I can’t bloody remember, can I? Probably sometime last week.’
‘Thursday, Friday?’
‘It wasn’t Friday, that’s for sure. I was at a party.’
‘Thursday though?’
‘Yeah… Can’t be dead certain she didn’t call in at Jimmy’s that day. Her and Åsa. And some guy or other.’
‘A – guy?’
She looked shifty again. ‘Dunno. Could have imagined it. Nobody I knew at any rate.’
‘It could be important, Astrid!’
Suddenly the doorbell rang: three short rings.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh Christ, what a bloody din!’
We heard the door being opened outside and immediately after the sound of a man’s voice.
‘I’m off! It’s Kenneth, there’ll be a right song and dance.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’ll be at it! So the whole street can hear! Get it? Tidying up, was she? You’re not kidding. I bet she’ll be changing the sheets after yesterday…’
‘Was Kenneth here too, then?’
‘No, it was some other guy, wasn’t it?’
From the doorway there was the sound of someone clearing her throat. The woman who’d let me in glanced from me to her daughter. ‘I think it’s time your friend was off now, Astrid.’
‘And me too!’
‘But… don’t you want anything to eat?’
‘I’ll grab a burger or whatever – in town!’
‘OK, if you like…’ Her mother stepped aside to let me pass.
Out in the hall a well-built, athletic-looking man, in a black T- shirt, dark trousers and with tattooed arms had just hung up his black leather jacket on a clothes hanger. He was in his thirties, hair slicked back and glistening with gel; he had a muscular face with deep lines running down from his nostrils.
‘All right, Astrid?’ he said with a cocky smile.
‘All right,’ she said in a clipped neutral tone.
‘She’s on her way out!’ said her mother quickly.
‘She can stay as far as I’m concerned.’
‘She’s on her way out, I said.’
He gave me a hard look. ‘And who’s this guy? Her lover?’
I looked him straight in the eye. ‘The daily help.’
He rushed at me, one hand clenched in a fist. ‘I’ll give you daily
help!’
Gerd Nikolaisen stepped between us. ‘He’s on his way! Him as well… He’s just a guy from the…’
‘From the -?’
‘A guy who’s looking for a friend of Astrid’s who didn’t come home.’
‘Torild Skagestø,’ I said. ‘Maybe you know something?’
For a moment he was on uncertain ground. ‘Know something? I… what d’you mean?’
‘You don’t? In that case, you can just go right on into the sitting room. We’ve nothing to say to each other.’
He turned to the other two. ‘Hear the way he just spoke to me? Who’s out of order, him or me?’
Gerd Nikolaisen took hold of his arm. ‘Come on, Kenneth! Let’s go into the sitting room… They’re off anyway.’
He shook himself free. ‘I heard! If you don’t watch your mouth, I might clear off too.’
I could feel my stomach muscles tightening, moved to the door outside and, addressing Astrid’s mother, said: ‘If either of you hear anything about – Torild, we’d be glad to hear from you.’
‘I doubt it… but where can I…?’
The fellow by the name of Kenneth lit a cigarette with a deft movement of the hand, eyes still flashing with anger.
‘You can ring her home. They’re on the class list. Skagestøl. Up in Furudalen.’
‘Shagherstill more like,’ muttered Kenneth.
I passed close enough for him to blow cigarette smoke into my face. Of course, I could have stuck my elbow right in the middle of his ugly mug. But I had better things to do with my time than spend the next few hours in the waiting room at A &E.
‘Sorry to have troubled you,’ I said and left.
Astrid followed me out. On the way down to the lift she said: ‘What an arsehole! He thinks he’s God’s gift just because…’
‘Just because?’
‘Oh, forget it.’
Outside the block of flats I asked her whether I could give her a lift anywhere.
She gave me a look suggesting I’d proposed something more than a friendly lift. ‘Where to?’
I sighed. ‘Well, where are you going? Into town?’
‘Maybe. Yeah, that’ll be fine.’
I unlocked the door on her side before going round to mine. When I climbed in and sat at the wheel, she was already installed in the front seat beside me. ‘If you try anything on, I’ll roll down the window and bawl my head off!’ she said with a dopey grin that made it look more like an invitation than a warning.
Seven
I TOOK THE QUICK ROUTE up over Leitet and Brattlien, with the centre of Bergen like a deep incision in the terrain to our left. When I parked in Øvre Blekeveien she looked round suspiciously. ‘What are we doing here?’
‘Parking the car.’
‘Why didn’t you say first off that you were going to the country, then I could have caught the bus instead?’
‘It’ll only take you five minutes to walk down to the Fish Quay.’
‘I wasn’t going to the Fish Quay!’
I leaned past her and opened the door on her side.
She squeezed back into the seat ‘Hands off!’
‘Take it easy. I wouldn’t even touch you with rubber gloves on.’
With a snort she got out of the car. As I was locking the door, she stood there looking round. ‘What’s this street I’m on?’
‘Never been up in the mountains before, then?’ I pointed in the direction of Telthusmauet. ‘That’s the quickest way. But if you want to enjoy the view…’ I pointed up the street, ‘… you can always walk over Skansen.’
‘Up yours!’ With a look of contempt she took the first option.
I didn’t attempt to accompany her. She walked with the slightly knock-kneed gait of a young girl who’d skipped all PT lessons the past five years. Not even the humblest pensioner walking into a strong head wind would have the slightest difficulty catching up with her. But I had the feeling she wasn’t that keen on my company any more.
When I got to the newspaper office I asked for Holger Skagestøl in reception on the ground floor. The receptionist was a polite gentleman with a well-trimmed grey beard and an open visitors’ book in front of him.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘And could I have your name?’
‘Veum.’
He punched in an internal number, spoke with someone and efficiently dealt with the enquiry.
Then he glanced up at me. ‘Skagestøl’s asking what it’s about.’
‘His daughter.’
It got me through the barrier. The concierge gave me a plastic guest badge to pin onto my overcoat lapel and told me what floor to go to. When I got there Holger Skagestøl was standing in front of the lift, waiting for me.
‘Veum? Private investigator? What business have you got with Torild?’ he barked even before the door had closed behind me.
‘I’ve been hired by your wife to look for her.’