Where Roses Never Die (10 page)

I crossed the yard and rang the bell at Maja Misvær’s. She opened the door at once. When she saw who it was she exclaimed: ‘Oh! Have you got anywhere?’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid. But I realised … I’d forgotten to take the photo you promised me.’

‘Yes, what a nuisance. It struck me after you’d gone. Come in!’

I followed her through the hall into the sitting room, where the television was on, but the volume was so low it was hard to hear what was being said on the screen. On the coffee table was an open newspaper next to a cup of coffee.

She pointed to the cup. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Yes, please, but only if you’ve got some on the go.’

She nodded and went into the kitchen. Immediately afterwards she returned with the jug from the machine. The coffee looked black and bitter, like a poisoned chalice from the beyond served by a brimstone preacher on the first Sunday of a fast.

She poured me a cup, was off again and returned with a copy of the photo of Mette that was on the sideboard. ‘So that we don’t forget this time,’ she said, pushing it across the table to me.

I took it, held it up and looked at it. A sweet little girl with a big smile, a gap between her front teeth, wild hair and eyes full of life. In her arms she was holding a battered teddy. Two or three years old, without a thought for the life that lay ahead of her – or perhaps didn’t. It was hard to understand why anyone would want to harm such a small creature, let alone actually do it. I recognised the feeling I’d had when I was in child welfare. Mistreating a child, killing a child – for me they were still the most heinous of all crimes, actions that were difficult, not to say impossible, to forgive, a script so dark in a book so sombre that no one
would want to open it. I felt a shudder go through me, like frost. And I knew what it was. I had experienced it before. The frost was the incomprehensible, the coldness of a foreshortened life.

She watched me in silence. Finally, she said: ‘You … can see her?’

I raised my eyes and met hers. ‘Yes, I’ve worked in child welfare in my time and have experienced the fates of many children. But…’ I raised the photo. ‘There’s nothing to suggest any mistreatment here. Mette looks like a perfectly normal, happy little child.’

‘She was!’

‘All the more baffling, isn’t it.’

She nodded. ‘Yes! It is.’

‘But…’ Again I raised the photo. ‘This cuddly toy…’

‘Yes, her teddy.’

‘You said something, the first time you told me what happened, you said she would never have left it behind voluntarily.’

She nodded and swallowed.

‘Does that mean … you still have it?’

‘No, I … Not anymore.’

I watched her, waited for her to continue.

‘It … I left it outside, so that she would see it … I mean, so that it would be the first thing she saw when she came back. But … she didn’t come back and one day it was gone.’

‘It was gone?’

‘Yes, but … I thought … perhaps the crows had taken it.’

‘The crows?’

‘Yes.’ Again she swallowed, as though it was difficult for her to speak. ‘One morning I was woken up by the sound of crows outside. Then I went to the window and looked out … there were lots of them in and around the sandpit and one of them was pecking at the teddy. I opened the window to shoo them away and they flew off.’

‘But…’

‘The following day it was gone. The teddy.’

‘And you think it was the crows that took it?’

‘Who else could it have been?’

‘Mm.’

We sat in silence for some minutes. Then I spoke up again. ‘Well … At any rate, I’ve started my investigation. It might be a good idea if I interview some of the people here without their partners, so I have a couple of questions for you.’

‘Oh, yes?’ She looked at me, a little confused. ‘Who in particular?’

‘Synnøve Stangeland. She was a teacher, wasn’t she? Do you know which school she’s at?’

‘It’s a secondary school. I think it’s Gimle.’

I made a note. ‘And Helle Fylling, where is she employed?’

‘An accountant’s office in the centre somewhere, but I’ve no idea what it’s called, I’m afraid. Why … What are you wondering?’

I shrugged. ‘Well, as I said to you earlier today … I’ll try and speak to everyone who was living here then. See if I can find something no one has considered before.’ I tried a new angle with the photo. ‘You know all about Jesper Janevik, don’t you?’

She blanched. ‘The man who was arrested, yes. But the police said it was a blind alley. Have you discovered anything else?’

‘No, no. But I’m going to pay him a call. What I wanted to ask you was … Do you remember him being here at all? Earlier, I mean.’

‘Before … Mette?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. It came like a bolt from the blue when we heard there was a … one of his sort had been here. At once there was a bit of a commotion. I think Svein and Synnøve felt they’d been hung out to dry, as though everything was their fault. Truls…’

‘Yes? Your husband…’

‘He went over there the second he heard and I don’t think he minced his words. He apologised to them later when it was clear there was nothing to it, but … the relationship with Svein and Synnøve was never the same. It’s odd they stayed.’

‘Yes.’

Again we sat in silence. I tasted the coffee. It was as expected – more bitter than broken New Year resolutions. That gave me the link.

‘One of the neighbours mentioned something about “New Year games”.’ I watched her. She looked taken aback. ‘Can you tell me what he meant by that, Maja?’

‘New Year games? What … who mentioned it?’

‘It was Stangeland.’

Her mouth twitched. ‘I see. That’s got nothing to do with Mette.’

‘No? That’s what Helle Fylling said, too. But neither of them will fill me in on the details.’

‘… It was a … party game.’

I leaned forward. ‘Right. And what sort of game?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s got nothing to do with this, Veum. It’s not worth talking about. I’d rather not … say anything.’

I sat looking at her, expectant. In the end she glared at me. ‘Yes? Anything else?’

‘I’d like to talk to your ex-husband too. You said he’d moved to Oslo, but you didn’t say what he does.’

‘Truls is an electrical engineer. Nowadays he’s working for a large company. They’ve got a branch in Bergen, but the headquarters is in Oslo, and when he was promoted, naturally, he moved there. He’s a director, but not the overall boss.’

‘Well, there’s no shortage of directors in that business. What’s the name of the company?’

‘Magnor Data. The headquarters is in Aker Brygge.’

‘As is only right and seemly. Do you think he’ll talk to me?’

‘I can’t imagine why not. He’ll be just as interested in finding out about Mette as I am.’

‘Then I’ll go to Oslo in the next few days.’

‘That’s fine. Just put it on the bill. I’ve got money.’

I nodded. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me, anything at all?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘No.’

I got up, and she followed suit. I walked towards the front door. It could have been a well-rehearsed cabaret number, but there was no response from the auditorium and after she had quietly closed the door behind me, no one got up and applauded.

There was still light and life behind the windows of all the houses in Solstølen Co-op, but they all had their own pasts to ponder and no one had come up with anything important. The person who had divulged most so far was Randi Hagenberg and she had threatened to call security if I went back. But now I had more questions to ask her and so there was only one solution: wait until her working day was over.

The staff entrance to Kløverhuset faced Strandkaien. I had waited in the bitter evening wind on the opposite side of the street for more than three quarters of an hour before she finally appeared with two other women, presumably from other shops in the mall. They stood chatting before going off in separate directions, two towards Torget, Randi towards Nordnes.

I crossed the street, accelerated my pace and caught her up half a block later, walking towards Murhjørnet. ‘Sorry! Randi…’

She stopped suddenly, turned round and glared at me with furious eyes. ‘Didn’t I tell you? The next time I’d call the…’ She cast around. ‘I’ll shout for help if you try anything.’

I held my hands up in the air. ‘I have no intention of trying anything on anyone. There’s just one thing I have to ask you. It’s about these bloody New Year party games.’

Once again I had a very clear reaction, and this was the fiercest so far. Randi Hagenberg looked as if I had slapped her. ‘What! So you’ve heard about that too! Who told you? Not Terje, I assume.’

‘Terje Torbeinsvik?’

She curled her lips as if she had a piece of rotten meat in her mouth. ‘Yes, the master architect!’

‘No…’

‘Can’t you understand that I don’t want to talk about this?’

I had heard people say such things to me before and the conversation ended with the opposite, so I sagely kept my mouth shut.

‘Do you understand?’

‘I know it can be difficult.’

She looked to the left and the right. ‘Is there somewhere we can go?’

The Sahara had opened a new branch in my mouth. ‘There’s a bar close by.’ I nodded towards Strandkaien.

She nodded briefly. ‘Let’s go there.’

There were big changes going on in the building where I had my office. The hotel which for many years had been on the top two floors in this and the next building had now taken over the whole of the adjacent building, moved reception down to street level and the bar to the first floor. In addition, plans were ready for making the whole of Strandkaien 2 into a hotel. I had been sent a formal letter about it by the owner, informing me that the hotel manager would contact me. So far I hadn’t heard anything, but I had been to my bank box and taken out the rental agreement that promised me a stipulated right to the office in the building for as long as I lived, made a photocopy and returned with it to my office to await developments. Three years ago I had lost my girlfriend. If I were also to lose my office now it would feel as if my life was collapsing around me.

The bar might have been moved down three floors, but the staff were the same and the bartender with the red braces kindly ushered us to a discreet table in an unoccupied corner and took our orders.

‘A beer and a Simers,’ I said with desert sand on my tongue.

‘A glass of white wine, semi-dry,’ she said, rolling her eyes as though she had been tricked into something she would have preferred to avoid.

The bartender nodded and smiled, and disappeared like a genie from a lamp. Not long afterwards he was back with our glasses, placed them carefully on the table, winked jovially at me and withdrew quietly, as though giving space for a wish to be fulfilled.

I took a long draught from the beer glass and it felt as if I had found an oasis in the desert. Then I lifted the aquavit glass and drank deeply. For a second or two I had to close my eyes. I was sailing into a harbour I had left much too long ago, and on the quay stood people I hadn’t seen for years, who received me with cheering so quiet that I could hear my pulse throbbing in my ears.

Randi Hagenberg sipped from her glass of wine, shot me an ironic glance and said: ‘Shall we get to the nitty-gritty?’

I quickly put down my glass. ‘Yes.’

Then her lips tightened. ‘But I won’t say a word unless you tell me who told you about this.’ As I didn’t answer she defined ‘this’. ‘The New Year party games.’

‘Well … it was … Svein Stangeland.’

A little grimace revealed what she thought about that. ‘Right. I see. Yes, they went home.’

‘Yes, he said something like that.’

A silence fell between us. I took another swig of beer, but left the aquavit this time. ‘Would you tell me what this was all about?’

She stared into the air. Then she shrugged. ‘Well,
I
didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘No?’

It was New Year’s Eve 1976 and midnight had passed. It had been bitingly cold for Bergen, the thermometer had sunk to well below zero. All the adults were gathered in the function room in the architect’s house for the annual New Year party. The youngsters were asleep and the eldest children had been sent to bed, now the fireworks were over. Tor was the most practical and he had organised the display in the yard. Not much had been fired skywards and several of the families hadn’t enjoyed it, but Tor had been unstoppable. ‘
The young ones have to have a bit of fun too!
’ he had said, looking around with a big grin on his face.

Vibeke had finished her stint at the theatre and got back at half past eleven, dressed in some dramatic creation, red and black with a split at the side that went right up to her hip bone. She rubbed her hands theatrically as though she still had King Duncan’s blood on them, and when Terje asked why she was so late she said with an intentionally ambiguous smile: ‘We had a glass of champers … afterwards…’

Champagne corks were popping in the function room as well. The food was eaten, they had danced, and spirits were high when Terje tapped his glass at around half past twelve. He kept tapping but it was only when Vibeke started clapping her hands beside him that he had the group’s attention.

Randi had looked around. Clothes maketh the man, the proverb
went, but it was usually the opposite, people chose an outfit that reflected their character. Terje stood on the low podium with a big, red bow-tie he had tied by hand, a white shirt with a kind of golden lily pattern and a dark-green velvet suit. He had pulled Vibeke up with him. She towered above them with her red hair, long white neck and dramatic costume. At the side of the room stood Svein and Synnøve, Svein in a dark suit and silver tie, Synnøve in an attractive brown dress, both of them wearing slightly reserved expressions. Tor was dressed in a way which Terje had earlier in the evening somewhat heartlessly called ‘Striler boy with ambitions’: Striler were people who lived outside Bergen – he wore a dark suit with stripes, cream shirt and a checked silk scarf tied casually around his neck. He was so loud that Helle regularly had to tell him to quieten down. Helle herself was tastefully attired in a black, waisted trouser suit with a black-and-white spotted blouse under her jacket. Truls had put on a dinner jacket and was decidedly the most elegant of the men, and Maja didn’t look half-bad either, in a tight-fitting black blouse and a multi-coloured skirt which flew when she swung round, dancing. Randi herself and Nils were dressed in black, him in a black suit with a blue tie, her in ‘a little black number’, so short that she showed a maximum of what she knew was her best feature, her attractive legs. When she had danced with Tor earlier in the evening, he had patted her on the bottom and said the same: ‘The best legs in the room, Randi…’

‘We’ve decided it’s time for a party game,’ Terje said from the podium once he finally had everyone’s attention.

‘We?’ said Vibeke, looking at him askance.

‘Listen to him! Listen to him!’ Tor shouted.

‘We’re calling this the New Year games,’ Terje continued.

Everyone was attentive now. This was something new. It was true they had tried something similar a couple of years ago, a miming game where you had to guess the titles of famous songs, films, books or plays, but Vibeke and Terje had been so much better than anyone else that the others were soon sick of it and the experiment had never been repeated.

‘Not the same as the last one, I hope!’ Tor heckled.

‘No,’ Terje said, with a smirk. ‘This is something new. Something … quite different.’ For a second he stood scanning the audience with a look Randi found difficult to interpret, but which gave her a strange disquiet in her stomach, as though she guessed what was about to come…

‘It came as a shock to us all, of course,’ she said, before grasping her wine glass and taking a good swig this time. She swallowed and continued: ‘Or a surprise. Even Vibeke was visibly taken aback, although she tried to conceal it. But the people who reacted strongest were Svein and Synnøve. That is, it was probably more Svein. Synnøve rarely had anything to say.’

Svein reacted at once. ‘What? Are you out of your mind, man? Who do you think we are?’

Terje didn’t move, he watched him with a little wry smile.

Svein turned to everyone. ‘And the rest of you? Are you going to join in this madness? All of you?’

She followed his gaze round. Something happened to the party after he had made his suggestion. One of the couples – Nils and herself – had somehow moved closer together. The others had moved slightly apart, as though everyone found themselves in isolation, unique and abandoned at the same time.

Svein grabbed Synnøve’s hand, turned and said aloud: ‘We’re going home, anyway! Come on, Synne!’ In the doorway he stopped and looked back. In a loud voice he announced: ‘And a Happy New Year to you all!’ The sarcasm was tangible. When the door closed behind them, people looked at one another, and a nervous, tremulous laughter spread through those present. Even Tor was obviously caught off guard.

‘Well, are you ready?’ Terje shouted from the podium. ‘Shall we start drawing lots?’

Randi paused as the barman came in and took my empty glasses. We waited until he had brought back two fresh ones before continuing the conversation.

‘So what were the New Year games?’ I said.

She nodded without speaking.

‘You had to draw lots to find out … who you would spend New Year’s night with,’ I prompted.

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes. He stood there … and there wasn’t a man in the room who didn’t want … the main prize.’

‘You mean … Vibeke Waaler?’

‘Yes, I do mean her!’

By now Vibeke had got over her initial surprise as well. She had been standing on the podium with one hand on her hip, a split up her dress and the tip of her tongue in the corner of her mouth. She scanned the room and the three men stood there like trained dogs staring up at the podium: Truls with his nostrils quivering, Tor with his jaw hanging down, Randi’s own Nils with an expectant smile on his face. On the stage Terje, smiling his dubious smile, eyed one woman after the other, all of them except the wife who was standing next to him.

‘But … we could end up with … our own partner, could we?’ Randi said.

‘No. In that case you would have to draw a new lot.’ There were two bowls with five slips of paper in each, one in each colour. But when Svein and Synnøve left he took a slip from each of the bowls, the same colour, so now there were only four left.

‘Everyone ready for the draw?’ Terje shouted from the podium. ‘Anyone else want to go home?’

Again hurried glances went from husband to wife and back, but no one budged; everyone was prepared to … well, they were all ready.’

‘Afterwards I often thought … What made us act as we did? But I think … it must have been the champagne. We were all … how shall I put it … a bit merry and frivolous. And I suppose it must have been the excitement of the suggestion. The titillation of it. I mean … we’d all been married for a few years. Or been living together. Everyone except Terje and Vibeke had children. Perhaps … I’m not complaining. Nils and I were happy together, in all ways, I think. But … maybe that wasn’t true for everyone. And … that was a special time, from a historical perspective. Women had become freer, more independent. Perhaps we would finally experience some of the freedom men had had
for generations. I suppose we all had our family histories … which we’d heard about, I mean…’

She examined my face, as though I had one to contribute as well.

‘Certainly,’ I said, gesticulating agreement. ‘You don’t need to apologise to me. I’ve been single and divorced for most of my life, so I have my own skeletons in the cupboard. Both while I was married and unmarried, so to speak.’

She nodded. ‘See. There’s no reason for anyone to get on their high horse.’

‘No, can you see any?’

‘Any what?’

‘Horses?’

‘Well – no…’ For the first time she gave me the trace of a smile, as though we had at last found some common ground in humour.

‘Let’s raise our glasses for a toast first!’ Terje roared from above. ‘One for all and all for one!’ And then he added a little slogan for the event: ‘Variety is the spice of life, isn’t that what they say?’

Then the drawing of lots began.