Closed for Winter (15 page)

Two messages awaited Wisting in his office. One was from Martin Ahlberg, informing him there was a direct flight from Oslo Gardermoen airport to Vilnius the next day at 10.45 and that he would meet him at the airport with their tickets. The other was from Leif Malm asking Wisting to phone him.

‘We’ve located Rudi Muller,’ Malm explained. ‘He arrived at
Shazam Station
half an hour ago. I’ll switch on the loudspeaker so you can hear the status report.’

A crackling sound and pressing of keys preceded an increased humming on the line. ‘Charlie 0-5,’ Malm announced. ‘Do you have a situation report?’

The head of the surveillance operation responded: ‘
Muller is sitting at a window table with two other people, position 2-4. The vehicle is in Grensen. A black BMW 730, BR-registered.’

Wisting saw the restaurant building in his mind’s eye. 2-4 was the dimensional information, placing Rudi Muller on the second floor, fourth window from the left. This meant he was sitting beside the table where he and Suzanne had eaten with Line three days earlier.

‘Muller has taken off his grey jacket and is wearing a red T-shirt,’
the surveillance operator continued.
‘
Directly opposite him Tage Larsen is sitting dressed in a green hooded jacket. They’re in the company of a third man we don’t know. Dark, but Norwegian, black leather jacket, black cap. We have a photo.’

Wisting transferred his mobile phone to his other ear. It was a vague description, but could fit Tommy. ‘We have identified the man who was found in the rowing boat,’ he said loudly.

‘And?’

‘It’s a Lithuanian called Darius Plater.’

Another unit broke in: ‘
Charlie 0-5; did you hear that?
’

‘
Negative
. What are you referring to?
’

‘
We’re listening to channel three. 01 has just reported a fire at Teppaveien 5 in Grorud. Isn’t that Trond Holmberg’s address?
’

Silence followed, until the surveillance leader spoke to Leif Malm:
‘
Charlie?’

‘I’m in now,’ Malm replied. Wisting could hear him working on a computer keyboard. ‘The report came via the emergency number 110 switchboard three minutes ago and states that the gable end apartment in a block of flats at number 5 Teppaveien is an inferno. The registered resident is Trond Holmberg.’

‘
This is Charlie 3-1 interrupting. There’
s movement here now. Are we ready to tail him?
’

‘
Charlie 3-2 in Akersgata
,’ the first patrol acknowledged.

‘
Charlie 3-3
, Pilestredet
.’

‘
Charlie 3-4, Møllergata at Stortorvet Square
.’

‘
Muller’s making a phone call. Are we covering him at KK?
’

Leif Malm answered: ‘There are no personnel on duty there. We’ll get a printout later.’

‘They’re in a hurry. All three heading for the car.’

There was silence on the line as they waited for the next message. ‘
They’re getting in. Muller’s driving
.’

‘
Direction?
’

‘
They’re going up into Akersgata.
’

‘
Charlie 3-2. We’ve got him
.
’

The radio messages came thick and fast.

‘
Charlie 3-3 in position for the Vaterland Tunnel.
’

‘
Charlie 3-4 driving parallel in Grubbegata.
’

‘
3-2 under control. Following behind as third vehicle. They’re in a rush, but there’s a hold up in the traffic.
’

‘
Charlie 3-1 following on.
’

‘
They’re driving along Ullevålsveien, along past Vår Frelsers graveyard.
’

The leader of the surveillance team gave directions: ‘
Charlie 3-3 – Drive to Bislett and be ready to pick him up at St
. Hanshaugen.
’

‘
Received.
’

‘
Stopping at red light in Waldemar Thranes gate
. He’s turning right.
’

‘
3-1 driving along Bjerregaards gate. We can pick him up further ahead.
’

‘
Charlie 3-4, be ready for Sinsenkrysset!
’

‘
Received.
’

Wisting listened to the messages ricocheting at top speed. Surveillance was a special skill. It was important to remain three steps behind the object, but also one step ahead. The people who chose this type of work were, as a rule, not particularly enamoured of paperwork but had a well-developed hunting instinct. Many thought it exciting, although it mainly consisted of waiting. They could sit for hours staring at a door, but when something happened, it happened fast.

‘
It’s taking Trondheimsveien,’ Wisting heard a scratching on the police radio. ‘
Repeat: Trondheimsveien. I’m losing him, can someone take over?’

‘
Charlie 3-1 has him. He
’s probably going to Grorud. I’ll bet he’s heard about the fire at Holmberg’s.
’

‘
Oh fuck, we can see the smoke all the way down here at Bjerke.
’

Leif Malm broke in. ‘You can let him go. He’s going to Teppaveien. He got a phone call from his lady friend a few minutes ago with news about the fire.’

‘Received.’

‘Charlie 0-5 can drive to Grorudveien, the others get yourselves into position. Be ready to follow when he takes off again.’

The various units acknowledged the order and Malm switched off the loudspeaker. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ he asked. ‘The flat’s empty, of course.’

‘I think you’re going to find Trond Holmberg,’ Wisting predicted.

‘Whereabouts?’

‘If Rudi Muller is as calculating as we think, then there is only one thing he can do.’

‘Oh fuck,’ Leif Malm commented at the other end as he realised what Wisting meant. ‘He’s put Holmberg’s dead body in the flat and set it alight.’

‘It’s a rational course of action. He has to get rid of it without it being connected to him or to the case. Every dumped body with shotgun wounds is going to be linked to the murder enquiry.’

‘He could have simply buried him or made sure that his body was never found,’ Malm said, but he had already accepted Wisting’s theory.

‘Despite everything, we are talking about his girlfriend’s young brother, whose disappearance would also lead to investigation. If he’s lucky, there will only be teeth left to identify. If it hadn’t been for the informant we wouldn’t have seen the connection, and concluded that it was death by fire.’

‘Fuck,’ Malm swore again. ‘We thought he was reading about fires and physical injuries on the net to find out how things had gone with the driver in the hearse, but it was research he was conducting.’

Wisting pressed ahead with information about the identification of the corpse Line had discovered in the rowing boat. ‘It sheds light on a great deal of what we had visualised,’ he said. Leif Malm agreed. ‘Are you sure that this is all about cocaine?’

‘Absolutely certain,’ Malm said. ‘We seized some earlier deliveries.’

‘Could the Lithuanians be behind it?’

‘There could be a smuggling connection. We have very little intelligence, but we know that South American narcotics cartels are trying to build a network of transport routes via the Eastern European states. Many of the routes to Western Europe have been charted and broken by European police work. In the East European market, they see possibilities to avoid alert police officers, or think they’ll be open to bribery.’

‘I’m travelling to Lithuania tomorrow morning,’ Wisting said. ‘Could we meet before then?’

‘Whenever you like,’ Malm said. ‘We’ll try to get our source into position this evening. Hopefully we’ll have news for you by then.’

The rain was too torrential for Line to venture out. Moreover, the temperature had dropped as darkness set in. The logs in the hearth refused to burn and lay smouldering. Instead of trying to light the fire again, she had put on a thick sweater. She had attempted to write, but was stuck on the same sentence. Restless, she had to admit she felt lonely.

On the first evenings at the cottage she had not even tried to use the old portable television that was perched on a stool. Now she had managed to bring it to life but there was nothing onscreen but interference. It dawned on her that the analogue signal was defunct and she needed a decoder.

Thinking she might phone some old girlfriends from when she lived in Stavern, she ticked off some names in her head from school and the handball team, but understood they would be busy on a Monday evening.

It wasn’t too late to drive into town. She enjoyed sitting on her own at a café table reading a newspaper or book, or working on her notes. Being surrounded by people gave her a sense of having company, while she carried on with her work, but it was not an appealing prospect. Pleasant enough with someone waiting at home, but not now.

At the window she folded her arms for warmth; the wall lamp outside cast a semi-circle of illumination on the verandah. At the far edge of the cone of light lay another dead bird, the fifth, which must have fallen in the last hour. She thought about throwing it into the bushes, but instead left it lying. Probably some hungry animal would carry it off during the night.

Behind the yellow shimmering light, the evening lay opaque and oppressive. It was impossible to see what lay out there, and the only sound was the ceaseless crashing of waves on the shore. Her mobile phone rang, wresting her away from her gloomy thoughts. It was her father. Her voice sounded hollow, even to herself, when she answered.

‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she replied, sitting down. ‘You have to stop worrying. I’m managing okay.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, of course, but it was good of you to call.’

‘I’m going away for a few days, work related,’ he said. ‘I’m sure Suzanne would appreciate some company in the house.’

Line smiled at her father’s concern. ‘She’s used to being alone. She lived on her own for many years before she met you, you know.’

‘The offer’s there, all the same.’

‘Thanks anyway. Where are you going?’

‘Not far. I can be reached by phone.’

She understood he was afraid she would pass on the information and that someone at the newspaper would guess that the case was about to turn a corner. It must be important, since he was leaving town.

‘What have you been doing?’ he asked, changing the subject.

Line tucked her feet underneath herself on the settee, selecting a book from the chaotic bookcase. ‘Reading,’ she answered.

‘What exactly?’

‘An old crime novel from the bookcase here.’

‘Okay. I won’t disturb you. Phone if there’s anything you want.’

She promised before disconnecting the call and turning to the first chapter. She liked the opening sentence.
Immediately after midnight he stopped thinking.
Suddenly the flames in the hearth leapt into life and she smiled as she snuggled up on the sofa.

Wisting put down the phone. On the television, a newsreader announced that someone was missing after a fire in an apartment block in Grorud, Oslo. The following report showed images of fire fighters running to and fro in the barricaded street. The flat where the blaze had started was already burnt out and the fire crew was battling the flames as they licked their way towards the neighbouring apartments, flames billowing as streams of water played across them.

Picking up the remote control, Wisting waited until the end of the report before switching off. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be away,’ he said to Suzanne. ‘Do you think you could go out to see Line tomorrow?’

‘Why are you the one who has to travel to Lithuania?’ she protested. ‘As leader of the investigation, shouldn’t you stay here?’

‘Right now I think it’s best that I keep my distance,’ he replied.

‘What do you mean?’

Running his hand through his hair, Wisting fixed his eyes on a spot on the wall. ‘I think Tommy may be mixed up in this somehow.’

Suzanne sat up. ‘How can that be?’

Seldom did Wisting confide details of cases. The duty of confidentiality, and obligation to protect personal data, often constrained their conversations, but this time he needed to talk. ‘We have information that the case revolves around a narcotics delivery that went wrong,’ he said, going on to give an account of the smuggling route across the Skagerrak. ‘The main man in Norway is called Rudi Muller, one of the owners of
Shazam Station
. The Oslo Police believe the whole restaurant business is about laundering drugs money, and that the restaurant is a focal point for criminals.’

Suzanne’s eyes filled with concern. ‘It doesn’t have to mean that Tommy is involved.’

‘He was jailed for narcotics before.’

‘That was long before he met Line,’ Suzanne said, but he could see the doubt in her face.

‘There’s more to it. The evening he was supposed to meet us, he was here in Larvik.’

‘The evening of the murder?’

Wisting nodded.

‘How do you know that?’

‘We’ve surveyed all the traffic through the toll stations between Oslo and Larvik. Line’s car passed the tollbooths at the optimum time relating to the murder. Tommy had the car then.’

Suzanne sat in silence.

‘I discovered it by accident,’ Wisting said, ‘but haven’t spoken to any of the others yet.’

‘Have you told Line?’

‘Not directly. I can’t, as long as the enquiry is in progress.’

‘Then you don’t really know if the situation is as you believe. There could be quite a simple explanation.’

‘In any case, I ought to tell the others.’

‘What if you’re wrong?’

‘There’s nothing to be wrong about. Tommy and the car were here on the day of the murder. Only he can answer for what he was doing.’

‘Can’t it wait until you come back?’

Biting his bottom lip, Wisting considered the compromise. ‘I’ll take the documents with me and read them on the plane,’ he said. ‘If nothing makes me see it differently, I’ll phone Nils Hammer from Vilnius.’

Sometime during the night the rain stopped, but it was still misty when Wisting left home early on Tuesday morning. The police station remained deserted, and he was undisturbed as he walked to his office.

They had two systems for dealing with new documents in any case. In one all the reports were allocated successive numbers. In the other they were given special document numbers in accordance with a fixed system, depending on what type of information each document contained: witness interviews, technical reports, crime scene documents or information pertaining to the victim. The former was a practical work tool that was always kept up to date, while the latter was redrafted so that it could be presented to the state prosecutor and defence counsel when charges were brought.

Wisting took a set of copies filed in successive numbers. They had already collected so much information it was divided into two ring binders marked I and II. He found room for them both in his hand luggage, but was afraid his suitcase would be heavier than his cabin allowance permitted. Before leaving, he checked his emails without finding anything of interest. He then switched off the light and let himself out.

At nine o’clock, he drove into Grorudveien and, in a side street, saw the skeleton of the burnt out apartment building towering against the leaden sky. The street was still closed to through traffic. Driving up to one of the posts supporting the crime scene tape, Wisting climbed out of his car. A miasma of ash floated in the damp air.

The firemen had gone away, leaving behind an eerie silence that had settled like a shroud. Crime scene examiners in white hooded overalls wore masks to protect them from the gases they stirred from the ashes as they worked. Another car pulled to a halt. The superintendent from the intelligence section at Oslo police district finished a telephone conversation before joining him. They shook hands briefly, silently, before crossing to the site of the blaze.

Leif Malm waved one of the crime scene examiners across. As he approached, he tilted his particle mask onto his forehead. ‘Have you found anything?’ Malm enquired.

‘It takes time,’ the examiner replied. ‘We’re working our way down, layer by layer.’

Wisting had not expected anything else. Fire examination was time consuming work in which the crime scene examiners excavated the remains of the fire, keeping their eyes peeled for patterns imprinted on what was left of the walls and floor. Everything gradually uncovered was photographed and recorded in sketches. Every soot deposit could provide information about the fire burning rapidly or slowly, whether it had burned high or low in a room, and whether the flames had leapt up or down. In certain circumstances, they could also work out the direction in which the fire had spread – upwards from where it had begun, downwards only when everything above had been consumed. This was a job that would take not hours, but days.

‘Any indication of the cause?’ Malm asked.

‘Given the intensity, it’s easy to conclude that it was started deliberately.’

‘If someone was inside, how much will be left of him?’ Wisting asked.

‘Not much.’

‘Enough to tell us something about the cause or time of death?’ Malm asked.

The examiner shook his head. ‘It depends on how much is left. Certain things can be deduced even from the most charred bodies, but the precise time of death is not usually one of them. That requires an investigation of the rotting process in muscle proteins, amino acids and fluid fatty acids, all of which are normally destroyed in a fire.’

‘What about ID?’

‘Identification of teeth is probably the simplest method. That gives us a swift answer as well. If we can locate the missing person’s dental records, it can be accomplished in a few hours, but first of all we need to find the body.’

‘What about DNA?’

‘That takes up to a fortnight. What’s more, we have to collect reference samples from the family.’

‘Will there be enough material to create a DNA profile?’

‘I would think so, but the easiest and quickest method is the teeth. If the heat was intense enough it’s not certain that there will be sufficient cellular tissue for DNA.’

Wisting knew what heat could do to the human body. Rudi Muller knew it too. Some of what the crime scene examiner related was almost identical, word for word, to the contents of the internet pages he had perused. ‘Regardless, we need to have a DNA profile,’ he said. ‘It will give a direct link to our case and prove that Trond Holmberg was the person who was found murdered in Thomas Rønningen’s cottage. We need it to move the enquiry forward.’

The man in white overalls gave him a nod before replacing the particle mask over his nose and mouth and returning to the site of the fire.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Leif Malm suggested, heading for his car.

Wisting entered at the passenger side. ‘Any news?’ he asked, slamming the door behind him.

Leif Malm lifted his folder from the rear seat. ‘Our source had a meeting with Rudi Muller late yesterday. He got the impression that Rudi himself had gone to Larvik on Friday with Trond Holmberg, and that Rudi himself drew the gun.’

Wisting stared directly ahead. A gossamer veil of condensation had formed on the interior of the windscreen. ‘His car is not registered at any of the toll stations,’ he said.

Leif Malm started the engine, fumbling in his efforts to locate the heating switch. ‘He may have used another car,’ he suggested, turning on the fan. ‘Send the material to us, and I’ll get one of the boys in the analysis team to cross check the lists with known vehicles in Muller’s criminal fraternity.’

Wisting nodded. The condensation on the glass disappeared and he could see clearly. Dark smoke still rose from the ashes of the fire. ‘If he was with Trond Holmberg when he was killed I’d have a better understanding of the risks he’s taken. If we could have put Trond Holmberg on the dissecting table, then the searchlight would have been focused directly at Rudi Muller.’

Leif Malm agreed and handed him a bundle of photographs. ‘Surveillance photographs from yesterday’s meeting at
Shazam Station
.’

Wisting accepted the photos and leafed through them. The pictures were taken from a distance, but were sharp nevertheless. He recognised Rudi Muller, but not the two others.

‘That’s Tage Larsen,’ Malm said, pointing to a plump man with thick, curly hair sitting opposite Muller. ‘We don’t know the other guy.’

Wisting squinted at the third man in the photo. He could not discern who it was, but at least it was not Tommy Kvanter. Returning the photographs, he realised that possibilities existed other than those he had imagined. All the same, if Malm and his surveillance team did not know him and his connection to Line, then their intelligence was useless.

‘My daughter’s former boyfriend works there,’ he said with a nod at the photos. ‘He’s one of the owners. Tommy Kvanter.’

Leif Malm looked at him for a long time before speaking. ‘Isn’t their relationship over?’

‘Yes, it’s been limping along for a long time, but now it’s over. They’ve been living together in Line’s flat. She’s staying at the cottage now in the expectation that he’ll find himself somewhere else.’

‘I only understood it was some kind of break,’ Malm remarked.

Wisting swallowed. It was obvious that the intelligence service was effective. There would certainly be surveillance photographs somewhere or other of Line and Tommy as well. ‘Is he involved?’ he asked bluntly.

Leif Malm packed away the folder to signal that the meeting was over. ‘We don’t have any information suggesting that. But if their relationship is finished I think you should be glad. This environment’s not something you would want her to be part of.’

Wisting opened the car door.

‘One more thing,’ Leif Malm said. Wisting remained seated with the door slightly ajar. ‘This is probably developing in a dangerous direction.’ Wisting closed the door again. ‘Muller is subject to extreme financial pressure. The European backers are holding him responsible for their loss and for the death of one of the couriers. They’re demanding five million kroner.’

‘What action is Muller thinking of taking?’

‘He’s mounting a robbery attempt. That was how he built himself up, with several robberies from security transport vehicles towards the end of the nineties. During the last decade he’s benefited to a greater extent from the proceeds of narcotics traffic, but he still has a network of contacts.’

‘What’s the target of the robbery?’

Leif Muller shrugged his shoulders. ‘We don’t know yet. Our informant is working on it, but there have been rumours circulating for a long time about plans for a major heist, something like the
NOKAS
security firm.’

Wisting shut his eyes. It was a vicious circle. The criminals were sucked into a spiral of increasingly serious activities and, the deeper they went, the more difficult it became for the police to stop them.