Closed for Winter (26 page)

Wisting read through the Tommy Kvanter interview that had just been conducted at Police headquarters in Oslo. It described how he had at his disposal a black Golf belonging to Line Wisting. On Friday 1st October he had loaned the car to Rudi Muller, who was alone when he drove from the restaurant at approximately half past six. Tommy Kvanter did not know any more until they were about to close the restaurant and one of the waiters told him the car was back and the keys lying in the office. He did not know where Muller had been or who he had been with. He himself had been at a business meeting with three named men who wanted him to join them in a new restaurant venture.

It was a thorough witness statement, with Tommy talking about several named people, but the interview was almost free of the sort of contradictions that could be expected. No critical questions had been asked. Nothing indicated that the policeman who had recorded the statement was fishing for particular answers or wanted more out of Tommy than the entirely superficial.

Leafing forward to the front page, Wisting read the name of the investigator: Petter Eikelid, the detective who had accompanied Leif Malm to their first meeting. One explanation for the interview shortcomings might be that the interviewer was unaccustomed to the task. As such, he might leave the tactical, critical questions to a follow-up interview.

Another explanation was that the interviewee was their informant. That had been Tommy’s role in this case. That was why the questions were wrapped in cotton wool. There was nothing to rouse Rudi Muller’s suspicions. The information that Muller had borrowed his car was going to be decisive, but it was innocent when viewed in isolation.

Wisting placed the report beside the other paperwork. The existence of an informant within Rudi Muller’s inner circle would forever be concealed. Anything less would put the source’s life in danger.

Although no meeting had been called, several of the investigators gathered in the conference room. The CCTV recording of the robbery was being shown on the large screen. Espen Mortensen stopped the footage when Wisting entered, rewinding a few seconds to the moment when the robbers emerged from the security van with the guards. The weak point had not been with the building, but the personnel.

‘She’s a single mother,’ Mortensen explained, referring to the police statement the female guard had given. ‘She has worked in the
NOKAS
cash service for almost two years, and for the past six months has driven regularly with the same guard.’ He stopped the film and pointed at the screen. ‘They were having a relationship, and when her little girl was threatened, they both chose to cooperate and take the robbers on board their van.’

‘Are there no systems to guard against that kind of thing?’ Benjamin Fjeld asked, ‘a tracker or something that registers if they make a stop along the route – something like that?’

‘The vehicles are monitored of course, but this would be a shorter stop than at a red light. Besides, the vehicle was empty. They were on their way to collect money. The van was not the robbery target.’

‘Are they saying anything?’ Christine Thiis asked.

Wisting shook his head. ‘They’re waiting for their defence lawyers.’

The police lawyer leaned back in her chair with a resigned expression. ‘An indictment for robbery is unproblematic,’ she said. ‘We’re going to be criticised for not taking preventive action when we knew what was happening, but we’ll certainly obtain a conviction for all three men. The challenge will be to connect Rudi Muller to the deaths and the import of narcotics.’

‘We’ll manage it,’ Wisting said, without mentioning Tommy Kvanter’s statement. ‘It’s now our work begins. From here on, the case is going to unfold to our advantage.’

He let his gaze travel around the investigators sitting at the table, aware of how secure his experience made them feel. All cases reached a breaking point, and they had arrived at that point now. So far, their work had consisted of bringing the investigation onto the right track. From this point onwards, it involved securing evidence, building the case brick by brick.

He described this to the detectives as the moment the police put their foot down. Stamp on the ground! Something always swirls up that does not favour the suspect.

‘Speaking of shoes,’ Mortensen said. ‘The guy they call the Yes-man wears the same size as the footprint in the blood at Thomas Rønningen’s cottage. The Oslo police are searching his flat now for a pair of Nikes.’

Wisting frowned. Although this day had advanced them, there were still unanswered questions. What had actually happened inside Thomas Rønningen’s cottage being one of them.

‘Have we got hold of Klaus Bang?’ he asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. The narcotics courier was one of the unknown elements that might tighten the net around Rudi Muller. He had given Nils Hammer responsibility for the arrest.

‘The welcome committee is ready,’ Hammer assured him.

‘Who’s that?’

Nils Hammer and two others put their hands up. ‘It should be straightforward. The customs officers will take him aside for us.’

Wisting nodded in acknowledgement and the informal meeting broke up. He poured himself a cup of coffee before returning to his office. It was dark outside. Rain was beating against the window and trickling down the pipes from the gutter.

He had promised Suzanne to be home by ten o’clock, when exactly one week would have passed since the case began. Line was in Oslo so he had not had time to speak to her properly. She had told him she would come home and spend the night in her old room, but he had time to read through some of the last reports.

At quarter to ten, Nils Hammer came into his office, holding a blank DVD. ‘You were right when you said that the pieces would now fall into place. Three days ago, I discovered that Line’s car passed through the toll stations at the crucial time.’ Hammer sat down. It was no longer a secret, but he had every reason to criticise Wisting for not admitting his discovery. ‘I guessed you knew.’

It was obvious that criticism was not on the agenda. ‘The car took almost seven minutes longer than the others between the toll stations,’ Hammer said.

‘You mean they stopped along the way?’

Hammer handed Wisting the DVD. ‘I received that half an hour ago.’

Wisting inserted the disk into his computer and watched Line’s car driving between the pumps at a petrol station.

‘This is the Shell station at Grelland,’ Hammer said. ‘It’s the only petrol station between the toll booths.’ The passenger door opened and Trond Holmberg stepped out to fill the car with petrol. Then the door on the driver’s side opened. Wisting leaned forward as Rudi Muller emerged and disappeared into the petrol station building.

‘Someone has a problem with his statement,’ Hammer said.

A different policeman drove Line back to Sjursøya to collect her car. The terminal trucks were still operating a shuttle service in the docks area. Heavy strokes of falling rain carved through the yellow glow of the floodlights. Although it was still parked where she left it, something was different.

Stepping from the police car, she groaned as she approached, shaking her head. The passenger side window was smashed, and the seat where her camera and laptop bag had been lying was empty, apart from a little puddle of rain.

I do not deserve this
, she thought. After everything that had happened, the last thing she needed was a break-in. She was always careful not to leave valuables in the car, but everything had happened so fast when the surveillance officers grabbed her and took her to the police station.

She had no backup copies. Neither of the photographs she had taken nor of what she had written during the week in the cottage. Everything was gone.

‘Can I help you with anything?’ asked the police driver. Line shook her head. ‘Sure?’ he asked, ’because in that case, I need to get back.’ She could not summon the energy to fill in a whole pile of forms. She just wanted to go home.

Tears welled in her eyes when she was alone, but they eased the pressure in her chest and she let them flow. Somehow it felt good to stand in the rain, weeping. She drained herself completely before beginning to think practically. In the boot she found a roll of tape and a number of plastic carrier bags. She opened them and used them to cover the broken window. She also had some dry clothes in the boot. She removed her soaked sweater and changed before starting the car.

The fluttering of the plastic cover made her dizzy and she was frazzled by the time she reached the house in Stavern. The stony driveway was covered in brown leaves glued to the ground by the rain. As she slammed the car door, another car drove into the driveway. It was her father. He was obviously exhausted, but he smiled when he caught sight of her.

‘Just arrived?’ he asked, hugging her. She put her hand on his shoulder and pressed her cheek to his. ‘How are you getting on?’ he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and he peered past her to her car. ‘What happened?’

‘Break-in,’ she explained, as he examined the damage more closely. ‘I left the car with my computer and camera lying on the seat. There were some East Europeans working nearby.’

‘Where did it happen?’

‘In Oslo, down at the docks.’

‘Have you reported it?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll do it online tomorrow. I think I can claim something on my insurance.’

Line wondered how much he knew about Tommy’s double life. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.

Line went directly to the bathroom, where she undressed and took a shower, standing in the hot spray for a long time, her thoughts meandering. She and her father had always spoken openly, so they had to be able to discuss Tommy.

When she finished in the bathroom she pulled on an old jogging suit and put her clothes into the washing machine. Afterwards, they gathered around the table in the living room to eat a casserole Suzanne had prepared. Her father had told her about the break-in.

‘What about the book?’ she asked. ‘Do you have a back-up copy?’

Line shook her head. She had worked on her story for an entire week, and now it was all gone, but that was not the reason for her sadness. When all was said and done, it did not really bother her. The story was fragmentary and she could reconstruct and improve on it. The two years she had spent with Tommy were a different matter; they felt like two wasted years.

‘Did you speak to Tommy today?’ her father asked, as though he had read her mind.

‘Yes, and we agreed how we’ll go about things,’ she said. ‘He’s going to view a flat tomorrow. Over the weekend, he’ll move in with a friend and stay there until he finds his own place.’

Suzanne stood up, clearing the table and leaving the two of them to talk.

‘I read his statement,’ Wisting said, broaching the unavoidable subject.

‘It’s not quite as you think.’

Leaning back in his chair, Wisting gave her a long look. ‘Do you know what I think?’ I think Tommy did what he thought was right.’

When she opened her mouth to speak, it sounded like a sigh. ‘I feel as though I’ve betrayed him. He wanted to do some good for once. He wanted to please us.’

Sitting with them again, Suzanne joined in. ‘What he has done isn’t the reason you’re leaving him,’ she said. ‘It’s because he is the person he is, and you can’t change him.’

They talked for almost an hour, until Line decided to go to bed. On her way towards the staircase, she stopped at the hallway table, where a pendant-shaped glass ornament lay on top of a bundle of her father’s papers.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

The light from the wall lamp played on its surface, casting strange patterns on the walls. Her father approached and stood by her side. ‘It’s hope,’ he said.

‘Hope?’

‘The man who owns it calls it a dreamcatcher,’ he explained, relating how he had found the glass droplet that had been stolen from one of the cottages out at Gusland. ‘He’ll get it back tomorrow.’

Line replaced it on the table. ‘I don’t think there’s much hope for my belongings,’ she said. She watched the dancing abstract patterns made by the coloured glass before shaking her head. You could have many hopes and dreams for the future, but you could never know what would become of them.

She switched off the lamp and went to bed.

The two women were asleep when Wisting left for the police station the next morning. It was Saturday, the rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking. The police station was quiet. There were no eager voices or rapid footsteps in the corridors.

Wisting was keen to learn where the night’s events had taken them. Placing the glass ornament near the edge of his desk, he took hold of the pile of new documents, beginning with the arrest report for Klaus Bang, apprehended at the ferry terminal situated at number 8 Revet, at 02.27 hours.

The next document was more interesting. Bang’s interview had commenced at three fifteen, and been recorded by Nils Hammer. Wisting skimmed through ten closely written pages, more than he had hoped for. Bang admitted his involvement in the import of ten kilos of cocaine and provided a detailed description of the narcotics network and Rudi Muller’s position within it.

When he finished, Hammer appeared at the door, looking like he had not had more than a couple of hours’ sleep. ‘Really good,’ Wisting said, waving the papers.

Nils Hammer took hold of the coloured glass ornament and sat down, cradling it in his lap. ‘It didn’t take much, actually. It was enough to let him know the public prosecutor’s advice was that, if he provided a comprehensive statement, the earlier drugs runs wouldn’t be prosecuted, and he could expect a reduction of four years in his sentence. When he also heard that his Norwegian partner in crime had been nailed for robbery and was only a few cells away, it wasn’t difficult at all.’

‘Did he say why he had come to Norway?’

Hammer tossed the glass ornament from one hand to the other. ‘Haven’t I written that down? He was to meet Rudi Muller to discuss payment and future business.’ The burly detective leaned back in his seat. ‘There are others behind Rudi Muller and Klaus Bang, you know.’

Wisting nodded. There were always backers. Behind every domino that fell, there was another, each and every time. The largest and most important dominoes generally remained upright. ‘Be careful with that,’ he said.

‘Where did you get it?’ Hammer asked. He was about to hold it up towards the light to study it more closely, when it slipped from his fingers and fell. Hammer drew his legs together so that it dropped softly onto his lap. Picking it up again, he returned it to Wisting.

‘I brought it back from Lithuania,’ Wisting said, placing it beyond Hammer’s reach. ‘It belongs to Jostein Hammersnes, stolen by Darius and the other Lithuanians.’

‘Hammersnes?’ Nils Hammer yawned, propping his feet on the edge of the desktop. ‘The neighbour who ate the hotdog at the Esso station?’

‘I’m going out to give it back to him now,’ he said.

‘He’ll be delighted, I’m sure,’ Hammer said. ‘Will you be back by twelve? We were talking about having a review of the entire case.’

Wisting nodded. He looked forward to it. A multitude of thoughts were whirling around in his head.

Hammer dropped his feet from the desk, stood up and crossed to the door. Wisting remained seated, one single thought penetrating deeply into his consciousness. Oblivious to what his colleague was saying, he began to leaf through the bundle of papers, persuaded that an answer had been there all along.