We Shall Inherit the Wind (21 page)

Brekkhus looked up at me, holding the knife in the air as they staggered downwards. ‘You stay there! Or I’ll kill her!’

I stopped. I looked across the sea. Hans Hageberg’s boat was in the middle of the sound. I put my hand into my inside pocket, took out the card he had given me and reached for my phone.

I kept my eyes trained on Brekkhus and Karin. As he stooped down for the mooring ropes she grasped her opportunity. She screamed, hit out and kicked. But he didn’t let go. He yanked her closer and punched her in the face, so hard that her head flew back and her knees buckled. It seemed to me I could hear the crunch of bone from where I was
standing. For a moment she appeared to try to struggle up. Her upper body rose, but her head didn’t want to join in. She collapsed on the quay, motionless. Undaunted, he bent over her, picked her up, threw her over one shoulder, grabbed the aft rope with one hand and jumped on board.

My insides were tied in knots. Without looking where I was going I charged down the steep path. I skidded towards the gravel on the wet rocks, fell headlong and staggered to my feet again, my hands stinging from breaking my fall. But I didn’t get there in time. The engine erupted into life and seconds before I arrived at the quay the boat was on its way with Bjørn Brekkhus at the wheel. I couldn’t see Karin anywhere. She was lying on the floor, incapable of doing anything.

My pulse pounding in my throat, I dialled Hageberg’s number. As it rang, I watched from afar. He was on his way to the shore.

Hageberg answered. ‘What the hell’s going on? I could only see it from the distance.’

‘Do you think you could cut him off?’

‘At that speed? It won’t be easy. But I can give it a go.’

I watched as he changed course and headed north-west.

Ranveig was halfway down the path from the cabin. She was holding her phone in her hand. ‘Varg! What shall I say to them?’

‘Have you got Hamre on the line?’

‘No, someone else, but …’

‘Tell them to send a police boat. Or best of all a helicopter. Alert the Police Chief in Lindås! Tell them what’s happened and they’ll know what to do.’

I kept an eye on the two boats, but I could see that Hageberg was too late as well. Brekkhus had pulled back the throttle and set a course even further west.

Then Hageberg came on the phone. ‘I couldn’t catch him! What now?’

‘Could you come here? We’ve called the police in.’

‘Will do.’

He turned the boat and headed straight for us, the sea surging round the bows. But he was still a good distance away.

Ranveig staggered onto the quay. I looked at her. She was pale with shock. ‘I had no idea he could … I’ve never seen him like that. Did he knock her to the ground?’

I nodded grimly. ‘Charming suitors you choose for company, I must say.’  

She paled further. ‘You provoked him. You should never …’ She didn’t complete the sentence, but I knew what she was going to say. She was right. I should have kept my mouth shut. Of course I should.

Then it was as if the truth hit her like a delayed tidal wave. ‘But that he … that it was him who …’ Her voice cracked. ‘Mons … because of me.’

‘That probably wasn’t why,’ I said, in an unnecessarily brusque tone. ‘It’s more likely it was because of Lea. That was what made him lose his head.’

‘How could Mons have … How could he have brought in a … what do you call them? … a hired killer?’

I should have answered her, but there wasn’t time. Hageberg came alongside the quay, put the engine into neutral, manoeuvred his way in, grabbed one of the bollards and dragged the boat alongside.

He looked up at me. Before he could say anything I had jumped down into the boat. ‘After him as fast as you can!’

Ranveig was left on the quay. Hageberg looked at her. ‘She’s staying here.’ I shouted up to her: ‘Tell the police … no, I’ll ring them. Take care of yourself.’

‘Ready for the off?’ Hageberg asked.

I grabbed the railing of the boat and held on tight. ‘Give it all you’ve got!’

He let go of the quayside, shoved off, put the engine into gear and increased the speed with a strong hand. I looked back at the shore. Ranveig stood erect on the quay, like an abandoned stowaway, one of life’s random victims.

I trained my eyes on the sea ahead. Brekkhus was level with Lurekalven now and holding a steady course north-west.

Hageberg glanced at me. ‘Have you any idea how far he’s likely to go?’

‘To get into open sea he has to go through Kilstraumen, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

Suddenly I knew. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he was intending to go to Gulen.’  

‘To Gulen!’

‘Brennøy. Can you make it that far?’

‘That far? We can make it to Iceland if the weather’s kind and we have enough petrol. What’s this about?’

‘We’re chasing a killer.’

‘A killer … Jesus Christ! The time I was a bouncer at Chianti years ago could come in handy now.’ He grinned mischievously and upped the speed a notch.

We went on in silence. I dialled the number for the police station and asked for Hamre. He was out, I was told, but I got Helleve on the line instead.

‘Yes, we’ve just had a hysterical
fru
Mæland on the line,’ he said. ‘Could you give us some more information, Varg?’

I gave him what I had and asked if they had managed to requisition a helicopter to Brennøy.

‘For the third time this week? Well … that’ll smash the budget. But I will admit … you do have a persuasive argument.’

‘What’s it going to be?’

‘I’ll try and get hold of Hamre. We’ll do the best we can. At worst we’ll take the decision ourselves.’

‘Could be a case of life and death!’

‘Better get going then, eh?’

We rang off, and I looked at Hageberg. ‘Are we keeping up?’

‘He’s got one hell of a motor on that tub of his. I’m afraid mine doesn’t measure up to it.’

‘Which means?’

‘He’s probably doing somewhere between 40 and 50 knots. I’m doing somewhere between 20 and 25, wind and conditions taken into account.’

‘So he’ll reach Brennøy long before us …?’

‘He’ll get to hell faster than us, if that’s where he’s planning to go.’

‘I hope not,’ I mumbled, staring through the windscreen.

As we passed the narrow Kilstraumen peninsula the boat in front of us was out of sight, but its wake spread across the sea like a bride’s
veil. Forty to fifty minutes after setting out we were at the end of Fens Fjord. Far to the west we had Holmengrå lighthouse. North of us was Byrknesøy. Then we caught a fleeting glimpse of Brekkhus’ boat again. He was as good as on the other side of the fjord and heading straight for Brennøy, as I feared.

‘What’s he trying to do?’ Hageberg said.

‘No idea,’ I said, looking upwards, not in prayer but in the hope of seeing a helicopter heading in the same direction as they were. But there was nothing to be seen, nothing to be heard.

‘I hope I’ve got enough petrol,’ Hageberg said, checking the console with a concerned frown. ‘I hadn’t bargained for a long trip like this.’

When we were just off Byrknes we saw Brennøy in front of us, but once again the boat was out of sight. I peered up through Brennøy Sound, where the damaged bridge reminded me of a modern work of art: sprawling form, no real content. The bridal veil continued further west. ‘Keep to the far side. Look for the cross.’

‘The cross?’ Hageberg said, opening his eyes wide. ‘Oh, God. Where Mæland was strung up?’    

‘Yes …’

I stared ahead of us. At last I heard what I had been expecting: the thrum of a helicopter. I turned round and looked south. It hung in the air, lights flashing, somewhere over the Lindås peninsula, heading in the same direction as we were, only much faster.

We moved through the narrow sounds on the far side of Brennøy. I saw the tree-clad heights behind Naustvik. Hageberg had slowed down. ‘I don’t know the waters here, Veum.’

The dark cross towered up against the sky. Bjørn Brekkhus’ boat was moored by the smooth rocks in the sound. But Brekkhus … And Karin …

Now I could see him. He was heading for the cross, with Karin over his shoulders. I cursed him roundly. ‘Could we take a risk? Accelerate?’

Hageberg regarded me with concern.

‘Any damages that occur … we’ll cover! I can give you a guarantee …’

He nodded. ‘OK.’ Then he pushed the lever forward again, and the boat responded instantly.

Brekkhus had hurled Karin to the ground. He was standing behind the cross, and I saw at once what he was planning to do. He threw a rope over the cross and down the front. Then he took the loose end, bent over Karin and pulled.

I yelled as loudly as I could: ‘Brekkhus! Noooooo!’

I was sure he heard me. He must have heard our boat behind him. Now the helicopter was close as well. It hovered over the cross, unable to find anywhere to land. The noise was deafening, and Brekkhus made a furious gesture, as if warning us all to keep away. Then he went behind the cross and pulled the rope.

Hageberg shouted: ‘Look out! We’re going to hit land!’

I didn’t care. I clung to the railing and as the boat smacked against the rocky shore I jumped onto land, felt my legs firmly beneath me and charged up over the crag towards the cross.

Brekkhus had managed to tie a knot around the foot of the cross, and Karin was dangling helplessly from the middle of the upright with the thick rope around her neck. The look he sent me was one of triumph, but beyond all rationality. He had blown all the fuses he probably had. Of what had once been the Chief of Police in Lindås there was only a shell left. But he stood between me and the cross, and he didn’t appear to be willing to let me pass.

I went straight for him. He was a large man, and I knew nothing but the coarsest methods would do. I drew back my fist, as if preparing to punch him, enough for him to take up a defensive pose. Instead I stopped in apparent mid-swing and kicked him hard in the knee. As he screamed out in pain I stepped back and kicked him again, this time in the crotch. He doubled up, and I punched him in the face with all the pent-up fury I possessed, hitting him somewhere between his ear and his temple and watched him slump forward, as heavily as a felled ox.

Then I grabbed the rope, desperately tried to loosen the knot, but it was too tight. I bent down over Brekkhus, who was lying beneath me on the ground, holding his crotch and whimpering. I took the knife from
his sheath, cut the rope, grabbed it and gently lowered Karin to the ground. I lunged forward, held her tight, loosened the rope around her throat and searched for a pulse. It was there, so weak that I could barely feel it. Her face was white, her mouth gasped for air and her eyelids quivered, but so faintly the movement was only just perceptible.

Hageberg ran up from the rocks carrying a boot hook. The helicopter was still hovering above us. I recognised Helleve’s face through a window. He motioned for them to land a bit further along the headland.

When Hageberg arrived I nodded in the direction of Brekkhus’ body. ‘Sit on top of him!’ I was blind to everything except Karin, who lay lifeless in my arms.

The intensive care ward at Haukeland Hospital was efficient and well-organised. For a week I had more or less lived beside her bed. I had been home to change clothes, I had been to the police station for questioning and I had popped by the office, where I had quickly answered emails and phone messages. The rest of the day I had spent at her bedside, with her hand in mine, staring at her apparently sleeping face and up at the screen above her head. Every now and then doctors or nurses stopped by to check her condition. During the first days she was taken out for X-Rays, MRI scans and other examinations. I seized the opportunity to grab a bite to eat in the huge canteen in the middle of the building. For breakfast and supper I was given food in her room. She ate nothing. She received all her nutrition intravenously, from the drip hanging beside her bed.

One of the doctors had patiently explained to me what the various lines on the screen meant. The top two green lines measured the heart’s activity, how many beats there were a minute and whether the rhythm was normal. A flashing red light marked every heartbeat. Whenever there was a flash there was also a little beep. The white wavy line showed how much oxygen there was in her blood and the number to the right, the percentage. The red line showed her blood pressure, and the numbers to the right were what the doctor called systolic and diastolic pressure. The yellow line showed the blood pressure in her lungs and the blue wave the body’s carbon dioxide levels in the air she expelled. The orange number at the bottom, to the left, showed the body temperature. It was sky high, but the doctor reassured me that the monitor was American and therefore measured everything in Fahrenheit.  

I listened politely to everything he said, but understood that what I had to keep my eye on was the heart activity at the top of the screen.

Karin was in a coma on the seventh day. She hadn’t woken up since she was brought in by helicopter, and regardless of whether I squeezed her hand, stroked her cheek or tried to talk to her, there was no response.

I thought I had heard that coma patients could hear what was being said around them. I asked the doctor about that, and he nodded gravely and said there were reports of patients who had woken up from comas, but it was impossible to say whether that would apply to all patients. ‘But what if I talk to her?’ I asked. ‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ the doctor said, patting me on the shoulder and strolling off to see other patients.

‘Is she going to survive?’ I had asked several times. They had given hesitant answers. ‘To be honest, we don’t know,’ one of them had said. Then she had added: ‘But I think we should be prepared for the worst.’

Who was we? I had thought, suddenly irritated. You and me? But the feeling passed. Instead I was gripped by a sense of dejection. I cursed myself. I should have held my counsel of course, then none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was here, in deep slumber, on the margins of life, in the borderland with the unknown.

I had tried to explain everything to her. I had sat with my head bowed, face to face with her, as though it were life’s most intimate secret I was confiding. ‘The red mist must have come down,’ I had said. ‘I mean … That’s the way I see it. He considered his best friend’s first wife, Lea, as … I think she must have been the love of his life. At home he had a partner who was growing feebler by the day. Across the sound he had an angel sent from heaven, a creature he held as a romantic idyll, so much so that when she disappeared she left a void in his life he never managed to fill. Witnesses – his own wife – have claimed he was possessed as he searched for the missing woman. Later he started a relationship with the same friend’s new spouse, a relationship that was revealed at the moment he received confirmation of what he had always feared … that Lea’s death was no chance occurrence but hastened by her husband’s summoning of a hit man, if I can call him that.
It ended in a violent altercation, Mæland fell into the sea and Brekkhus laid a complex plan to get rid of the body and point the finger of blame in other directions. But then Ranveig contacted you, I appeared on the scene and gradually, as I dug deeper into the case, I came closer and closer to what Brekkhus would have preferred to keep hidden for perpetuity. After his arrest he was questioned at great length. His lawyer claims Brekkhus was not responsible for his actions at the moment in question. Brekkhus himself maintains he was suffering from total blackouts, both when he was dealing with Mæland and … with you. He remembers nothing, he says. He’s been in such interviews before, but on the opposite side of the table, so he knows the rules of the game. But Hamre pushed him hard. They have to build on the circumstantial evidence for the first case. But they have two solid witnesses for what happened to you. Three, if we count Ranveig. He won’t get away with this, Karin, I can promise you that. And if he did …’ I clenched my fist. ‘Trond Tangenes is chickenfeed compared with what I’m going to do …’ But as I said it I knew I was lying. I would never be able to do what he had done to her, not to anyone, not even to myself …

Later I had chatted, partly to her, partly to myself, about the years we had shared, the places we had been, the people we had met. We had known each other for 27 years and we’d had a relationship for the last eleven. Along with Thomas and Beate, she had been the most important person in my life, for the last eleven years more important than Beate. Now I was going to lose her.

The nurses had been coming more and more often in the last few hours, frequently in tandem. They checked the equipment with great care. One of them gently pulled the duvet up over her calves. Whereupon one exchanged a serious look with the other. They sent me an encouraging nod and quietly walked out again while talking in whispers to each other.

There was a silence in the room. I sat looking at her without saying a word.

Sitting at someone’s death bed does something to you, too. I was sixty-five, fit and in good health. But I knew I had many more years
behind me than I could expect in the future. For every day I was alive I was irrevocably approaching what would be my own final moment, the day I would exit time, suddenly in an explosion, or quietly and peacefully in my sleep. I’d had several close shaves. I had been knocked down and beaten up, stabbed in the stomach with a fork, slashed with a knife, shot in the shoulder, but I had got up again every single time, perhaps rather more sluggishly the last few times than earlier in my career, but nevertheless … In the words of the old Norwegian summer revue song: ‘The next day he was happily standing on his balcony watering his flowers.’ I didn’t have a balcony, or indeed many flowers, but I had used up my allocation of cats’ lives. The situation was more parlous for the woman lying in bed beside me.

Outside the room the wind was howling round the houses like a demon and the rain was beating against the windows as it had done for the whole of last week. Now the two nurses were in the room for the third time in an hour and I realised the moment had come. One of them smiled sadly at me and said: ‘She’s approaching the end …’

With tears in my eyes I leaned over Karin and held her hand tight. ‘Karin,’ I whispered, ‘Don’t give up! Come back! It wasn’t supposed to …’

But she didn’t respond. She lay with the same peaceful expression on her face she’d had during her whole stay at the hospital, as though she had long accepted what was going to happen, as though she was well on her way over the bridge to the unknown pastures beyond.

Then a deep sigh swept through her. For the first time in a week she opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. She moved her lips and said something, in such a low voice I barely understood. Then her eyes rolled again, and she sank back into herself forever. ‘Nineteen zero three forty-four,’ Karin said, and died.