The Writing on the Wall (5 page)

‘If he has time,’ she said somewhat tartly. ‘Anyway, I think I can almost guarantee you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing he can tell you about Torild that I can’t tell you.’

‘Isn’t there? But there could be something you’ve – overlooked – that he might think of …’

‘Hm,’ she said in a tone that indicated she didn’t have much faith in that.

I stood up with a final look at The Three Stages of Torild still on the table in front of us. ‘Well … in that case, I’d better …’

How mysterious people were. Could we ever get to know another person – properly? Or would they always keep something or other hidden from us, something we ourselves had perhaps known once but had gradually forgotten over the years?

She came with me to the door. ‘You’ll ring as soon as you – have any news, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Down at the lights that control the traffic in the narrowest part of Sædalsveien, I waited at red. It struck me that certain situations in life are just like this too. You sit waiting at red, and when the light eventually changes to green, an articulated truck squeezing through on amber slams straight into you without giving you the faintest chance of avoiding it.

When the light changed to green it was with the greatest caution that I drove around the first blind bend.

THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE
in Mannsverk have never liked hearing the district called by its original name of Toadsmarsh. But at the end of the fifties, when we were in competition with some boys from that district over a couple of girls from Fridalen, we never called them anything but toads, which unleashed such a
backlash
that we very soon had to leave the Fridalen girls to their own devices and turn back to the more central parts of town, where it was us who were cocks of the walk.

Astrid Nikolaisen lived in the thirteen-storey block of flats that serves as the landmark for the whole district. The thoroughfare running beneath it became a veritable wind tunnel when the wind blew from that direction.

I found her surname on one of the letter boxes beside the entrance to the lifts but had to search floor by floor along the external walkway to find the right apartment. In addition to the two lifts, there was a staircase at every corner of the building, and I zigzagged my way up to the sixth floor, where I found the same name on a door and rang the bell.

The woman who opened the door looked younger than I’d expected. Despite the heavy make-up, she didn’t look much older than her early thirties. She was wearing tight-fitting slacks and a striped, brightly coloured woollen sweater that seemed long enough to serve as a sort of miniskirt. Her hair was so dark and neat that it almost looked like a wig. ‘Yes?’ she said and clamped her dark red lips together in a kind of turkey-mouth.

‘Veum. I’m from … It
is
Mrs Nikolaisen, isn’t it?’

‘You can drop the
Mrs
. But my name is Nikolaisen, yes.’

‘Is Astrid Nikolaisen at home?’

She sized me up. I added: ‘Perhaps she’s your sister?’

In spite of the layer of make-up, I noticed she was blushing. ‘Yes, no, she’s my daughter. Just a second, I’ll see if she’s home.’

She closed the door and I stood outside waiting. From here I could see straight down into the depot of the Bergen Tram Company. The rather random collection of workshops and tower blocks didn’t exactly make Mannsverk a showcase for fifties town planners if they could put up with something like this.

The door behind me opened again.

It was the same woman. ‘What’s it about?’

‘Actually, it’s about a friend of hers, Torild Skagestøl, who’s been missing from home for nearly a week.’

‘And what’s Astrid got to do with that?’

‘Nothing, probably. I just wanted to ask her a few things about – Torild. Who she was with and things like that.’

She still looked a bit suspicious. ‘Are you from the police?’

‘No.’

‘Child Welfare? Social Security?’

‘No, nothing like that. I’m here on behalf of the family.’

‘She’s just got up … But OK then. Come on in.’

As I followed her in, I stole a glance at the clock. It was eleven-forty. Did that make Astrid Nikolaisen a member of social group B or C?

The hall was papered with red lilies on a violet background. Through an open door an advert blared loudly from a local radio station.

She knocked on a door. ‘It’s Gerd. Can we come in?’

I could just make out a muffled ‘yes’ through the door. The woman opened it and stood aside to let me in. As I passed her I caught the scent of perfume: heavy, like lily of the valley kept far too long in an airless room.

The girl inside was just zipping up the front of her tight jeans, not without some difficulty, the whiteness of her plump midriff emphasised by the black bra, which was all she’d had time to put on. The look she gave me was brazen and provocative, and her slightly heavy face was a puffier version of her mother’s, except that it was even more heavily made up, if with slightly blurred features since it was all too obviously the mask she’d been wearing yesterday.

‘Astrid! Put something on!’ said her mother over my shoulder.

I turned to face her. ‘I can wait out here …’

‘No need. Put your sweater on!’

‘Yeah, yeah, bossy britches!’ said her daughter. ‘I’m sure he’s seen a bra before!’

I waited for a few seconds before turning around again. Now she’d pulled on a maroon sweater and was just straightening her dark, slightly red-tinted hair. ‘What’s he want?’

‘To talk about Torild Skagestøl,’ I said.

‘Go on in.’ The mother pushed me gently into the room. ‘Tell him all you know, Astrid. I’m tidying up in the sitting room if you need me.’

Then she left us.

I glanced round. It was quite a small room, furnished with an unmade bed and a cross between a chest of drawers and make-up table in white. There were two beanbags on the floor. By the bed stood an old-fashioned Windsor chair and on the floor beneath the window lay an untidy pile of comics and pop and fashion mags and a handful of pulp fiction. Various items of clothing were strewn about the room as though she’d been looking for
something
, but I knew from experience that this state of untidiness was very often just how teenagers marked their territory.

She turned her streaky face towards me with a slightly too cynical look for her age. ‘What’s up with Torild?’

‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’

She sat down on the corner of the bed and nodded in the
direction
of the two leather beanbags. ‘Park yourself there.’

‘I think I’d rather stand, actually,’ I said leaning against the doorframe.

She made a sucking noise between her teeth and shrugged her shoulders without insisting any further.

‘You two are friends, aren’t you?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. We meet up in town now and then but not much more than that.’

‘In town?’

‘Yeah, at Jimmy’s and places like that.’

‘Jimmy’s, that’s an amusement arcade, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, you can play the machines if you like. I just go there for a burger and to hang out with folk there. There’s always some all-right guys there.’

‘Oh? Know any of their names?’

‘No, why should I? What’s it to do with you anyway?’

‘But Torild used to go there too, did she?’

She nodded.

‘And Åsa?’

‘Yeah, she did too. There was
loads
of us.’

‘What …’ I thought better of it. ‘Listen, places like that are expensive, aren’t they?’

‘So what’s free then apart from coffee and cake at church and stuff like that?’

‘Where did you all get the money from?’

She gave me a look of contempt. ‘From home, of course. Pocket money. A few of us have part-time jobs. I have a Saturday job at the Mecca now and then.’

‘On the till?’

‘Nope, stocking shelves.’

‘Do you sometimes steal things?’

‘What’s the idea? Thought it was Torild you were supposed to be asking about!’

‘Åsa had to take back a leather jacket she’d stolen yesterday.’

Her expression became slightly less cocky. ‘Oh?’

‘Her dad took her down there.’

‘What a pillock!’

‘You mean it was OK?’

‘Well, I’ve never stolen nothing anyway!’ But she avoided my eyes as she said this.

‘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.

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.’

‘What?’ He looked at me as if to say it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard in his life. ‘In that case … you’d better come on in.’

I followed him down a long corridor with blindingly harsh strip lighting, a symbol of the powerful beam the hive of activity in the newspaper’s offices was supposed to train on life outside. Yet there might still be a few dead flies up there like little beauty spots in the light fittings.

Holger Skagestøl was a thin ungainly man, over six feet tall. His light brown Terylene trousers were held up by a tight leather belt, and his silvery grey tie was loosened from the collar of his white shirt with thin blue stripes. His hair was brownish in colour yet completely white at the temples and round the ears, like an Irish coffee with a bit too much cream in it.

He ushered me into a narrow little office with a view of the other side of Nygårdsgaten, where a group of youngish women were doing a cross between gymnastics and ballet exercises in a lit-up hall with large windows looking onto the street. ‘We can borrow this,’ he said as if to emphasise that he was not inviting me into his own office. ‘Take a seat,’ he added, pointing to a chair on the other side of the desk.

Before speaking again he looked at me, shaking his head slightly. ‘I’ve rung the police myself, but Sidsel … Oh well …’

‘So you’ve reported her missing?’

‘No, not officially. But one has one’s contacts. I’ve made a few enquiries, so to speak, and given the problem a certain amount of attention.’

‘The problem?’

‘Yes. That Torild’s run away from home, of course.’

‘Run away from home? Is that how you’d choose to describe it?’

‘Yes, what other term could I use?’

‘Run away where, according to you?’

He licked his thin lips. ‘Well … I don’t know.’

‘But you are concerned about it, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am. Didn’t I just say I’ve contacted …? Look, what is it you want, actually?’

‘Listen, Skagestøl, I’ve been put on this case by your wife, and so far I’ve been gathering bits and pieces to give me an impression of Torild’s life before she disappeared, who her girlfriends were, the places she went to, things like that. In connection with that, I assumed that her father –’

‘Yeah, yeah. The last thing I need is a lecture. I’ve had a bellyful of that at home. So … what is it you want to know?’

‘Er, what can
you
tell me about Torild?’

‘Tell you? What are you after? Her life history? You’ve probably already got that from Sidsel.’

I felt my solar plexus start to tighten and had to make an effort to maintain the same calm tone of voice. ‘Just tell me something! Doesn’t matter what …’

‘Well, she …’ He looked out of the window. ‘In my profession … She’s always been a nice girl. There’ve been a few hiccups at school the last few years, but it hasn’t – I don’t think it’s been any worse than anything they all go through. They get sick of it, don’t they? If school can’t hold their interest, how are we parents
supposed
to?’

‘But – the two of you did keep an eye on her progress?’

‘To be frank, Veum, it was Sidsel who dealt with the children. I took care of earning our bread and butter and made all the major practical decisions –’

‘Er,
major
?’

He looked at me irritably. ‘Yes, such as when we bought the house, money in general, the summer we went over to Disneyland, stuff like that. But everything to do with the house and the home, I mean, all the
domestic
side, including the children, was Sidsel’s pigeon. There has to be some division of responsibilities, doesn’t there?’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Look, don’t come the sexual moralist with me. We both agreed about dividing up our responsibilities like this. And don’t talk to me about neglected kids either, because Torild got a lot more attention than many others. Just look around you, Veum! Look at all the single parents; how much time do you think they have for their children?’

‘Some children maybe need more attention.’

‘Not Torild.’

‘Didn’t she?’

‘Things were reasonably OK at school. She had lots of hobbies, played handball, was in the Guides –’

‘But she’s packed that in, hasn’t she?’

‘OK, then. But right up to last year, wasn’t it?’

‘Was it? So why do you think she’s taken off’

He threw up his hands. ‘What does one really know about one’s children?’

‘Exactly.’

‘She’s at the rebellious stage now, though. Maybe she’s clashed with her mother – she can be rather wearing, I can tell you that … You know what kids are like, girls especially perhaps …’

‘What are you thinking of in particular?’

‘At that age, Veum? More – emotional, eh?’

In the gym on the other side of the street, the ballet group had finished their practice session for the day. The participants were now standing around in small groups talking, but some were already on their way out to the changing rooms. I shifted my gaze back again. ‘So you think it’s a result of the upheaval of puberty, in other words?’

‘Yes.’ He looked at me aloofly. ‘And, of course, the family
situation
at present, well, I assume you know about it.’

‘I know that your wife and you have separated, yes.’

‘That obviously hasn’t helped.’

‘No. What do the police say?’

‘Oh, you know how much they say. So long as no one has
officially
been reported missing, then …’

‘Who was it you spoke to in the police?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure I really want to divulge my contacts to you.’

‘Afraid I might steal them, are you?’

‘At any rate, they’re people in very responsible positions, Veum.’

‘So … there’s nothing else you have to tell me, in other words?’

‘Not that I can – think of.’

‘Do you know the names of any of your daughter’s boyfriends?’

He shook his head.

‘Girlfriends, then?’

‘No, I … apart from Åsa, that is; they’ve been friends since they were little.’

‘Yes, I realise that. What about a girl called Astrid?’

‘No, can’t remember that one …’

‘Well, in that case, I won’t trouble you any further.’ I stood up.

He accompanied me to the door. ‘You’re not troubling me, Veum! Don’t get me wrong … I’m just as concerned as Sidsel about Torild’s disappearing act …’

Just
as concerned? I thought.

‘… but I – it’s not my area of responsibility, as I’ve told you, I just can’t, there are so many other things I have to … And it’ll all turn out OK in the end, won’t it?’

‘Yes, it probably will.’

‘Who … er, has Sidsel enough money to pay for this? I mean, your fee …’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, because if not … I’ll have a word with her. Don’t bother about it, Veum.’

‘To tell the truth, Skagestøl, that’s the least of my worries.’

‘Oh?’ We’d stopped in front of the lift. ‘Well, then … Good luck. And if there’s anything else, just get back to me!’

‘Thanks.’

He gave me a quick smile and was already on his way back to his office before the lift arrived.

When I came out onto the pavement I noticed a woman coming out of a door on the other side of the street, red in the face and with her hair all over the place. She looked furtively both ways before buttoning her coat collar round her neck and rushing off almost as though she was coming from a secret rendezvous. But it was probably just the end of the ballet lesson.