Fatal Isles Page 12

  Evald Johannisen slowly shakes his head and smacks his lips with a rueful smile.

  ‘Rule number one for coppers: never underestimate village gossip. Nine times out of ten, that’s where you’ll find the truth. But I’m sure our precious lady detective and her Charlie-boy will be more than able to dig up all the dirt on the boss and his family, rather than having me serve it up on a silver platter.’

  As usual, Evald Johannisen delivers his offensive comments with a big smile, always ready to backpedal and claim he was just kidding if need be. But Karl can hear a new edge in Johannisen’s voice, something he hasn’t heard there before. As though he’s punching from below this time and knows it.

  ‘And I’m pretty sure you’re professional enough to share anything you know that could help the investigation,’ Karl retorts. ‘Despite being a prick,’ he adds and notes that his voice sounds a smidge harsher than he’d intended.

  ‘Christ, I guess you’re not up for a bit of friendly banter, then. Is Charlie-boy offended?’

  Yet another smile, but something else crosses his face, too, turning the smile into a pained rictus.

  ‘Not half as offended as you seem to be, Evald. You should at least give Karen a chance. She didn’t exactly ask for the promotion and no one here’s enjoying poking around Smeed’s private affairs.’

  Evald Johannisen makes no reply, just stares vacantly into space.

  Tired. Karl studies the dark circles under his colleague’s eyes. Pale and tired. Bitterness comes at a cost, clearly.

  ‘You know as well as I do we have to treat Jounas as any other potential perpetrator until this case is solved,’ he continues. ‘And that includes digging up every conceivable motive and unsavoury detail. Karen interviewing him in private instead of dragging him in here is actually a thoughtful concession.’

  ‘So you say . . . I haven’t got time to argue with you,’ Johannisen declares with a glance at his watch. ‘Someone here has to step up and find the killer, so we can have the real head of this department back. Don’t you have a job to do too, or are you just here as eye candy for her majesty? Ouch, holy fuck!’

  Evald Johannisen’s face contorts and he clutches his left upper arm with his right hand. Next, he emits a rattling sound and collapses onto his desk. The smack when his colleague’s forehead lands on his keyboard is so loud it makes Karl jump.

  22

  He’s lying in one of the recliners by the pool. His long body is dressed in jeans and a grey lambswool sweater; a baseball cap has been placed like a lid over his face and his bare feet dangle limply over the edge of the chair. Karen hears soft snoring when she approaches and contemplates how to wake him. She tries stomping her feet a little harder than necessary when she climbs the three steps to the wooden deck. Clears her throat. No reaction. Sighing inwardly, she walks up to the recliner and studies the sleeping man. The snoring has stopped now, but aside from long, even breaths that make his stomach slowly rise and fall under the lamb’s wool, there’s no sign of movement. She clears her throat again, slightly louder this time.

  ‘Are you always like a cat burglar?’

  The unexpected voice from under the baseball cap makes Karen jump. Jounas Smeed is still lying motionless, but now she spots a highball glass full of fizzy liquid and a slice of lemon on the deck next to the recliner.

  Gin and tonic, she thinks. Great.

  Soon, a hand reaches out, fingers fumbling through the air until eventually, they find what they’re looking for and close around the glass. Then he lifts up the baseball cap, pushes himself up on his elbow and drains the glass in three long gulps.

  ‘Calm down, Eiken,’ he says with a look at Karen’s resigned expression. ‘Perrier and lemon, nothing else. What do you want?’

  ‘You know what I want. We need to talk.’

  ‘Christ, not my favourite thing to hear from a woman . . .’

  ‘Cut the crap. Would you mind sitting up properly?’

  Unexpectedly obedient, he slowly sits up, rubs his eyes with his wrists and belches loudly.

  ‘Sorry. Gas,’ he says and strokes his stomach.

  ‘Could we go indoors?’ she says, nodding toward the house. ‘The press conference is almost over; there will be reporters here any minute. I would feel better talking inside.’

  ‘All right, then we should absolutely head indoors. It’s important we are both satisfied,’ he drawls and gets to his feet. He stands still for a moment, peering down toward the driveway, and Karen notes that her threat about the imminent arrival of the press has had the desired effect. Now it’s time to put the rest of her strategy to the test.

  She follows him into the house without a word and sits down in the same place as the night before. Jounas Smeed stops halfway into the room.

  ‘Cup of coffee?’ he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  ‘I want to know how long your little performance is going to go on for,’ she says curtly. ‘Because I’m getting bloody tired of it.’

  He stiffens, but makes no reply.

  ‘Well?’ she says, meeting his eyes without blinking. ‘Do you want us to have a good talk about what happened? I’d be happy to set aside five minutes for your sleazy comments, so we can get down to business.’

  ‘Fuck me, you’re in a nasty mood.’

  ‘Are you surprised?’ she says, steadily holding his gaze. ‘I come over here to interview you, which you know I have to do, and you do everything to sabotage it. But all right, let’s have it all out, so we can move on. Want me to go first?’

  ‘All right, that’s enough, Eiken . . .’

  Jounas’s voice suddenly sounds threatening. Or is that a hint of insecurity she detects?

  ‘This is what happened,’ Karen continues. ‘We got drunk and made bad decisions. Granted, I have only vague memories of how we got to the hotel, but unfortunately, I remember all the fucking. Really stupid and unnecessary, and definitely not memorable, so would you mind getting over it already?’

  ‘Was it really that bad?’ he drawls. ‘Because it seemed to me like you were—’

  ‘Since you’re asking, yes,’ she cuts him off. ‘The parts I can remember were incredibly bloody dull, and it’s never happening again. And if you refuse to stop referencing it, I imagine it’s going to be worse for you than for me.’

  She can see him stiffen and his eyes become watchful. He slowly walks over to her and sits down on the edge of the coffee table. His head is a good foot and half above hers and she curses herself inwardly for having sat down. Then he nods slowly and smiles, looking as though he’d been waiting for what she’s just said.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Eiken?’ he chuckles. ‘Are you going to claim it wasn’t consensual? That I somehow forced you . . .’

  ‘Come off it,’ she snaps and gets up so suddenly he has to lean back to avoid a collision.

  She moves away from him and crosses her arms.

  ‘It was completely brainless, but, unfortunately consensual in every way. What I mean is that I’m not the only one best served by putting it behind us.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, I don’t think your career would be helped by news getting out that you have terrible judgement. Checking into hotels and screwing your underlings while intoxicated. I reckon you’d lose some of your cred.’

  ‘You fucking cun—’

  He breaks off suddenly.

  ‘No, go on,’ she prompts. ‘Let it all out! Why don’t you rant a bit about feminists needing a good fuck, too, while you’re at it; I’m sure that would make you feel better. Don’t hold back on my account; I’ve been listening to that bullshit for almost four years now.’

  ‘I’d tread carefully if I were you,’ Jounas says, standing up slowly. ‘Don’t forget that I’m going to be your boss again the minute this farce is over.’

  ‘I know, but right now, you’re not. And unless you have something to hide, you’d better start cooperating. The sooner this investigation is wrapped
up, the sooner you can come back to work and start making my life hell. OK?’

  Jounas Smeed has walked over to the windows and is gazing out at the garden. Even though she can only see his back, she can sense that she should stop talking, that she’s won. Just for now, just this one round, but it’s enough.

  At length, he turns around and makes as if to speak, but she beats him to it.

  ‘Does the offer of coffee still stand?’

  Fifteen minutes later, she puts her cup down on the coffee table.

  ‘Tell me about Susanne,’ she says.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  His voice is weary now, but not hostile.

  ‘Everything, I suppose. Start with your marriage. How did you meet?’

  He leans back with a heavy sigh.

  ‘May of ninety-eight, at my sister’s wedding. They were classmates in high school and stayed in touch afterwards.’

  ‘So you’d met Susanne before that?’

  ‘Sure, a few times with Wenche, but I’m two years older than my sister and moved abroad about a year after they finished school. And when I came back after a few years, Wenche had already met Dag, so they had probably grown apart and didn’t see as much of each other. But yes, I’d met her a few times before. Before she sank her claws into me.’

  Karen ignores his bitter tone.

  ‘So they kept in touch after high school?’ she says. ‘Wenche and Susanne, I mean.’

  She makes a mental note to go see Wenche Hellevik as soon as possible.

  ‘I guess, on and off. Enough for her to be invited to the wedding, anyway. As I mentioned, that’s where we met properly.’

  ‘What was Susanne like back then?’

  Jounas Smeed leans back and makes a gesture as if to suggest the question’s superfluous.

  ‘Really good-looking, of course. Sexy as hell. But that was then,’ he adds.

  Karen suppresses a sigh.

  ‘Lucky you, but I was more interested in what she was like as a person.’

  ‘Back then? Happy, easy-going, no bitching.’

  Smeed’s ideal woman, Karen supposes. Sexy, happy and easy-going. Soon he’ll be adding grateful and obedient, too.

  ‘So you had a good relationship? At first, I mean.’

  Jounas emits a short laugh. A bitter, toneless snort.

  ‘At first? Sure, I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘Enough to get married, anyway.’

  ‘Yes, the following autumn. The usual story.’

  ‘Susanne got pregnant?’

  He nods.

  ‘Yep, a few weeks in. Wasted no time, I have to give her that.’

  ‘It takes two, doesn’t it?’

  ‘That’s what she claimed.’

  Karen drops the subject. She can’t bear to listen to Jounas’s views on whose responsibility it is to make sure there are no unwanted pregnancies.

  ‘And Sigrid is your only child?’ she asks even though she knows the answer; wants to maintain the pretence that this is an interview like any other.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies curtly. ‘She was born in late January.’

  Karen quickly glances down at her notepad.

  ‘Which would make her about eight at the time of your divorce.’

  Jounas shrugs without commenting.

  ‘We talked to Sigrid and she told us she lived with both you and Susanne until she left home.’

  Yet another shrug; Karen wonders if thinking about his daughter is making Jounas copy her body language. Clear questions, she reminds herself, or you won’t get any answers.

  ‘She said you and Susanne fought a lot. What were the fights about?’

  ‘What are fights ever about? You have a failed marriage in your past, too . . .’

  For a second, Karen is sinking, fumbling for something to hold onto, clawing and clutching, finding a rough handhold. Then she resurfaces.

  ‘We’re not talking about me,’ she retorts quickly and hears her pulse thumping in her neck, almost drowning out her words. ‘Please just answer the question.’

  He shoots her a resigned look

  ‘We fought about everything,’ he says. ‘Absolutely everything.’

  Karen studies Jounas, whose eyes seem to have got stuck in the empty air in front of his face. He slowly shakes his head; she waits until he continues.

  ‘We fought about where to live, where to go on holiday and about Sigrid. Which school she should go to, which activities she should do. And about money, of course. And my job, mostly about my job. Or my choice of career, to be specific.’

  He looks like he’s contemplating what he just said. Then he chuckles.

  ‘Well, being a copper’s wife wasn’t what Susanne had envisioned when she married into the Smeed family. Of course she was fucking livid.’

  Karen tries to recall what she’s heard. There must have been a lot of raised eyebrows when Axel Smeed’s son had eschewed following in his father’s footsteps, embarking instead on a much less lucrative and hardly suitable career as an officer of the law. But her recollection of the local gossip is hazy. She had graduated from the academy the same year he’d enrolled. They hadn’t known each other growing up, Jounas and her. She’d grown up in the country, he in central Dunker, different schools, different social circles, different lives, even though they were the same age. They’d probably gone to some of the same parties, though Karen had no memory of it, and their paths had likely crossed in some of the bars that took a relaxed approach to age limits. The town was small enough to virtually guarantee it.

  But even though Jounas Smeed hadn’t left an impression back then, every islander knew who his father was. Axel Smeed and his brother Ragnar had made the most of the inheritance from their own father. Between Axel’s land investments and property exploitation and Ragnar’s law firm, the brothers had multiplied the fortune. Ragnar’s political involvement and his two terms in parliament had also helped; any obstacles that couldn’t be overcome through the skilful use of legal loopholes, could always be circumvented through equally deft use of connections in the realms of justice and politics. Popular belief held that the Smeeds owned a third of Heimö and half of Frisel. Karen remembers what her father used to say: ‘What the Smeeds don’t own today, they’ll steal tomorrow.’ And she remembers how smug he’d sounded on the phone when he told her Axel Smeed’s son had enrolled in the police academy.

  ‘Apparently, he’s going to be a copper, just like you, Karen. Not so fancy, then, after all, the Smeed boy.’

  But Susanne could hardly have been surprised by Jounas’s choice of career; he must have already graduated from the academy by the time they met. Had she not known that?

  Jounas answered the question before she could ask it.

  ‘I didn’t enrol until a few years after high school. I started and dropped a number of courses at university before that; I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Applying to the academy was probably primarily about rebelling against my dad somehow. Becoming a police officer was as far from his plans for me as I could get.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘I guess so. The old man threatened to disinherit me and all that shit. The problem was I wasn’t exactly wild about it myself. I liked the training, but the first years on the job . . .’

  ‘Arresting drunks and attending domestic disturbances,’ Karen says. ‘No, that wasn’t exactly the time of my life either.’

  ‘At least I stuck it out longer than you: almost two years.’

  ‘So I’ve gathered.’

  ‘But then I left the island.’

  Karen is taken aback. She had no idea.

  ‘What did you get up to?’

  ‘The short version?’

  Karen nods.

  ‘I travelled around South America and then the US. I worked off the books on various construction sites and in bars in California and spent the last six months in New York. I guess that’s where I had a bit of an epiphany and realised the prospect of living hand to mouth forever w
asn’t all that appealing. So I started considering going home and settling down one way or another. Simply put, I was tired of being broke all the time.’

  ‘And so you decided to be a police officer. Interesting choice . . .’

  They smile in a moment of mutual understanding.

  ‘No, first I went crawling back to Daddy. Promised to forget all my former plans; my years at the academy weren’t even mentioned. Apparently, my dad was more embarrassed about my flitting around South America and getting high in the US. So instead, I started studying law. After a while, they let me work extra at my uncle’s law firm, in exchange for a promise that I would complete my studies and then be at my father’s beck and call. Pure nepotism, in other words. And he gave me plenty of dosh and bought me a big flat on Freyagate.’

  Jounas gets up suddenly and looks at Karen.

  ‘If you’re going to insist on digging through this crap, I’m going to need a stiff drink. I don’t imagine there’s any point asking if you want one, is there?’

  ‘Sorry, no,’ she smiles. ‘I can’t exactly drink on the job with my boss watching.’

  She says it as a tactical politeness. Wants to emphasise that she’s aware the present role reversal’s temporary. He’s finally starting to talk; she doesn’t want to risk him clamming up again.

  ‘Nice one, Eiken,’ he says.

  She thinks she can make out a twitching at the corner of his mouth before he turns around and leaves the room. When he comes back, Karen enviously eyes his foggy glass, in which tiny bubbles are fizzing around two ice cubes and a slice of lemon; this time it’s definitely a gin and tonic. She can almost smell the juniper and taste the bitterness on her tongue when Jounas takes a big sip. Salad for lunch and now this. How many weeks of clean living was it she’d promised herself again?

  ‘Go on,’ she says encouragingly. ‘You were studying law and working extra for your uncle. Was that when you met Susanne?’

  ‘Bingo. I had a couple of years of resigned conformity under my belt, was rapidly approaching thirty and I guess my guard was down. That’s when Susanne sunk her claws into Axel Smeed’s only son.’

  ‘So you were just a tragic victim . . . First of your dad’s whims and then Susanne’s?’