When it Grows Dark (William Wisting Mystery 6) by Jorn Lier Horst

Author:Jorn Lier Horst
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sandstone Press Ltd
Published: 2017-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

15

Wisting grabbed four hours sleep before leaving, driving though Larvik and out on to the E18 in the direction of Oslo. As he joined the road an oncoming snowplough with rattling chains stirred up a white cloud. Snow piled onto the windscreen, and he dropped his speed just enough to see the road ahead. Traffic was moving at a snail’s pace.

After the new tunnel at Holmestrand, he got stuck in a queue behind a lorry. He thought he had allowed plenty of time, but now wondered whether he would be late. As he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the microfilm at the library came to mind. If this trip yielded the result he was hoping for, he would be spared reading through reams of old newspapers.

At Sande the crawling lorry turned off the motorway, but only when the road opened into two lanes after the toll station at Drammen was he able to pick up speed. Approaching Oslo, he took the Store Ringvei bypass to avoid heavy traffic in the city centre. At Bjerke racing track he pulled into a layby and looked up his road atlas to take his bearings. Still though, he got lost twice before finding his way to the low-rise apartment block where Ragna Bergan lived on the second floor.

Her son opened the door. In his early sixties, he was tall with thick, dark hair and a beard of the same colour. They shook hands and Wisting thanked him for their phone conversation the previous day.

The apartment faced west with a view towards Oslo Fjord and the rest of the city. The coffee table was set with a porcelain coffee set and a crocheted tablecloth. Ragna Bergan came in from the kitchen with a cake dish. She had completely white hair, a stooped back and walked with a slightly shuffling gait.

Setting down the dish, she wiped her arthritic hands on her apron before shaking hands with Wisting.

‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ he said.

‘Have a seat. I’ll fetch the coffee.’

He sat on the settee. In the centre of the table, a framed photograph of a tall, sharp-nosed man was displayed. He was dressed in a dark chauffeur’s uniform with shiny buttons and a peaked cap, and he presumed this was her late husband, Martinius Bergan. Behind him in the photo was a sleek, black, newly polished car.

‘That’s Dad,’ Jan Bergan confirmed with a nod of his head. ‘After the bankruptcy he began to drive taxis and, after the war, bought his own car. A Chevrolet.’

Jan Bergan talked as though Wisting was familiar with aspects of the Bergan family history. He was not aware of any bankruptcy, but assumed this was something that happened after the disappearance of one of the company vehicles.

Ragna Bergan, who had returned with the coffee pot, filled the three cups on the table before she sat down.

‘I don’t know anything about the case from 1925,’ Wisting began, making sure to speak loudly and clearly. ‘To the best of my knowledge,

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