Cold Hearts by Gunnar Staalesen Read Free Book Online Page A

until she disappeared round the corner towards C. Sundts gate. I didn’t like the thought of what she was going back to, but there was nothing I could do, not tonight. It was a free country, for most of us. Freedom had a price, though. Some paid the highest rates, and it was seldom those who could best afford them.
    Then I put the car into gear and drove to Fløenbakken, where Karin was waiting for me with hot tea and a little something extra. But I was not in the mood. Not for that either. I had an uneasy feeling inside, an icicle in my heart.
    Before we went to bed, I borrowed her telephone directory. I couldn’t find Else Monsen. There was an entry for Siv Monsen at the address Karin had found. I rang the number, but no one answered. I left a message on her answer phone,without saying what my call was about, but she didn’t ring back.
    I let it go at that, but I was impatient to get started. I knew from bitter experience that time was a thief. When you arrived where you wanted to go it was often too late. The following morning I got up with Karin and was in my office before eight o’clock.

7
    THE FIRST THING I DID was to ring Siv Monsen again. This time she answered, out of breath, as though she had been running. ‘Yes, hello. Siv here.’
    ‘My name’s Veum. I tried to get hold of you last night, but …’
    ‘Yes, I got the message, but it was too late to ring back. What’s this about?’
    ‘Your sister, Margrethe.’
    Silence for a few seconds. ‘Yes? Is there anything the matter?’
    ‘I hope not. You haven’t heard from her?’
    ‘… not for a few days, no. What … What was your name, did you say?’
    ‘Veum. I’m a private investigator.’
    ‘Private …’
    ‘Could she be at your mother’s?’
    ‘My mother’s? I doubt that.’
    ‘Hasn’t she got a telephone?’
    ‘Who? Margrethe?’
    ‘Your mother.’
    ‘No. We’ve … She’s never had one. Listen, I’m on my way to work, and I’ve got a bus to catch.’
    ‘Could we meet?’
    ‘Meet? I’m going to work. I’ve just told you.’
    ‘Where do you work?’
    She mentioned the name of the same insurance companyin Fyllingsdalen I did assignments for now and then.
    ‘Well, I’ll drop by. Perhaps we could have a chat during your lunch break?’
    ‘No, not there, but … There’s a café in the Oasen mall. Right by the market. We can meet at twelve.’
    ‘Great. How will I recognise you?’
    ‘I’m blonde and have a red coat. I can sit with
Bergensavisen
open in front of me.’
    ‘Not the most original idea, that, but fine. I’ll find you. I’ll be the middle-aged man with grizzled hair desperately looking around.’
    ‘I have to get my skates on.’
    She rang off, and I sat with the receiver in my hand for a moment, before putting it down gently as if it were a raw egg.
    So far, so good.
    The next call was to the Vehicle Licensing Agency. Where they were not as accommodating as they had been on the previous occasion. The lady answering the phone was as cheerful as a funeral director on Good Friday. Although I claimed I was ringing about a collision it was impossible for her to give me all the car registrations beginning with SP-523. She invoked the Data Protection Act and recommended I contact the police first. If an accident had been reported and they had received an enquiry, she might view the matter in a different light. I tried to argue but before I was halfway into what I had planned to say she had put the phone down. No funerals at Easter; we appreciate your understanding.
    The third call I made was to an old colleague in social services, who was now in the Norwegian Correctional Services, Per Helge Brubak. At once he sounded a bit more cheerful. ‘Hi there, Varg! To what do I owe the honour?’
    ‘I was wondering if you knew a fellow called Karl Gunnar Monsen.’
    ‘KG, yes.’
    ‘KG?’
    ‘That’s what they call him. In his community.’
    ‘And he’s in prison?’
    ‘For the time being, yes.’
    ‘What’s he