close relatives and Thomas has become self-sufficient, so if you had been following, Nils, you would have known that I don’t actually have any life insurance with you any more, and the personal accident and sickness insurance I was offered I couldn’t afford.’
‘Well, there you go. If you can’t keep away from the fireworks in Tiger Town then … But that’s not why you’ve come, is it?’
‘No, it’s not.’
Nils Åkre and I had a nice line in patter from way back, and the number of jobs he had pushed in my direction over the years was not so small. Apart from that, we were as different as it was possible to be. He was an ardent family man, a little overweight and had no ambitions in life other than to reach pension age in good enough shape to cash in on all the benefits from the insurance policies he had taken out over the years. I guessed that then he would emigrate to Provence, a class higher than Costa del Sol, to enjoy his retirement there.
‘This is about a colleague of yours. Someone called Siv Monsen.’
He looked at me blankly. ‘I see.’
‘She told me she worked here. As a client adviser.’
‘That may be correct. Have you spoken to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what connection, if I might be so bold.’
‘In total confidence, of course.’
He gave an indulgent smile, and nodded.
‘A family matter. Her sister has gone missing … and perhaps also her brother.’
‘Mm … that sounds dramatic. Why come to me?’
‘Well, I thought you might have something to say.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘What about?’
‘Well … Sometimes you chat to your colleagues, don’t you. Also about private matters.’
‘Varg, Siv Monsen and I are not exactly bosom pals.’ He swivelled his chair towards his computer screen, clicked acouple of times and searched down a list until he came to her name. He nodded, moved the mouse and nodded a second time.
I couldn’t read the text from where I was sitting, but I assumed that some personal details had come up.
‘Employed four years ago. Customer adviser. No other remarks apart from the purely factual.’ He swivelled his chair back towards me. ‘Since I don’t know her in person I’m afraid I can’t help you with any further information, Varg.’
‘Fine … but if anything comes to your ears, you know where to find me.’
He smirked. ‘Outside Lido Café, begging from passers-by?’
We got up. I looked at him. ‘Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want … any more details?’
‘Goodness, no, Varg. I have more than enough to think about with our everyday stuff without worrying about one of our employees’ private relationships.’
‘Well … Give my best regards to the Good Samaritan, if you should bump into him in the lift or wherever.’
‘Same to you. I’ll get in touch whenever we have a case for you. One of our own, that is.’
‘Thank you. Without you all I doubt I would have survived.’
‘To tell the truth I’m not entirely sure if that’s a compliment.’
‘Nor me.’
I strolled down to reception, handed in my visitor’s badge and out to the car. I sat leafing through my notepad before I made a decision. Next stop would have to be Else Monsen in Falsens vei in Minde.
Terra incognita
for a Nordnes boy.
9
MINDE WAS A PART OF TOWN I had never really got to know, for a variety of reasons. It may have been due to a traumatic childhood experience, of course. In November 1954, when we were twelve years old, Pelle and I, in our capacity as the detective bureau Marlowe & Spade tailed Sylvelin – a girl we were both wild about – from Nordnes to Minde, where, under cover of autumn darkness we had seen her being kissed by a tall, gangly boy at least two years older than us, and from then on neither Pelle nor I suggested undertaking any more excursions to Minde or surrounding areas. I never even went to Fanahallen cinema until I was grown up. We could see the films on show at the Eldorado, without having to fork out for an
‘Well, there you go. If you can’t keep away from the fireworks in Tiger Town then … But that’s not why you’ve come, is it?’
‘No, it’s not.’
Nils Åkre and I had a nice line in patter from way back, and the number of jobs he had pushed in my direction over the years was not so small. Apart from that, we were as different as it was possible to be. He was an ardent family man, a little overweight and had no ambitions in life other than to reach pension age in good enough shape to cash in on all the benefits from the insurance policies he had taken out over the years. I guessed that then he would emigrate to Provence, a class higher than Costa del Sol, to enjoy his retirement there.
‘This is about a colleague of yours. Someone called Siv Monsen.’
He looked at me blankly. ‘I see.’
‘She told me she worked here. As a client adviser.’
‘That may be correct. Have you spoken to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘In what connection, if I might be so bold.’
‘In total confidence, of course.’
He gave an indulgent smile, and nodded.
‘A family matter. Her sister has gone missing … and perhaps also her brother.’
‘Mm … that sounds dramatic. Why come to me?’
‘Well, I thought you might have something to say.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘What about?’
‘Well … Sometimes you chat to your colleagues, don’t you. Also about private matters.’
‘Varg, Siv Monsen and I are not exactly bosom pals.’ He swivelled his chair towards his computer screen, clicked acouple of times and searched down a list until he came to her name. He nodded, moved the mouse and nodded a second time.
I couldn’t read the text from where I was sitting, but I assumed that some personal details had come up.
‘Employed four years ago. Customer adviser. No other remarks apart from the purely factual.’ He swivelled his chair back towards me. ‘Since I don’t know her in person I’m afraid I can’t help you with any further information, Varg.’
‘Fine … but if anything comes to your ears, you know where to find me.’
He smirked. ‘Outside Lido Café, begging from passers-by?’
We got up. I looked at him. ‘Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want … any more details?’
‘Goodness, no, Varg. I have more than enough to think about with our everyday stuff without worrying about one of our employees’ private relationships.’
‘Well … Give my best regards to the Good Samaritan, if you should bump into him in the lift or wherever.’
‘Same to you. I’ll get in touch whenever we have a case for you. One of our own, that is.’
‘Thank you. Without you all I doubt I would have survived.’
‘To tell the truth I’m not entirely sure if that’s a compliment.’
‘Nor me.’
I strolled down to reception, handed in my visitor’s badge and out to the car. I sat leafing through my notepad before I made a decision. Next stop would have to be Else Monsen in Falsens vei in Minde.
Terra incognita
for a Nordnes boy.
9
MINDE WAS A PART OF TOWN I had never really got to know, for a variety of reasons. It may have been due to a traumatic childhood experience, of course. In November 1954, when we were twelve years old, Pelle and I, in our capacity as the detective bureau Marlowe & Spade tailed Sylvelin – a girl we were both wild about – from Nordnes to Minde, where, under cover of autumn darkness we had seen her being kissed by a tall, gangly boy at least two years older than us, and from then on neither Pelle nor I suggested undertaking any more excursions to Minde or surrounding areas. I never even went to Fanahallen cinema until I was grown up. We could see the films on show at the Eldorado, without having to fork out for an
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