Ordeal (William Wisting Series) Read online

  ‘Urban rather than natural settings are the stamping grounds of Jorn Lier Horst, whose Dregs (his first book to be published in English) is immensely impressive. The writer’s career as a police chief has supplied a key ingredient for the crime fiction form: credibility.’

  Barry Forshaw, author of Nordic Noir

  ‘Jorn Lier Horst is a phenomenal new voice in Nordic Noir. His handling of landscape and location matches that of Henning Mankell. The narrative concern with digital technology is on a par with Stieg Larsson. What makes Lier Horst distinctive is his haunting ability to find the feasible in the psychopathic.’

  Steven Peacock, Swedish Crime Fiction:

  Novel, Film, Television

  Praise for The Caveman

  ‘Superbly constructed, The Caveman is a novel that should see Jorn Lier Horst placed firmly in the finest class of Scandinavian Noir. Horst’s beautifully paced and compelling narrative ensnares the reader as it unveils the darkest side of human nature. Wisting and Line are both believable and complex characters. That combined with the superb backdrop of winter in Norway makes this dark tale a ‘must read’.’

  Caro Ramsey, author of the Anderson and Costello series

  ‘The Caveman is not just an intriguing, fast-paced thriller, but a thoughtful meditation on loneliness, and a moving testament to the value of each and every human life.’

  Nicola Upson, author of the Josephine Tey series

  Praise for The Hunting Dogs

  ‘Yet again the novelist convinces with a satisfying, credible police procedural. This time, William Wisting faces a major life crisis: he is himself investigated, and forced to examine his police career in a new light. His journalist daughter Line plays an important role in the book, turning the novel into both a depiction of the father-daughter relationship and a portrayal of the relationship between the police and the media.’

  The judges of the Riverton Prize Golden Revolver,

  won by Jorn Lier Horst for The Hunting Dogs

  ‘An immaculately plotted, beautifully structured novel, complex and full of tension, both in terms of the action and the personal complications.’

  Bob Cornwell in Crimetime

  ‘There’s a gritty atmosphere and a good sense of pace, while Wisting and his daughter make for excellent and companionable protagonists.’

  Russell MacLean in The Herald

  Praise for Closed for Winter

  ‘Painstaking and swift, Closed for Winter is a piece of quality craftsmanship, with Horst meticulously bringing together an unexpectedly windy plot, highly intelligent characterizations and a delectably subtle ‘noir’ mood to create a very engrossing crime novel.’

  Edinburgh Book Review

  ‘On the evidence of Closed for Winter, which is the seventh book in the series but only the second to be translated into English, it would appear that we are about to be treated to another classic series.’

  Bay Magazine

  Praise for Dregs

  ‘Jorn Lier Horst has, right from his debut in 2004, set a sensationally good pace in his crime novels, and has today gained entry into the circle of our very best writers in that genre.’

  Terje Stemland, AftenPosten, Norway

  ‘Just as good are the descriptions of the characters in Jorn Lier Horst’s book. They are nuanced and interesting, absolutely human. Many have known it for a long time, but now it ought to be acknowledged as a truth for all readers of crime fiction: William Wisting is one of the great investigators in Norwegian crime novels.’

  Norwegian Book Club (Book of the Month, Crime and Thrillers)

  Jorn Lier Horst was born in 1970, in Bamble, Telemark, Norway. Between 1995 and 2013, when he turned to full time writing, he worked as a policeman in Larvik, eventually becoming head of investigations there. His William Wisting series of crime novels has sold more than 500,000 copies in Scandinavia, UK, Germany, Netherlands and Thailand. Dregs, sixth in the series, was published in English by Sandstone Press in 2011, and Closed for Winter, winner of Norway’s Booksellers’ Prize, in 2012. Closed for Winter was also shortlisted for the prestigious Riverton Prize or Golden Revolver, for best Norwegian crime novel of the year. The Hunting Dogs won both the Golden Revolver and Glass Key, which widened the scope to best crime fiction in all the Nordic countries, in 2013, and the Martin Beck Award – from the Swedish Crime Writers’ Aademy – in 2014. Closed for Winter (2013), The Hunting Dogs (2014) and The Caveman (2015) were all shortlisted for the illustrious Petrona Award in the UK.

  Anne Bruce, who lives on the Isle of Arran in Scotland, formerly worked in education and has a longstanding love of Scandinavia and Norway in particular. Having studied Norwegian and English at Glasgow University, she is the translator of Jorn Lier Horst’s Dregs, Closed for Winter, The Hunting Dogs and The Caveman, and also Anne Holt’s Blessed are Those who Thirst (2012), Death of the Demon (2013), The Lion’s Mouth (2014) and Dead Joker (2015), in addition to Merethe Lindstrøm’s Nordic Prize winning Days in the History of Silence (2013).

  Also published by Sandstone Press

  Dregs

  Closed for Winter

  The Hunting Dogs

  The Caveman

  First published in Great Britain

  and the United States of America

  Sandstone Press Ltd

  Dochcarty Road

  Dingwall

  Ross-shire

  IV15 9UG

  Scotland.

  www.sandstonepress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced,

  stored or transmitted in any form without the express

  written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © Gyldendal Norsk Forlag AS 2015

  [All rights reserved.]

  Translation © Anne Bruce 2016

  Published in English in 2016 by Sandstone Press Ltd

  English language editor: Robert Davidson

  The moral right of Jorn Lier Horst to be recognised as the

  author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the

  Copyright, Design and Patent Act, 1988.

  This translation has been published with the financial support of NORLA.

  The publisher acknowledges subsidy from

  Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.

  ISBN: 978-1-910124-74-1

  ISBNe: 978-1-910124-75-8

  Cover by Freight Design, Glasgow

  Ebook by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore

  Contents

  Title Page

  William Wisting

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  WILLIAM WISTING

  William Wisting is a career policeman who has risen through the ranks to become Chief Inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department of Larvik Police, just like his creator, author Jorn Lier Horst. Ordeal is the tenth title in the series, the fifth to be published in English, and finds him aged fifty-five, the widowed father of grown up twins, Thomas and Line. Wisting’s wife, Ingrid, went to Africa to work on a NORAD project but was killed there at the end of The Only One, the fourth title in the series.

  Thomas as a helicopter pilot in the military at the time of Ordeal. Daughter Line is an investigative journalist whose career has frequently intersected with that of her father. Wisting, initially apprehensive, has come to value how she is able to operate in ways that he cannot, often turning up unexpected clues and insights. In Ordeal, she has given up her job in Oslo and returned to live in her home town, and this time she is embroiled in the enquiry in a different way, through her friendship with an old school friend, Sofie Lund.

  After Ingrid’s death, Wisting became involved with another woman, Suzanne Bjerke, but their relationship foundered in the course of The Hunting Dogs and Wisting is now unattached and living alone. Suzanne features again in Ordeal in her role as proprietor of the local café/bar, The Golden Peace.

  Crucial to the series are Wisting’s colleagues in the police. One of the themes of the novels is the tension between police personnel facing the pressures of investigating crime, and management whose priorities are balancing budgets and meeting targets. This comes to the fore again in Ordeal, when the new Chief of Police, Ivan Sundt, crosses swords with Wisting.

  Wisting has more positive relationships with certain trusted colleagues: old school Nils Hammer, whose background in the Drugs Squad has made him cynical, the younger Torunn Borg whom Wisting has come to rely on thanks to her wholly professional approach and outlook, and Espen Mortensen, the crime scene examiner who is usually first on the scene. Christine Thiis, more recently appointed as Assistant Chief of Police and police prosecutor, has established herself and consolidated her position as a trusted colleague.

  The setting is Vestfold county on the south-west coast of Norway, an area popular with holidaymakers, where rolling landscapes and attractive beaches make an unlikely setting for crime. The principal town, Larvik, where Wisting is based, is located 105 km (65 miles) southwest of Oslo. The wider Larvik district has 41,000 inhabitants, 23,000 of whom live in the town itself, and covers 530 square km. Larvik is noted for its natural springs, but its modern economy relies heavily on agriculture, commerce and services, light industry and transportation, as well as tourism. There is a ferry service from Larvik to Hirsthals in Denmark.

  At the beginning of Ordeal, Wisting is struggling to come to terms with Line’s new situation and proximity, as well as confronting public and press criticism of his lack of progress with a missing person case that has remained unsolved for more than six months. Just as the enquiry is to be shelved, a lead turns up that uncovers links with organised crime. The ensuing twists and turns overlap with a murder case in a neighbouring jurisdiction and Wisting is forced to challenge not only his superiors but also his colleagues in Kristiansand.

  Jorn Lier Horst’s own deep experience of police procedures and processes brings a strong sense of the novels in the William Wisting series being firmly grounded in reality.

  Jorn Lier Horst worked as a policeman in Larvik between 1995 and 2013 when he turned to full time writing.

  Further information on Jorn Lier Horst and the earlier books is available in English at http://eng.gyldendal.no/Gyldendal/Authors/Horst-Joern-Lier

  1

  Twice she drove past the imposing white house and, on the third lap, stopped in the street outside.

  The stately villa with its half-hip roof was located behind a white picket fence and a privet hedge fringed by ancient trees with sprawling branches. Lattice windows revealed nothing but interior darkness. Larger than she remembered, it was really far too big for her. Nineteen years had passed since she promised herself never to return. Now she was about to move in.

  She lifted an envelope from the passenger seat and shook out the key, tagged with a small plastic fob on which the lawyer had written her grandfather’s name on one side and the address on the other: Frank Mandt. Johan Ohlsens gate, Stavern.

  He had held this same key, walked about with it in his pocket, fiddled with it, clenched his fist round it. She did not like to think of him as grandfather, and didn’t use that word. Instead, she thought of him as the Old Man, which was how she remembered him, although he couldn’t have been more than fifty back then: strong and well built with dark deep-set eyes, thick grey hair and a small white moustache.

  One of the last times she had seen him was during a seventeenth of May celebration, Norway’s National Day. She had passed the house in the children’s procession, and the Old Man had stood on the glass verandah with his hands on his back, scowling through tight lips. She waved, but he had turned his back and gone inside.

  Letting the key fall, she peered over at the house again, radiating coldness even on a hot July day like this. Snuffling noises from the child seat made her swivel round. “Are you awake, little Maja?” she said, smiling. “We’re here now.”

  The girl gurgled and smiled, blinking all the while. Fortunately, she didn’t resemble her father. She had her own dark eyes and hair. “And my dimples,” she said, tickling her daughter’s chin. They would manage. In the past, it had been her and her mother. Now it would be her and her daughter.

  She put the car in gear and drove to the rear of the house. Stopping in front of the garage she picked up the key again, clambered out of the car and took Maja from the back seat.

  The entrance had a distinguished appearance, with pillars and ornamentation in the style of a century ago. The key turned easily in the lock. Inside, everything smelled clean and fresh and not stuffy as she had feared.

  The lawyer had done as she had asked. All the furniture, household effects and personal belongings had been removed; everything that might remind her of the past. She entered the kitchen and moved on to the living room, where sunlight spilled across the floor and her footsteps reverberated off the bare walls. We could be comfortable here, she thought, gazing at the little park across the street. This enormous house could offer an excellent new start.

  The wide staircase to the first floor creaked. She eased Maja to her other hip and entered what had been her mother’s room, lingering without really feeling any emotion before glancing at her watch. Quarter to ten. The removal van would arrive soon. She hurriedly checked the other rooms and dashed downstairs to inspect the rest of the house.

  Hesitating for a moment she opened the basement door, switched on the light and took a few steps down the well-worn treads. It was down here that they had found him one day in January. He must have fallen from about where she was now standing. On the grey cement floor below she could sense rather than see a darker stain on the pale surface. They reckoned he had lain for three days before one of his friends had discovered him.

  She was the only surviving relative, but had not attended the funeral or helped with preparations. At that time she had not realised she was the only heir to a million-kroner villa and the money deposited in his bank account. When she learned, her first thought was that she did not want any of it, it was so dirty. She would prefer to hav
e nothing to do with it, but then it struck her: Why not? It would be crazy to turn it down.

  She carried Maja further down into the basement, aware that the air down here was more oppressive than elsewhere in the house: a stale smell, like old fruit or flowers kept too long in a vase. One of the below-stairs rooms was fitted out as a bathroom and sauna, another kitted out as a home gymnasium. One side was lined with wall bars.

  In the innermost room she found the safe. The lawyer had informed her that it had been left behind because it was not only large and heavy, but apparently also bolted to the floor. The cleaners had hoped to find the key, but it was missing. She had full confidence in them, since they had handed over almost thirty thousand kroner they had found tucked inside an envelope in a kitchen cupboard. Perhaps they had found more money lying about, but she felt sure they had not found and used the safe key.

  The safe stood alone in the middle of the room, taking up a great deal of space and making it difficult to furnish if that proved necessary at some point. She shivered as she ran her fingers over the cold steel. Irritated that the key was missing, she hunkered down and pushed aside the small metal plate suspended over the keyhole, trying to peep inside.

  A horn tooted outside and she looked at her watch again: ten o’clock. The removal firm was bang on time. Outside, she opened the boot of her car, lifted out a box containing the doorplate she had ordered at home in Oslo, and hung it on a nail beside the front door.

  Sofie and Maja Lund.

  As the removal men reversed into position, a woman in the house next door peered out from behind checked kitchen curtains. Sofie waved to her but she did not wave back.

  2

  William Wisting stood in his bedroom doorway watching the woman who lay in his bed. Narrow bands of light flooded through the venetian blinds and across her face, but did not disturb her deep sleep.