local history annals under the headline: Double Murder in Angedalen.
There is much that could be said about Førde and most of it has already been said. In many ways it is the centre of the Vestland region, south-west Norway, in reality it is a huge crossroads with a few buildings thrown in for good measure. I passed the bridge over the Jølstra River and bore left towards Sunnfjord Hotel. The rain was hammering down on the car roof and I pulled the hood of my all-weather jacket tightly over my head as I sprinted, bent-over , the few metres to the main entrance.
Grethe Mellingen realised who I was, got up off a chair and came towards me. ‘Varg?’
I nodded and we shook hands.
‘I’m Grethe. Come with me!’
She looked to be two or three years older than me and had sleek, golden yellow hair which hung in damp clumps on either side of her symmetrical face. I immediately noticed her eyes, light blue, as if made of glass. She was dressed in full rain gear, dark green from the sou’ wester to the high wellies. ‘We have no time to lose,’ she added as we charged from the hotel entrance to the car and tore open the doors on both sides.
‘That way,’ she said pointing west, towards the main hospital. ‘Just follow Angedalsvegen and we’ll see the lights when we’re there. We can only go on foot in Trodalen.’
‘Trodalen?’
‘Yes, you may have heard of it?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Trodalen Mads – does that mean anything to you?’
‘An old criminal case, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I can tell you all about it – later.’
‘But the old case has no connection with this one, I suppose?’
‘No, no. Of course not.’
‘Why don’t you tell me – how Johnny boy is?’
‘Jan? You call him Johnny boy, do you?’
‘We used to call him that – ten years ago.’
The road climbed abruptly to Angedalen now, to the long valley that lay like a hollow in the countryside between the municipalities of Naustdal and Jølster. I had never been there before.
‘Well, what should I say? He hasn’t been so easy, but … we thought things were going better now. At any rate, this came as a shock to us all. Like a bolt from the blue.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Now we don’t know yet if it was him who did it …’
‘Don’t we?’
‘Well, it’s like this. His foster parents are called Kari and Klaus Libakk. One of their neighbours called the police. He thought something must have been amiss because he hadn’t seen either Kari or Klaus since Sunday, and the only person who went to the cowshed was Jan Egil. He made up some pretext about wanting to see the Libakks and asked after Klaus, but Jan Egil behaved so strangely, said they were away and didn’t know when they would be back. So this neighbour, Karl on the Hill, as we call him, contacted the local sergeant, who sent up one of his officers. And that was when everything came out.’
‘Mm?’
‘Jan Egil must have seen him coming because after the officer knocked on the door he suddenly saw Jan Egil and Silje racing up the mountainside behind the farm buildings, towards Trodalen.’
‘And Silje, that’s …’
‘Silje Tveiten, she’s from a neighbouring farm. But the worst of it all is …’
‘Yes?’
‘When the officer tried to follow them, Jan Egil fired a shot at him. A rifle shot.’
‘Oh, bloody …’
‘Then he gave up. And when he went back into the farmhouse it was a gruesome sight that met him. At first the place seemed empty, but when he went to the first floor, into the bedroom … Klaus had been shot in the chest while he was still in bed. Kari must have tried to escape, because she was lying on the floor right in front of the window, shot in the back. There was blood everywhere!’
‘But … had no one heard the shooting?’
‘It’s mid deer-hunting season, Varg. There’s shooting at all hours.’
‘And now they reckon it was Jan who shot them?’
‘There was no sign of a break-in, so for the moment they haven’t got
There is much that could be said about Førde and most of it has already been said. In many ways it is the centre of the Vestland region, south-west Norway, in reality it is a huge crossroads with a few buildings thrown in for good measure. I passed the bridge over the Jølstra River and bore left towards Sunnfjord Hotel. The rain was hammering down on the car roof and I pulled the hood of my all-weather jacket tightly over my head as I sprinted, bent-over , the few metres to the main entrance.
Grethe Mellingen realised who I was, got up off a chair and came towards me. ‘Varg?’
I nodded and we shook hands.
‘I’m Grethe. Come with me!’
She looked to be two or three years older than me and had sleek, golden yellow hair which hung in damp clumps on either side of her symmetrical face. I immediately noticed her eyes, light blue, as if made of glass. She was dressed in full rain gear, dark green from the sou’ wester to the high wellies. ‘We have no time to lose,’ she added as we charged from the hotel entrance to the car and tore open the doors on both sides.
‘That way,’ she said pointing west, towards the main hospital. ‘Just follow Angedalsvegen and we’ll see the lights when we’re there. We can only go on foot in Trodalen.’
‘Trodalen?’
‘Yes, you may have heard of it?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘Trodalen Mads – does that mean anything to you?’
‘An old criminal case, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I can tell you all about it – later.’
‘But the old case has no connection with this one, I suppose?’
‘No, no. Of course not.’
‘Why don’t you tell me – how Johnny boy is?’
‘Jan? You call him Johnny boy, do you?’
‘We used to call him that – ten years ago.’
The road climbed abruptly to Angedalen now, to the long valley that lay like a hollow in the countryside between the municipalities of Naustdal and Jølster. I had never been there before.
‘Well, what should I say? He hasn’t been so easy, but … we thought things were going better now. At any rate, this came as a shock to us all. Like a bolt from the blue.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Now we don’t know yet if it was him who did it …’
‘Don’t we?’
‘Well, it’s like this. His foster parents are called Kari and Klaus Libakk. One of their neighbours called the police. He thought something must have been amiss because he hadn’t seen either Kari or Klaus since Sunday, and the only person who went to the cowshed was Jan Egil. He made up some pretext about wanting to see the Libakks and asked after Klaus, but Jan Egil behaved so strangely, said they were away and didn’t know when they would be back. So this neighbour, Karl on the Hill, as we call him, contacted the local sergeant, who sent up one of his officers. And that was when everything came out.’
‘Mm?’
‘Jan Egil must have seen him coming because after the officer knocked on the door he suddenly saw Jan Egil and Silje racing up the mountainside behind the farm buildings, towards Trodalen.’
‘And Silje, that’s …’
‘Silje Tveiten, she’s from a neighbouring farm. But the worst of it all is …’
‘Yes?’
‘When the officer tried to follow them, Jan Egil fired a shot at him. A rifle shot.’
‘Oh, bloody …’
‘Then he gave up. And when he went back into the farmhouse it was a gruesome sight that met him. At first the place seemed empty, but when he went to the first floor, into the bedroom … Klaus had been shot in the chest while he was still in bed. Kari must have tried to escape, because she was lying on the floor right in front of the window, shot in the back. There was blood everywhere!’
‘But … had no one heard the shooting?’
‘It’s mid deer-hunting season, Varg. There’s shooting at all hours.’
‘And now they reckon it was Jan who shot them?’
‘There was no sign of a break-in, so for the moment they haven’t got
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