‘Who signed the death certificate?’ I asked then. ‘A local doctor?’
‘Yes. From Leikanger.’
‘Then get hold of him. Put the fear of God into him. Get him to support your application for postmortem. Tell the police that there was another man with Farnell when he fell.’
‘Have you spoken to this other man?’ Ulvik asked. The police would be much more likely to view with sympathy our application if they-’
The name of the man who was with Farnell was Hans Schreuder, a metallurgist at one time employed by D.N.S.,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen him yet. But he’s alive and he’s been trying to get out of the country. Now get hold of that doctor and go to work on the police. I want an exhumation order signed by the time I reach Fjaerland tomorrow evening.’
‘But Mr Gansert — such a short time — things do not move so fast.’
‘I’m relying on you, Mr Ulvik,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t care how you get the exhumation order or what it costs — but get it. Do you understand?’ I put down the receiver.
‘So you are going to have a look at your precious Farnell, eh?’ Jorgensen said, smiling.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If it’s murder, God help those who were behind it.’ He was still smiling. ‘Maybe we’ll know more about it when Lovaas gets in.’ I turned towards the door. ‘I’m going to get some breakfast now. I’m damned hungry.’
I went out into the sunlight and turned down the cinder track to the factory. I wanted to hurry. But I knew they would be watching me from the office window and I forced myself to walk slowly. Not until I was across the flensing deck and in the shadow of the packing sheds did I look behind me. Nobody was following me. Apparently they didn’t suspect anything.
Curtis emerged from the companionway as I vaulted over the rail.‘Breakfast is ready,’ he said.
To hell with breakfast,’ I answered. ‘Let go the fore and aft warps.’ I pushed past him to the hatch. ‘Carter!’ I called down.
‘Yes sir?’
‘Get the engine started — and quick.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Curtis, without waiting to think out the reason for my order, had jumped on to the quay and tossed the for’ard warp on to the deck. The after warp followed. ‘What’s the idea?’ he asked as he clambered on board again.
‘Lovaas,’ I said. ‘I want to see him before Jorgensen has a chance to get to work on him.’
The engine roared into life. ‘Half ahead,’ I ordered into the speaking tube. The propellers threshed the filthy water under our stern. The quays began to glide by. I put the wheel over. The bowsprit swung out towards the sheltering islands. And then Jorgensen emerged from the packing sheds. He’d tumbled to my plan. But too late. Already there was a gap between us and the quay and as he ran forward, it widened. ‘I’m going to have a word with Lovaas,’ I called to him. ‘On my own.’
He stopped. His face was dark with anger. He said nothing, but turned on his heel and walked back through the packing sheds. At full ahead we glided out between the islands into the milky haze of the North Ocean and headed for Utvaer Fyr. Right ahead of us two small boats were moored. One was an ordinary Norwegian fishing boat. The other attracted my attention because of its strange appearance. It looked as though it had been clumsily converted into a house boat. Two men were standing for’ard of the square deck house and steps led down into the water. As we passed bubbles broke the surface and the round helmet of a diver emerged. ‘What’s down below?’ hailed Dick, who was leaning against the starboard rail.
Back came the reply in English, ‘An aircraft engine.’
‘Does everybody speak English here?’ I asked Dahler, who was in the chartroom where he had remained all the time we had been at Bovaagen Hval.
‘Most of them,’ he replied. ‘Any man who had a boat, you know, got across to England during the war. They even attempted to cross in towing boats.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Some of them reached the Shetlands. Others were less fortunate. And then, of course, so many have served on English or American merchant ships, you know. Only the old men and the farmers speak no English.’ He pulled himself up into the cockpit. ‘So you go to see Lovaas?’ He leaned back and gazed out ahead. ‘I have met him once. He wished to captain one of my coastal boats. I will stay below,’ he added. ‘I do not wish to meet the man.’
‘What’s he like?’ I asked.
‘Lovaas?’ He turned his head and stared at me for a moment. ‘He is an eel.’ His lips spread into a tight, crooked smile. ‘But he does not look like one. Oh, dear me, no. He is a short man with a big stomach. He laughs a lot, but his eyes do not laugh an4 men are afraid of him. He has no wife or family. He lives for himself alone, you know. How much money are you prepared to offer for what Schreuder can tell you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘If Lovaas has the information you and Jorgensen want — then he will ask a great deal.’
‘Perhaps he won’t know the value of the information?’ I suggested.
Dahler laughed. ‘Lovaas always knows the value of things.’
