Cnut - Tontine Trauma

By Tony Nash/Stig Larssen and Stig Larssen

The death is an odd one, even in Cnut's jaded murder book: Jacob Jacobsen, totally against character, apparently gets out of bed in the early hours of a bitterly cold morning, and drives down to his fish farm, in order to wind up dead – tangled in one of the nets, with his head gashed open.

It seems to be a one-off murder, but then, when Jacob's brother Harald goes missing, Cnut finds out that it is open-season on the whole Jacobsen family – due to the crazy inclination of old man Jacob, the father of the extended family, who has, in his will, determined that the family businesses shall be subject to the same type of dispersal as in a business-style tontine – the last-man-standing-gets-it-all arrangement –  an arrangement that, in Cnut's estimation, is an open demand for the brothers, sisters, and nephews to kill each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TONY NASH
• Release date: Apr 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393842200

Tony Nash/Stig Larssen

Tony Nash is the author of over thirty detective, historical and war novels, who began his career as a navigator in the Royal Air Force, later re-training at Bletchley Park to become an electronic spy, intercepting Russian and East German agent transmissions, during which time he studied many languages and achieved a BA Honours Degree from London University. Diverse occupations followed: Head of Modern Languages in a large comprehensive school, ocean yacht skipper, deep sea fisher, fly tyer, antique dealer, bespoke furniture maker, restorer and French polisher, professional deer stalker and creative writer.

Book preview

Other works by this author:

THE TONY DYCE/NORFOLK THRILLERS:

Murder by Proxy

Murder on the Back Burner

Murder on the Chess Board

Murder on the High ‘C’

Murder on Tiptoes

Bled and Breakfast

THE JOHN HUNTER/MET COP THRILLERS:

Carve Up

Single to Infinity

The Most Unkindest Cut

The Iago Factor

Blockbuster

Bloodlines

Beyond Another Curtain

HISTORICAL/WWI NOVELS:

A Most Capricious Whim

A Handful of Salt

A Handful of Courage

WWII EPIC:

No Tears For Tomorrow

THE HARRY PAGE THRILLERS:

Tripled Exposure

Unseemly Exposure

So Dark, The Spiral

THE NORWEGIAN SERIES:

CNUT – The Isiaih Prophesies

CNUT – Paid in Spades

CNUT – The Sin Debt

CNUT – They Tumble Headlong

CNUT – Night Prowler

CNUT – Past Present

CNUT – Cry Wolf

CNUT -  Mind Games

CNUT -  When The Pie Was Opened

CNUT -  The Man Who Did It Doggy Fashion

CNUT -  Nemesis

CNUT -  Cut And Come Again

CNUT -  Deadly Premise

CNUT -  The Bottom Of The Pot

CNUT -  The Man From Next Week

LOOT – (A Viking tale)

OTHER NOVELS:

The Last Laugh

The Sinister Side of the Moon

Hell and High Water

The Thursday Syndrome

ESPIONAGE: ‘Y’ OH ‘Y’

"Truth will come to light;

Murder cannot be hid long."

Shakespeare. The Merchant of Venice

––––––––

CHAPTER ONE

The first notes of Beethoven’s Fifth sounded like the knell of doom to Cnut, and he could not help his reaction, ‘Oh, faen! Not again.’

His bitter exclamation betrayed disappointment, frustration, and acceptance, in equal parts.

Nick, the black Labrador they had adopted after its mistress had been murdered, looked up at his master and nuzzled his hand, his eyes showing his understanding that their happy day had taken a bad turn.

Ilse put the picnic basket on the ground and commiserated, ‘I know, but answer it anyway. It might be nothing important.’

Someone up there must hate us.

‘Huh! You think? We both know better. It’s Viv.’

The mention of the pathologist’s name said it all.

Cnut pressed the green switch on his cell phone.

‘Please tell me you’ve rung to wish me a happy birthday, Viv.’

‘I wish. Look, this might not be what it looks like, and if that’s so, you could enjoy at least half of your day off.’

‘You don’t believe that, or you wouldn’t have rung.’

‘If it makes you feel better, it has to do with fish. I know you love fishing.’

You can hook and reel me in any time you like.

‘Okay, I know you’re trying to let me down lightly, but go on.’

‘I have a body tangled up in a net on a fish farm, and though it looks like an accidental death, there are indications that it may not be.’

He sighed, ‘Give me the location.’

‘Ulv Island. I have a boat standing by for you on the quay at Ravnåsen. The skipper is Alvor Henessen.’

‘My God, that is so thoughtful of you, Viv.’

Sarcasm dripped from every word.

Viv ignored it. ‘See you soon then.’

Shaking his head in disgust as he looked at the rods in his car, he sighed again and growled, ‘Now I know what a dog feels like when it’s been kicked in the bollocks by its master! I’m tempted to throw these away – they’re jinxed.’

He slammed the boot lid down and added, ‘What idiotic moron thought of calling an island after a wolf, anyway?’

He looked so much like a little boy lost that Ilse had difficulty keeping her expression neutral. His last three extended fishing expeditions to Finnmark had been cancelled, and he’d been hoping for just a couple of hours at the lakeside on his birthday – his first day off for almost a month.

Her love for him knew no bounds, and she felt so deeply his despair at yet another lost opportunity to relax from his demanding job.

He noticed, and his expression changed to one of chagrined helplessness.

‘All right. I know I’m overreacting. The unexpected callouts are why we get the big bucks – or should, if the world was run correctly.’

‘It sounds like a one-off, and it might not be a suspicious death in any case.’

Resigned, he said, ‘Well, hop in. Let’s go and have a look.’

It took them over half an hour to reach Ravnåsen, and the wind, light when they had got out of bed that morning, was gusting to force five when they climbed on board the fishing boat.

They shook hands with the skipper and his mate, a man Cnut recognised, surprised to see him as a boat hand. He winked at Cnut as their hands met, and Cnut read his mind.

Please don’t say anything. I need this job.

He had been instrumental in having Bim Bæmer sent down for eight years for counterfeiting.

Alvor waved his hand at the sea, ‘Hope you’re good sailors. She’s a bit bouncy out there, and will get more so. We’re in for quite a blow, if the forecasters have it right. At least, it’s a short trip.’

Cnut shrugged, ‘We’re both good sailors.’

‘Okay, let’s go then, Bim...’ He nodded towards the rope holding them to the quay.

The first couple of minutes were not too bad, shielded as they were by the high ground on the shore, but they were soon being thrown around like rag dolls, and had to hold on tightly to the rails.

Luckily, the island of Ulv was only a couple of kilometres offshore, and they were soon tied up at a quay that was on the sheltered side of the small, rocky island.

Viv, a sou-wester covering her ample curves, was waiting for them, accompanied by a tall blond man, dressed similarly.

They thanked the skipper, and jumped onto the quay.

Cnut asked, ‘Where’s the body?’

Viv pointed out to sea, ‘I’ve left it in situ, because I wanted you to see it like that. It’s in the net that surrounds one of those fish cages. This is Per Pederssen. He is the manager here, and he found the body.’

Cnut shook hands with him and asked, ‘Did you recognise the dead man?’

Pederssen looked as if he couldn’t believe the question, and blurted, ‘Of course I did. It’s my boss, Jacob Jacobsen.’

‘Do you know his age?’

‘Fifty-five.’

‘Next of kin?’

‘His wife, Silje.’

‘Does she know about his demise?’

‘Yes. I phoned her.’

‘Didn’t she want to come out here?’

‘Yes, but I talked her out of it. She saw reason.’

‘Address?’

‘He has an apartment in town, which he uses now and again, but he lives with his family in a kind of mansion in Klemetsrud, about four kilometres over that way. You would probably be able to see the house from here, if it were not for the surrounding trees.’

‘Are there any children?

Pederssen nodded, ‘Three – a son and two daughters, all in their twenties.’

‘Thank you for all that.’

Cnut turned to look at the area Viv had indicated.

He could see the narrow walkway that ran between the cages. Waves were breaking over it.

‘Have we got to walk out there on that?’

‘Yes, sorry. It was quite smooth earlier.’

‘Well, it isn’t now. Is it safe?’

Pederssen nodded, ‘Quite safe with this wind speed. I’ve been out there in a force eight, not that I would recommend that to anyone not used to it.’

‘Have you got any more waterproof clothing?’

Henessen, from the deck of his boat, had been listening, and offered, ‘I have plenty. I’ll pass it up to you.’

Cnut thanked him, and added, ‘Just one set. Ilse can stay here.’

It went against protocol, which required the profiler to be one of the first to view a scene of crime, but it made sense in this case, where a photograph would be sufficient.

She did not voice any objection. Traversing that bouncing walkway for around two hundred metres, getting drenched with soaking spray, was an experience she was more than happy to miss.

Cnut knew that the wind speed could only increase, and once he had shrugged on the plastic-coated trousers and jacket, suggested, ‘Let’s go.’

Following the manager and Viv along the walkway, he found that Pederssen was right - it was easy to ride the boards once he picked up the rhythm. It was similar to being in a small boat, and he had spent hundreds of hours on one, out fishing with his best friend Bjørn Hagerson – something he had never once done after his wife, Astrid, and Bjørn had been hijacked and disappeared at sea, murdered by a terrorist.

They reached the marker on the rail, and stopped.

Viv said, ‘There’s no blood on the walkway. I guess waves have washed it clean.’

She looked down, and Cnut followed her gaze.

He could clearly see a man’s body, caught up by a hand and a leg in the wide-mesh net, no more than two metres down in the crystal clear water, and below it dozens of large fish that he thought were salmon, but did not immediately register the wide cut across the head of the corpse, washed clean of blood, as the body swayed in the current.

That took slightly longer to register, but when it did, he turned to Viv and said, ‘I see what you mean. This was no accident.’

He shoved his hand inside the waterproof coat, pulled his cell phone out of his inside pocket, took around a dozen pictures, and replaced the phone.

He asked Pederssen, ‘How are we going to get him out?’

The manager shrugged, ‘That’s no problem, if you want to use my guys.’

Cnut looked at Viv, his eyebrows raised.

She shrugged too, ‘Suits me. I can’t see Max and Alex getting him out.’

Pederssen pulled out a walkie-talkie and said, ‘As soon as you like, lads.’

When he’d switched it off, he told them, ‘I’ve briefed them already. They should be here in five.’

As he spoke, they heard the sound of an outboard motor, and just a few seconds later, saw the dinghy come round the point of the island, heading directly for them.

Two men in scuba diving gear sat in it, one at the helm.

It pulled in where the corner of the net was, about twenty metres in front of them, and the two men clambered out, after securing the dinghy, and approached them.

Cnut heard a noise in the air. He looked up and swore.

‘Fuck! Where did that come from, and who the hell is using it? Is it one of yours?’

A drone was hovering about seventy metres above them.

Pederssen shook his head, ‘We have a couple that we use sometimes for security checks, but that is not one of ours. We’ve seen others from time to time, particularly when the farm was being built, and when protests are being made, but not lately.’

Cnut fumed, ‘This is one time I wish I had a gun in my hand.’

‘I’m with you there.’ Pederssen waved a hand at the two newcomers, ‘Jan and Stein. Tell them how you want it handled.’

Viv said, ‘As carefully as you can, please.’

Both men nodded before jumping backwards into the water.

They watched as first the leg of the corpse was released, and then the hand.

Only seconds later, the body was lying on the walkway, and they could see the head wound clearly.

The corpse was wearing socks, but no shoes, a pair of lovatt slacks, and a colourful, heavily patterned, Norwegian roll-neck pullover, under which there was a dark blue shirt.

The skull appeared to have been struck by a long flat blade, leaving a large, open area, with brain matter clearly visible.

The two men climbed out of the water a couple of metres further along, waiting for further instructions.

Viv had quickly gone through the dead man’s pockets, and found a set of keys, a handkerchief, a wallet that contained only two credit cards, and a mobile phone, all of which she dropped into the plastic evidence bag held by Cnut.

To the two men, she said, ‘Carry the body carefully to your dinghy, and place it in as near to a lying position as possible, then drive across to where you see the "Hvit Måke" over there. Wait until I arrive, and then transfer the body to that boat, placing it where I tell you.’

And try not to add any other injuries to it.

Both men nodded, picked up the body, and precariously carried it along the walkway, being thrown about badly by the waves and wind, which had increased to at least force six, unable to use the handrails to steady themselves.

The drone flew off towards the shore, and disappeared beyond the trees that lined it.

After a bit of a struggle, the men had the body in the dinghy, and got underway.

Cnut had checked the phone, hoping it was waterproof, but it was dead.

Pederssen led the way back, all of them relieved when they reached the point where the land gave some protection from the wind.

Under Viv’s direction, the body was loaded onto the "White Seagull", and Cnut was able to ask Pederssen some questions.

‘At what time did you notice the body?’

‘It was a few minutes before six. I arrived at my usual time – quarter to six, and was surprised to see the old man’s car in the car park. He has never come down here that early. He only visits about once a week, and always has the decency to phone in advance, to tell me he is coming, and it has always been in mid-morning, after we have been at work for at least a couple of hours, when any snags have been sorted out.

I expected to find him in the packing plant, but he wasn’t there, or anywhere else onshore. Then I noticed one of the work dinghies missing. I looked through the binos, and saw it tied up on the island wharf, so took one of the others and came over to see what he was up to.

I was a bit miffed, thinking he was checking up on me.

Anyway, again I couldn’t find him. I don’t know what made me walk out by the nets. I guess because it’s what I usually do, and I almost missed seeing him altogether. In fact, I walked past where he was, and it was only when I was coming back from the far end that my eye caught something strange in the water, and I looked down, thinking it was another occasion where there was a wounded fish, swimming awkwardly, and saw him.’

‘How many men work here?’

‘Just seven, two of whom work out here, the rest in the packing shed. We have most of the work, like feeding, completely automated.’

‘What fish do you farm – just salmon?’

Pederssen chuckled, ‘Good God, no. We progressed from that around ten years ago. Now it’s almost a case of you name it, we farm it. We still farm a lot of salmon, of course, and they make up around seventy percent of our product, but we also do Atlantic halibut, turbot, rainbow and sea trout, Arctic char, Atlantic cod, spotted wolf fish, sea bream and sea bass, – all the more expensive species. Last year we also went into blue mussel and oyster production. It’s good for the planet.’

Cnut had distinctly different ideas, knowing about the escape of salmon that had led to interbreeding with the native, Atlantic salmon that ran up the rivers, and the resulting weakening of the strain, and the spread of disease, but he refrained from commenting.

‘Looking at that head wound, can you suggest anything that you use on a fish farm that could cause it?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. The only thing I can suggest is one of our fish food scoops. They are metal, and tend to get very sharp edges after a bit of use. One of them would be a lethal weapon.’

‘Where are they kept?’

‘Hanging on a post, close to where we leave the dinghies, on both sides of the water.’

‘Can you show me?’

‘Sure, we’ll have to take that path though, and you’ll either have to walk back here, to rejoin your team, or I can take you to the wharf at Ravnåsen on a buggy, and you can meet them there.’

‘I think it would be best if the boat went off now, before the wind reaches gale force. I’ll let you take me on the buggy.’ He turned to Ilse and Viv, ‘Is that okay with you? Ilse can wait for me on the quayside, and you can load your body up and head back to town, Viv.’

They both nodded.

Pederssen led the way along a path that went over the high ground in the centre of the island, and towards a small jetty that stuck out into the water, with the mainland its backdrop, just a couple of hundred metres away.

A post near the jetty had several hooks near its top, and various tools hung from it.

Pederssen checked them, looking worried.

‘One of the scoops is missing.’

Cnut shrugged, ‘It seems that your theory could be right. You didn’t notice it was missing when you arrived this morning?’

‘I didn’t even look at the tools. They’ve become just a part of the scenery.’

‘Did you like your boss?’

‘Yes, I did – we all did. He was great – gave me a free rein, and never interfered with the work.’

‘He trusted you?’

‘Completely. He checked the productivity figures regularly, as we expected him to, and since the figures have always been satisfactory, he has never had to make a complaint or interfere in any way at all with the running of the business. He leaves it all to me. The bonuses are better than most that I know of in the industry.’

He frowned, and Cnut asked, ‘Problem?’

‘I suddenly wondered if things will continue to run smoothly, now he’s gone.’

‘Who will take over – his son?’

Pederssen chuckled and shook his head, ‘Rolf? No way. You wouldn’t ask if you knew him. He’s a worthless layabout – nothing like his father at all – claims he’s an artist. Jacob brought him here once, about three years ago, hoping, I believe, to get him interested enough to work here. I took one look, and knew he was on a hiding to nothing. That lad is a born waster. He’s got hair down to his shoulders, and doesn’t bother to shave. He lives in a flat in town, with a couple of other latter-day hippies. In any case, from what I understand, it doesn’t work like that.’

Cnut was puzzled, ‘How do you mean?’

‘The company is subject to the family directive, not to the usual order of descent. It will be a brother or a cousin who takes over its running, and having met one or two of them, I imagine that I could be booted out tomorrow. There are several other fish farm concerns, run by them. It’s a strange set-up, or so I’ve heard.’

‘You mean that Jacob didn’t own this business?’

‘No – it’s not that. To all intents and purposes he owned it, lock, stock, and barrel, for his entire lifetime, but on his death it goes back to the greater family, not to his descendants. It was his old man who owned all the family enterprises, including this one, and he laid down that law.’

‘His father?’

‘Yes, the older Jacob. A seriously wealthy man, and a right old bastard in every way, if the stories are anything to go by.’

‘Coming back to your boss, did he have any enemies that you know of?’

‘Good God, no. He was one of those men that everyone loves: a good boss, a good husband and father, a friend to everyone, including the poor. He gave away more than half of his income to them, and loved his wife and children dearly – too much so, in Rolf’s case.’

‘So there’s no one you can think of who would want to kill him?’

Pederssen laughed mirthlessly, ‘Now hold on - I didn’t say that, did I?’

Cnut was puzzled, ‘Who then?’

‘Why – any one of his brothers and sisters, and a whole mess of his nephews. It’s that bloody old man’s will. Jacob hated it – swore that his father set it up so that he could laugh at them all from Hell, while they ripped each other’s throats out.’

‘You’d better explain.’

‘I don’t know enough about it. You’d do better asking his wife, Silje. She used to be a solicitor. I’ll telephone her, and tell her that you are coming.

‘Thank you. Just one other thing – please do not speak to any reporter – in fact, please don’t tell anyone about the death, until I tell you it is all right to do so, and ask your men not to do so either.’

Pederssen shrugged, ‘That’s okay by me. I don’t want that lot haranguing me.’

CHAPTER TWO

Jacobsen’s house was built into the hillside, its half-hectare grounds levelled and landscaped.

It looked good enough for a movie set, and both Cnut and Ilse felt a touch of envy when he turned into the drive.

It was the kind of property that no policeman, except a seriously corrupt one, could ever afford.

The front door opened as he applied the handbrake, and a very attractive blond woman stood just inside, waiting for them. Her eyes were red, but she seemed well in control of her emotions at that time.

She held her hand out as they approached, and Ilse shook it first, followed by Cnut.

‘You are Sheriff Cnut, I believe, and...?’

‘I’m Ilse Karnweg, Fru Jacobsen, a police profiler, and the Sheriff’s partner.’

‘Life or work?’

‘Both.’

‘Do come in. Can I get you anything to drink or eat?’

‘No,