Cnut - The Sin Debt

By Tony Nash/Stig Larssen

Sheriff Cnut is at a low enough ebb to consider suicide. His wife has disappeared at sea and may be dead; he is at loggerheads with his new boss, Arvadsson, whose criminal past makes them enemies; he is suffering from severe alcoholism and has doubts and guilt about his casual relationship with Ilse Karnweg.

Cases come and go, and he deals with them like an automaton; his experience getting him through each day, but he is merely going through the motions.

When an English crook, who has embezzled millions from the Government, comes to Norway to fish for salmon in Finnmark, the British police ask for permission to send an English detective to arrest him, and Arvadsson seizes the opportunity to get Cnut out of his hair, to accompany the Brit, who turns out to be a woman, and as soon as Cnut has left Oslo, Arvadsson posts Ilse to Stavanger in spite.

Though outraged enough to take retaliatory action that will see Arvadsson having to flee the country, Cnut has unleashed a demon that almost destroys him.

Following the trail of the English criminal puts both him and the English detective in danger. They are successful in tracking him down, but the case ends badly.

Arvadsson does not stop at targeting Cnut - he has Ilse attacked too, which makes Cnut, with malice aforethought, throw aside his lifelong respect for the law, and cross a line that no straight detective should ever cross.

Given the certain knowledge that his wife is dead, Cnut's depression deepens, but gradually he realises that his feelings for Ilse run deeper than he ever imagined, and he suggests a way forward, hoping for a future that could bring both of them back from the brink.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tony Nash/Stig Larssen
• Release date: Oct 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201253080

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.

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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 NOVELS – THE NORFOLK TRILOGY:

A Handful of Destiny

A Handful of Salt

A Handful of Courage (WWI EPIC)

No Tears For Tomorrow  WWII EPIC)

THE HARRY PAGE THRILLERS:

Tripled Exposure

Unseemly Exposure

So Dark, The Spiral

THE NORWEGIAN SERIES – author Stig Larssen:

LOOT

CNUT – Past Present

CNUT – The Isiaih Prophesies

CNUT – Paid in Spades

CNUT – The Sin Debt

CNUT – They Tumble Headlong

CNUT – Night Prowler

CNUT -  Cry Wolf

CNUT -  When The Pie Was Opened

CNUT – The Bottom of the Pot

CNUT -  Mind Games

CNUT -  Nemesis

CNUT -  Cut and Come Again

OTHER NOVELS:

The Devil Deals Death 

The Makepeace Manifesto

Panic

The Last Laugh

The Sinister Side of the Moon

Hell and High Water

Hardrada’s Hoard (with Richard Downing)

‘Y’ OH ‘Y’

The Thursday Syndrome

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Copyright © Tony Nash June 2017

This is a work of pure fiction, and any similarity between any character in it and any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional. Where actual places, buildings and locations are named, they are used fictionally

THE SIN DEBT:

The doctrine of a sin debt that God demands payment for is found everywhere in Christendom.  Paul teaches that it is a debt owed to God that one incurs by sinning -  a stance that echoes closely the Christian doctrines of sacrificial atonement.

We are all sinners. Sin, by definition, is disobedience to the Law of God, therefore every sin is an offense to God and can incur the penalty of death. 

I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, and visit the sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation...

Holy Communion.

PROLOGUE

Erik slid out of bed as silently as a kitten off a cushion, pulled on the three thick layers of clothing he’d laid out in preparation and tiptoed to the front door, carrying his boots.

One pat on the pocket of his coat confirmed that his catapult and three of the almost perfectly round stones he had chosen from the many hundreds on the bank of the elva during the summer drought were where he’d hidden them earlier.

At the end of the hall he pulled on his boots, laced them tightly, lifted down his snowshoes from the peg on the wall and eased the heavy door open just enough for him to squeeze through, moving fast to stop a sudden freezing draught from waking his parents or his older sister.

They would stop him, even though they’d be amused at his intentions.

The old mountain hare he had been stalking for months had its winter coat now – almost all white – the last traces of the summer brown no longer visible except in the fur close to its paws.

Before the deep snow had arrived there was so much easily found food that Grådig Gris – Greedy Pig - the nickname he’d given the hare after watching it gobble up so many bilberry twigs and fruit, had been hard to find from one day to the next, though he spent hours on his hands and knees, crawling through the summer and autumn growth, hoping for a sight of it, and each time he’d discovered it in a new location, the hare had seen or heard him and disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, but once the snow fell, it had been easy to track. It was reduced to obtaining its food from bark and twigs, and the minimal diet had slowed down its reactions and made it less wary.

He’d seen it for the last three days at the same place, in the late morning, and had watched until it finished its meal and left the fallen birch on whose bark it had been feeding to return to its form.

He needed to be in position well before it arrived.

He imagined the scene when he presented it proudly to his mother. She would then cook it for his eighth birthday celebration meal – a welcome change from the boring reindyrsteik and lapskaus that the Sami existed on during the long darkness of winter.

Despite his bodily exertions and the thick layers of clothing, the cold seemed to bite into his flesh as he trudged along, his snowshoes gliding over the frozen surface of the new snow.

He reached the spot he’d selected; the minimal light from the sky, brightened occasionally by the swirling ribbons of light of the Aurora Borealis, giving just enough visibility for his purpose, and he settled down for a long wait, snuggling himself into a tight ball; his fur hat pulled down to eye level, its flaps over his ears, and his long woollen scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth.

He had no way of judging time, but he’d been in position for over five hours, his body shaking with the cold that had penetrated to his bones, his head nodding as he tried to fight off a sleep he knew he would not waken from, his eyes flickering, when he caught a tiny movement far ahead. He came wide awake instantly.

The hare was creeping warily towards the tree it intended feeding on, one paw at a time, moving directly towards him.

He held himself stock still, taking tiny breaths, so that the steam from his exhalations were less visible in the crisp air.

The hare stopped, its ears pricked up and swivelling, at the alert, unsure of its safety, and stayed that way for several minutes. Then, apparently satisfied that the danger it had suspected was imaginary, it continued creeping forward. He dare not move to take off a glove and pull the weapon and a stone from his pocket.

He had to wait until the animal had its back to him, and even then he would need to be ultra careful - he knew that hares could see partly what is behind them.

Another ten minutes passed, with the hare stopping every few yards to sniff the air, and then at last it moved quickly, starving and eager for the sparse comfort it would get from the bark of the fallen birch, turning away from him for the first time, to begin eating. It was almost twenty metres away.

With tiny movements, his heart beating so loudly that he was afraid the hare would hear it, he removed his right glove and slid the hand into his pocket, slowly bringing out the catapult and one of the stones.

He knew he would have only one chance.

With sheer willpower he stilled his shaking hands and drew back hard until the rubber was at full stretch, then let fly.

The stone caught the hare in the centre of its neck, breaking the spinal cord, and it screamed and continued screaming, still fully alive but unable to get to its feet, its legs scrabbling wildly.

He leapt up from the depression, leaving his snowshoes behind, wallowing as his boots penetrated the frozen top layer of the snow, making him stagger and in danger of falling, but his determination kept him on his feet, and when he came within two metres of the thrashing hare he threw himself on it, worried that it might still get away, its sharp claws digging into his left cheek and tearing into his hands, but he held on doggedly and somehow managed to grab all four paws and hold them tightly until all movement finally stopped.

Bloodied, he staggered to his feet and held his prize up to look at it.

It weighed less than he expected; its fur had made it appear much larger than it actually was, but he was euphoric. It was the best moment of his young life – his first solo kill. He knew that his father would be so proud of him that he would forgive the dire risk he’d taken going out alone, and imagined the look on his face.

He drew the knife from his belt and gutted the hare, leaving the entrails on the snow, knowing that either a White Tailed or a Golden Eagle would pick up the scent from miles away and be eating them within the hour, and then he set off towards home.

He was less than halfway when he heard the rattle of gunfire from automatic weapons – weapons unlike the shotguns and hunting rifles that his father and the other men of the village had hidden away – weapons only the hated German soldiers had - interspersed with a few heavier explosions from shotguns, and though he had been travelling as fast as he could he tried to move even faster.

He heard screams and more shots, and as he came closer to the tiny village he saw his own house suddenly erupt in flames, with more screams coming from inside.

He approached with caution, keeping to the trees and crouching down when he reached the edge of them, barely forty metres from his house.

The flames lit up the sky, and he saw clearly the German soldiers, and their evil, grinning officer, as he shot a kneeling figure.

The boy wanted to scream as he saw his father’s body fall face down onto the snow, wanted to pull out his catapult and loose a stone into that officer’s face – a face that would be imprinted on his memory forever.

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CHAPTER I

Gerard Stone, accompanied by his small entourage, strolled slowly across to baggage retrieval as the luggage began to drop onto the carousel from the clanking, obsolete, second-hand traction system that had been installed in place of the brand new equipment that his department had paid for, a deal that had added over a hundred thousand pounds to his personal fortune. His lightweight clothes were sticking to his body after the long walk across the tarmac from where the pilot had parked the ancient 747 under the blazing African sun – the temperature well over a hundred Fahrenheit.

The concourse, without air conditioning – something even his open-handed minister had baulked at, despite his eager entreaties - seemed to have accumulated and stored the heat, and with everyone sweating copiously, including the customs and immigration officers, the humidity was almost maximum, and the air stank.

Julia Lines, Stone’s diminutive brunette PA and bed partner on his African jaunts, trotted alongside him, finding it difficult to keep up with his long strides.

‘That machine is making hard work of it, Gerard. For three million I’d have expected something a little more up-market.’

He hid a sigh.

Why can’t the stupid bitch keep her trap shut and just play the little woman?

‘It’s the heat, Julia. Buggers everything up in short order - even me.’

She giggled, thinking of the pleasures to come, ‘I don’t think you’re that buggered up. A couple of ice-cold gin and tonics and you’ll be raring to go, I know.’

At least, I hope you will be. I didn’t pack my vibrator and it’s been weeks.

They invariably wound up in bed within an hour of reaching the hotel – he was a sensual, demanding animal.

With his libido, she could not understand why he never wanted her in England and kept her at arm’s length, insisting that she never use his Christian name or show any familiarity. The problem was that she loved him but dare not tell him. She had the dreadful feeling that he would drop her instantly if she did and not even take her on the overseas trips.

She had not the slightest inkling that he was merely using her as a convenient witness to the viewings that covered up his crimes, just as he was doing with the couple following close behind them, chosen carefully by him for their proclivities: John Hendon, the department’s Chief Accountant, with his long time lover, Katherine Bladwell, both of them happy to be enjoying another free holiday on the government and intending to make the most of it.

None of them were aware of the attention being paid them by a tall, blond man, travelling under his real name – Peter Lund, who had flown in on the same flight from Heathrow and had just been joined by a sweating, heavily overweight local man wearing the ubiquitous, baggy khaki safari jacket and shorts of the area. He was talking urgently and quietly to the new arrival.

Stone glanced around angrily and swore under his breath. There was no sign of the usual government team sent to collect them and their luggage – another indication that Asimboto was deliberately showing contempt.  

You need a sharp reminder, you arrogant black bastard, that I call the tunes, not you. Without me you would not have that new jet helicopter and those three stretch Mercedes.

Stone used his cell phone to ring the general’s headquarters and had the usual trouble before being put through to Colonel Obeifuna – Asimboto’s aide, taking no notice of an African who had come up close beside him at the carousel, apparently waiting for his luggage to appear.

Stone pulled no punches, ‘Where the hell are the troops, Abeize? Does the general want me to get back on the plane and fuck off back to England?’

‘Where are you?’

‘At the fucking airport! Where do you think we are?’

‘But you are not due to arrive today, Gerard. We expected you tomorrow. Everything is laid on for your usual flamboyant official reception then.’

Stone shook his head and sighed heavily – never mind the rife corruption, African incompetence had to be seen to be believed. How the countries ever ran at all was a miracle. If what Obeifuna said was true, and Stone did not believe for one moment that it was, their secretarial staff deserved to be lined up against a wall and shot. More than a dozen emails had been sent regarding the visit, with the dates prominent on all of them. No – this was a deliberate set-up, designed to make him feel small. He was no slouch in the game of life and knew when he was being shafted, but had to go along with the facade, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing how far they’d got under his skin.

‘Well, we’re here and we want to get out of this heat. Have you got anyone close who could pick us up?’

‘No, sorry, Gerard.’ Obeifuna, sitting on the edge of General Asimboto’s desk,  was grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Use local labour and take a taxi. I’ll make sure the general knows you’ve arrived and there will be a limousine waiting for you in front of the hotel at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Once again, my sincere apologies for the mix-up.’

He switched off the phone, chuckling.

‘He is not happy, general.’

‘Good. You made the arrangement with the hotel?’

‘I did. Their usual suites are booked for them from tomorrow – their expected date of arrival, but are occupied until then. Tonight they will have to be content with second-class rooms with no air conditioning.’

‘Wonderful. Perhaps that will make him think twice about trying to screw me with a different deal.’

Obeifuna kept up his fawning attitude towards the hugely overweight upstart in the massive, intricately carved, mahogany, throne-like chair on the other side of the desk, ‘As always, general, you have them in the palm of your hand.’

When the time comes, and I’m sitting there while you’re staked out in the bush as food for the carrion, I’ll be more than happy with the eighty percent the stupid Englishman allows you,, you greedy bastard. Even fifty-fifty would be a good deal.

‘You have everything ready?’

‘Everything – the four visits are arranged; the doctored photos are all printed, and his cash is packed.’

‘You have to give him credit – he’s a clever bastard. I still don’t know how he gets away with it.’

‘He’s probably been fucking the minister, as well as his PA, and got her to trust him - more fool her.’

‘With his looks he would appeal to most western women, though I asked Alela what she thought of him and she said he was not in the least attractive in her eyes.’

What else did you expect? If she’d said she fancied him, you’d have had her executed. She’s lasted five months, twice as long as any of the others, and at fourteen she’s two years older than your usual choices and obviously a little wiser.

‘She has good taste, general.’

‘Of course – she loves me.’

Loves you? In a pig’s ear! She loathes you, you dolt, and is shit scared of you. I see the way she looks at you when you’re looking the other way. You must damn near crush her when you’re on top of her, the poor little sod.

‘Do you need me any more today?’

‘No. You can go and screw your mistress. I’ll visit my wives and have them bring Alela to me. They can stand by the bed to watch our rutting and have their juices running as they remember the times in the past when I serviced them. Screwing Stone has made me randy.’

Only a depraved pervert would want to subject those poor women to that, you twisted bastard, just to help you keep it up. Now the Viagra is not enough, even though you’re fucking a child.

~~~oOo~~~

Across the city, Stone and his team were climbing into a tatty 1964 Pontiac saloon that had once been maroon but was now almost completely grey, its tyres bald and its driver a boy of no more than fifteen. They were watched from inside the concourse by Lund.

His coloured companion had just walked past Stone and heard him give the expected destination to the driver, ‘Grand Hotel’.

As the Pontiac pulled away, he signalled the next taxi, a Buick Skylark of the same vintage and in similar condition, to come forward, and was joined by Lund as it did so.

He asked, ‘The usual place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s see if they have any rooms then.’ He turned to the taxi driver’s window, told him, ‘Grand Hotel’ and pulled open the rear door.

They piled in, wincing at the heat burning their backsides from the plastic seat covers.

Lund asked, ‘What was the phone call about? Stone looked bloody angry.’

‘The general is deliberately pissing him about.’

‘Aha. I thought it strange – no red carpet this time. Christ, has this bloody car lost all its springs?’

‘I had a bit of luck yesterday evening, while you were en route...’

Lund indicated the driver with his eyes and gave a tiny shake of his head.

His companion nodded, ‘Of course.’

Five minutes later the Buick shuddered to a halt in front of the old hotel, its crumbling facade belying its title, and Lund paid the driver, after a short argument about the fare.

They strolled up the steps to the huge doors and pushed them open, to find Stone and his entourage in a loud altercation with the manager at the reception desk.

‘Why the hell can’t you move the other guests? Christ, after all the money we’ve spent in this establishment in the last couple of years! Surely, we are due special treatment.’

The manager kept his cool, playing his part well, ‘Of course you are, sir, but the guests occupying the rooms that you have booked from tomorrow are important Chinese businessmen, who are, as you know, as vital to our economy as indeed you are. I can give you other rooms for today, but unfortunately not of the same standard, and not air-conditioned.’

Stone fumed but knew that even a large bribe would not achieve his object, and though there were other hotels in the city, none were places he would want to stay.

He gave in, ‘You’d better give us the keys then.’

‘Thank you, sir. You will be moved into your booked accommodation as soon as the rooms have been cleaned tomorrow morning.’

When Stone and his team had left the reception area, Lund approached the desk, expecting problems, but found that a perfectly satisfactory air-conditioned room was available for him. The manager even offered him a choice of suites.

Lund hid a grin. Stone was being deliberately shafted all round. He signed for the room and he and his companion climbed the stairs to the first floor.

Once inside the room, he urged, ‘Okay, Farim, let’s have the latest.’

‘I have been working very hard for you and after much effort on my part and many, many hours of research I finally managed to