Paid In Spades

By Stig Larssen

Elvind Jansen leaves prison after twenty years, with what he is sure is a foolproof scheme for a future life of luxury. Three days later he is dead – shot on the 6th tee of Måttesby golf course. Digging in a bank of earth for the bullet, the SOCOs find it – embedded in the skull of a skeleton that has lain there for ten years. When Jansen's sister is killed, Cnut is faced with three murders and a host of suspects. Blackmail seems the likely motive for the first two, but which of the dozen or so residents of Måttesby was the subject of the blackmail? Are the three deaths connected, and if so, how?Cnut has other desperate problems, both personal and professional.To pile on the misery, a man who hates him is placed as his superior, in a job he himself has turned down twice, and comes gunning for him. Desperate, he hits the bottle for the first time in his life – and continues to do so. Cnut becomes convinced that the residents of the new houses in the small village are connected in some way, not only to the deaths and to each other, but also to Arne Bredsson, the entrepreneur who owns the whole complex, and believes that therein lies the key to the mystery. The DNA from the skeleton brings a further strange twist, though the detectives still have no identification. When they finally obtain that knowledge, along with other family history, they know who was being blackmailed, though that person is obviously innocent of the murders. With the new knowledge they obtain reveals a tale of sexual depravity so horrific that Ilse feels sick. With all the answers in his possession, Cnut has two life or death decisions to make…

• Language: English
• Publisher: TONY NASH
• Release date: Nov 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215807149

Stig Larssen

Stig Larssen is the Norwegian pen name of Tony Nash – acclaimed 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 on Tiptoes

Murder by Proxy

Murder on the Back Burner

Murder on the Chess Board

Murder on the High ‘C’

Bled and Breakfast

THE JOHN HUNTER THRILLERS:

Carve Up

Single to Infinity

The Most Unkindest Cut

The Iago Factor

Blockbuster

Bloodlines

Beyond Another Curtain

HISTORICAL/WWI NOVELS:

A Handful of Destiny

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 Isaiah 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 -  Cut And Come Again

CNUT -  Deadly Premise

CNUT -  The Bottom Of The Pot

CNUT -  The Man From Next Week

CNUT -  Nemesis

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;

Copyright © Tony Nash June 2017. All rights reserved.

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

PROLOGUE

So long awaited, it still seemed dreamlike and unbelievable, made even weirder by the actions of the other two occupants of the compartment.

The pretty young blonde opposite had just astonished and sexually disturbed him by openly breast-feeding her four-month-old baby, not caring that her nipple was in full sight before and after the feed. He’d had to place his hands over his crotch.

From his left, the disgusting slurping and chomping noises being made by the shabbily dressed old lady with a large black wart on her nose, struggling to eat a hard apple that was obviously too much for her dentures to cope with, made him want to ram the fruit down her throat to shut her up – for good.

They were like alien beings to him.

They’d both been in their seats when he entered the carriage, and had not given him a glance when he sat down.

If they only knew.

He could imagine them leaping – well, maybe not the old woman, but certainly the younger one – from their seats and hi-tailing it away from the contamination.

Gotta get used to it, pal. It’s what they call normality. Am I normal now? What the fuck is normal anyway?

He closed his eyes, feigning sleep, though sleep was impossible.

The train was fast, and only forty minutes after leaving Halden, where he’d boarded, the locomotive eased to a gentle halt beside Oslo main station’s platform three.

He was first out of the compartment and descended from the carriage, his left hand clutching the small duffle bag that held his entire life’s possessions, suddenly worried.

Will she be there? She promised, but what if...?

Ah, there she is – waiting under the clock, as she’d said.

My God! She’s aged, and not well.

The lithe, dark-haired beauty he’d last seen twenty years before had become a drab, grey-haired, middle-aged matron.

He hurried down the platform to her, and they embraced.

She lied, ‘You’re looking well.’

He forced a grin and joined her in the lie, ‘You too. Car outside?’

‘Mm. It’s a bit of a walk, but not too far.’

‘I can do with the exercise.’

She looked him over, ’How are you, really?’

‘To be honest, in a bit of a daze.’

‘Understandable. You’ll feel better in a couple of weeks, when you’ve got used to being out.’

‘Is there any chance of a job where you work, until I sort the other business out?’

‘I can ask. There’ll no doubt be casual work, but you don’t need to worry about that for the moment. Just relax and enjoy your freedom. I don’t spend half of what I earn, so money is not a problem.’

And please, please forget about the other business. Be like the man who’s standing up to his chin in shit - don’t make a wave.

‘No, but...’

‘I know, you don’t want to be a burden. You won’t be. I’ll find you something, if necessary.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Here we are.’ She kicked the front tyre of the old Renault Clio. ‘She’s a long way from being this year’s model, but she goes well. Just needs a good kick every now and then to remind her who’s boss.’

The scenery after leaving the confines of the city pleased him, and he finally began to relax completely, until suddenly sitting up, his head turning rapidly as a car passed theirs, going in the opposite direction, just as they were approaching the village.

‘Was that him?’ He demanded.

She looked puzzled,

‘Who?’

‘The driver of that car that passed.’

She lied, ‘Sorry. I was concentrating on my driving. I didn’t take any notice.’

He shrugged, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get to him soon enough. I was letting my imagination run away with me.’

No, I fucking wasn’t.  He’s older, but that’s only to be expected. If he can afford a car like that he can afford to pay.

She pulled up outside a modest, old-fashioned bungalow, in need of a coat of paint, and told him, ‘Home, sweet home. Your bedroom is first on the right; the bathroom is next to it. Drop your things and come through to the kitchen. I’ll make us a coffee.’

He surprised her with, ‘Have you got any binoculars?’

She shrugged, ‘There’s an old pair of eight-by-thirties in one of the bedroom cupboards somewhere. You’ll have to roust them out. What do you want them for?’

He touched the side of his nose, ‘If I’m right, I think our ship is about to come home. I just need to do a little research. How would you like to live in Denmark?’

She groaned inside.

Oh, God! He hasn’t changed. He’s going to get up to his old tricks and go for it. I hoped he was not serious.

He took her arms, ‘I know you’re worried, Sis, but it’ll be a doddle. He’ll be willing to pay me to keep quiet, and he’ll pay plenty, believe me – enough to set both of us up for the rest of our lives.’

‘But won’t it be dangerous? What if he....?’

‘Shhh! He’s a pussycat, Emm. Don’t you worry yourself - I’ll make damned sure I’m fireproof. I’ll do that other little job first, as insurance, and then go for the big one.’

Both were blissfully unaware that he had just written their death warrants.

CHAPTER ONE

The warehouse in Pipervika, purpose-built and fully metal clad, looked daunting. There were two means of entry: a huge, steel-shuttered door for vehicles and a smaller one beside it for pedestrians. A line of narrow windows ran along the top. It had been dark for over two hours, but the interior of the building was unlit, and though there were outside arc lights, they had not been switched on. If Cnut’s informant was right, and the gangsters were inside, they were in one of the four internal rooms near the rear of the building that he and Carlsson had seen on the blueprint they’d studied at headquarters.

Cnut followed closely behind the armed unit, which was approaching on foot, using the unlit buildings on the opposite side of the road as cover, flitting from one to another like bashful spectres despite the weight of their body armour and weapons. They’d left the vehicles and drivers in Rådhusgata, two streets away, after driving there quietly with no sirens or flashing lights, but were aware there might be movement sensors that would have already betrayed their presence, and once they began to cross the road there would be enough ambient light for them to be seen on the cameras.

Cnut, a politistasjonschef – a Sheriff and Head of Oslo Serious Crimes Division –part of the National Criminal Investigation Service, was with the armed unit only because of that personal tip-off, and was restricted to the role of unarmed observer, but he was eager for the action.

The quarry - Costin Anghelescu and Iancu Cojucaru, senior lieutenants in the Oslo chapter of the Romanian mafia, responsible for seven murders in and around the city, including the latest, of an undercover police officer, were wary, quick-witted and lethal.

Benny Carlsson, the inspector leading the armed team, stopped, indicating with his raised right hand, index finger up, that they would stop at that point and assess the scene. He raised a night-scope to his eye.

Cnut moved up to join him.

Carlsson looked grim, ‘It’s going to be bloody difficult. That place is impregnable without a rocket launcher, and they’ve got the advantage if we try to go in. I can see three cameras covering the whole area in front of the building. I’d have John, my marksman, take them out, but there are steel mesh grills in front of the lenses, and the cross bars are slanted, to deflect bullets. First time I’ve come across that one. Bloody clever! They’ll see us coming, and we’ll be sitting ducks if we try to go through the doorway.’

‘Can I make a suggestion?’

‘Sure.’

‘Don’t go in. Blow the door and then shout an ultimatum: they can come out unarmed with their hands in the air, or we’ll gas them.’

‘We’ve only got tear gas and it’s weak stuff since the do-gooders had their say, but it’s worth a try, and better than having men shot.’

‘Can’t you use stun or smoke grenades.’

‘It’s a big place, and they’re only useful if the men are in the open and near enough for the grenades to be effective. Besides, smoke grenades could be as big a disadvantage for us as for them.’

He turned to his men, ‘Nils, when we get over there, use your charges on the small door hinges. All of you, follow me.’

He led them swiftly across to the wall of the building near the small door, knowing that those inside would have seen their movements.

The officer called Nils worked his plastic explosive into the crack in the door on the hinge side, moulded some more around it and inserted detonators, before rejoining the rest of the squad.

They all turned away, bending forwards, their hands over their ears.

The door was blown completely off its hinges, and Carlsson moved close to the doorway and shouted his message.

It was answered by a hail of bullets, which would have cut anyone standing in the doorway to pieces.

Cnut grinned wryly to himself, thinking of Astrid’s bitter remark as he was pulling on his Kevlar vest before leaving the house, ‘I sometimes think you want to get shot again. Wasn’t twice enough for you?’ She turned away and plunged another plate in the washing-up water, ‘I don’t want to be an effing police widow.’

She rarely swore, even mildly, and her use of the modified f-word told him the strength of her feelings.

He knew there would be tears in her eyes.

‘I set it up, min elskede – it’s my investigation and my pinch. I have to go, but I promise you I will not get into the line of fire.’ Well, not this time at least. ‘We have professionals to do that.’

She turned, ‘Why couldn’t you have taken that safe promotion to Visepolitimester?’

Oh, fucking no – not that again!

He pushed the scene from his mind as Carlsson moved towards the doorway, a gas canister gun in his right hand.

Close to the door, he eased himself down to the ground, pushed the muzzle of the canister hurler around the jamb of the door and pulled the trigger twice.

As he yanked the hurler back out of sight of those inside, another hail of bullets came through the doorway.

Nothing happened for almost a minute as part of the gas cloud billowed out of the door, but then a bout of heavy coughing was followed by a yell of, ‘We come out. No shoot.’

Two figures with their hands up, coughing heavily, emerged from the building, stumbling forwards to reach clearer air.

Two of Carlsson’s men, their weapons trained, moved to take the men into custody, shouting, ‘On the ground! Hands out in front of you!’

As they did as he ordered, a third man leapt from the doorway, spraying bullets wildly from an Uzi.

He was shot dead instantly by one of the other officers who had been covering the doorway, but not before three of his shots had connected: two of Carlssen’s men were hit in the chest, and another bullet grazed Cnut’s scalp.

‘Faen!’ He swore. The bullet had barely broken the skin, but it stung, and he knew he would not dare tell Astrid what had caused the wound.

More coughs and shouts of surrender came from inside the building, and two more men emerged with hands held high, retching. They too were forced to lie down and were handcuffed.

Their improved gel outer tactical vests saved the two officers, though they were knocked to the ground by the force of the blows, and their chests would be bruised for over a week.

Carlsson attempted to question the criminals, but was given mouthfuls of abuse. He waited until the gas had cleared before entering the warehouse with one of his men to check that it was clear.

He came out again less than half a minute later and called in his vehicles.

He asked Cnut, ‘Are you coming back to HQ with us, or do you want me to drop you off at home?’

‘I’ll come with you and charge them. I need to find a piece of plaster before my wife sees this wound.’

Carlsson laughed, ‘It’s like that, is it?’

‘I hit my head on a low ceiling.’

‘Think she’ll buy it?’

‘I bloody well hope so. If she knew I’d been shot again she’d go ape-shit.’

Carlsson sighed, ‘That’s what caused my divorce. Vinni couldn’t handle the worry. We’re still good friends, but could never get back together unless I change my job, and I can’t; I like it too much, as I know you do.’

‘You get plenty of action nowadays, with all these foreign mobs starting up.’

‘We sure do. Just look at yesterday. That could have been one of the worst days Oslo has ever seen if that clerk at the van hire company hadn’t been suspicious and rung us. She deserves a medal, but we can’t even tell the public about her – ISIS would probably kill her for thwarting their terrorist attempt. We blocked off the entrance to Karl Johans Gate with only seconds to spare. If Youssef Mahari had managed to drive the Mercedes van he’d hired onto the pedestrian street crowded with tourists, it would have been as bad as or worse than the Barcelona atrocity. The big problem was that the Tunisian saw the road block too soon, skidded the van round and sped off. We hadn’t had time to organise blocks on every street around there, and he leapt out of the van and disappeared into the Nationaltheateret Station. He’s gone to ground somewhere, but with every cop in the city on the lookout for him he’ll soon be caught, the bastard. How times have changed. Ten years ago, the worst thing we were called out for would be a domestic, where one of the partners was in possession of a firearm. Now it’s like a bloody war.’

‘Well, this is one battle you’ve won.’

Carlsson nodded grimly, ‘For what it’s worth, and that’s little enough. You know as well as I do there’ll be replacements for this little lot in just a couple of days. They seem to have an inexhaustible supply of soldiers.’

‘Better the devil you know, you mean?’

‘I didn’t know you were a Kylie Minogue fan.’

‘Kylie who? I was thinking of the 19th Century proverb.’

‘There, and all her millions of fans thought she’d made it up as an original thought. Don’t tell them.’

‘I won’t if you don’t.’

An ambulance drove into the yard and pulled up to collect the body.

Cnut jerked his head towards it, ‘That takes care of the dead man. Let’s go and book the live ones.’

He found he needn’t have worried about the wound. Astrid, looking tired and distraught, ignored the plaster and fell into his arms as he came through the door.

Alarmed, he asked, ‘What on earth happened?’

Through her sobs she told him, ‘It’s happened again. I managed to push her into her bedroom and lock the door. Then I called 113. I’ve had to have her restrained.’

‘Lisa’s in the bedroom?’

‘With two medics. I wanted to give her another dose of olanzapine, but they said no. They insisted I call a doctor, so I did. Eirik Sandstrom is on holiday, but his locum is on his way – a doctor Knoss.’

‘What caused it this time?’

‘She was watching ‘Skam’ – you know, that teenage drama serial she loves, and we had an electricity cut. It lasted no more than a minute, but she went berserk and attacked me. Look.’

She drew back and then he saw the black eye and split lip.

Cnut’s heart sank. He loved his daughter fiercely, despite the dreadful problems they had with her bipolar disorder.

On the medication she was easily controllable for most of the time, and seemed like a normal teenager, though with a mental age of only five, but a tiny, unforeseen disruption in her daily life could spark off a short-lasting tantrum, turning her into a human menace. She could not go to school for that reason, and a home tutor came to teach her two days a week.

It was the second time she’d attacked Astrid, and Sandstrom had wanted to have Lisa sectioned for that first episode.

He’d pulled no punches, ‘It can only get worse. Better to place her in full care before she does something more serious. Make no mistake - she could kill one of you, you know. When she’s having one of those fits she has manic strength.’

Astrid would not have it, ‘She’s my daughter, and I’ll look after her twenty-four hours a day, if necessary.’

It had proved more difficult than she’d imagined; even more so after her mother, suffering from Parkinson’s disease, had to go into a care home, but up to now they’d managed, with occasional help from their neighbour, Ingrid Hente, who came in to sit when Astrid had to be away.

At the time, and against his better judgement, Sandstrom had agreed not to take official action, but Cnut held little hope for their chances this time.

A knock at the door told Cnut the doctor had arrived, and he let him in.

Knoss took in Astrid’s injuries and nodded, ‘I believe Doctor Sandstrom did warn you.’

‘He did, doctor, but this isn’t too bad. She didn’t mean it.’

‘Of course she didn’t mean it, but it is serious.’

‘You’re not going to put her in a home, are you?’

The doctor sighed, ‘You know I should; I would be in serious trouble with the Medical Association if I do not, and something serious happened to either of you in one of these schizophrenic episodes. However, she is not my patient. Knowing how you feel, I’ll write it up for Doctor Sandstrom, and leave that decision to him. He will no doubt want to do weekly checks when he returns. For now, I suggest that we change her medicine from olanzapine on its own to an olanzapine/fluoxatine combination and see how she is on that. If she ever does anything like this again there will be no question about it – be absolutely clear on that - but I’m willing to give it one more chance, if you are. She’s in the bedroom, I take it?’

He could hear three quiet voices in the next room: a girl’s, a woman’s and a man’s. The girl sounded animated, but not unduly so.

Astrid nodded, ‘As you can tell, she’s fine now.’

‘Of course. That always happens after an episode.’

Knoss pushed the bedroom door open, told the paramedics they could go and closed the door so that he could talk to Lisa himself.

Ten minutes later, he ushered her out of the room and told her to give her mother a cuddle. That she did, as if nothing had ever happened between them.

He handed Cnut a prescription form for the combined drug and murmured, ‘Ring the surgery if there are any problems. I’m only there until Thursday, but I’ll leave notes for the next locum.’

Cnut joined Astrid, and together they cuddled their daughter, who told them, ‘I’m tired, mor. I want to go to bed.’

Astrid stroked her hair, ‘All right, darling. I’ll come and tuck you in.’

When Astrid returned, she and Cnut exchanged glances, and she shrugged expressively. There was nothing to be said.

It was only then that she noticed the plaster on his head, ‘What on earth happened? You didn’t...’

He stopped her with, ‘It’s nothing, elskling. I stupidly didn’t duck my head for a low doorway.’

Distractedly, she murmured, ‘Foolish man.’ She sighed deeply, ‘Are we going to lose her?’

He took Astrid in his arms and ran his hand over her hair, ‘We’ll never lose her, even if she’s in a care home. We can go and visit; take her out for days – for picnics or to the cinema.’

‘I suppose so.’

He tried to take her mind off her troubles, ‘I’m famished. What can you rustle up for supper?’ He suddenly realised the dog was not in her basket.

‘Where’s Cindy?

Astrid began to cry again, ‘Oh, dear. I had to lock her in the kitchen. She was in such a state, crying and running around, not knowing what was happening. She’ll need a walk.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take her out now.’

He crossed to the kitchen door and opened it.

Cindy was lying as flat as she could, her head between her front paws – her way of saying sorry for something she’d done.

The floor was wet.

He bent and stroked her head, ‘It’s not your fault, old girl. Come on, let’s go out into the garden.

CHAPTER II

Cnut expected the men they’d arrested to be arraigned the next morning, but when he entered the office of the Violent and Sexual Crimes Division, his working partner, Ilse Karnweg, rose from her chair and stopped him before he reached his small office at the rear.

‘The arraignment has been postponed, Cnut. Both Anghelescu and Cojucaru died in custody last night.’

‘Faen! How the hell did they let that happen?’

‘Good question. Heads are going to roll.’

‘Did they put all of them in one cell?’

‘No, those two were in non-adjacent singles.’

‘What about the other two?’

‘They’re okay, but they’re not leading players, are they?’

‘No. They’re just soldiers, newly arrived, though I guess when we check their national records they’ll have rap sheets a kilometre long. How were the other two killed?’

‘Poison. Viv says it was cyanide in the coffee they were given.’

‘By whom?’

‘One of the duty men, new to the job and not fully acquainted with protocol. It was from an outside caterer and delivered to the desk for those two prisoners.’

‘Clever. He’s lucky he didn’t taste it, but it’s not our problem, and no one here will be doing any mourning. It’ll be an internal investigation. Anything else?’

‘Only that hit-and-run from yesterday afternoon.’

‘Sven and Inge are working on the CCTV footage. We’ll leave that to them for the moment.’

‘Your coffee is on your desk.’

He smiled, ‘Thanks, Ilse. Not poisoned, is it?’

‘No, I just pissed in it, as usual. That’s what gives it that extra special something you like.’

‘What would I do without you?’

She nodded, thinking.

I know what I’d like to do with you, Cnut.

Her five years of widowhood had not lessened her libido, and she knew that she now loved her immediate boss and working partner.

He was not a man who could be called handsome or an obvious ladies’ man; Ilse thought that in an earlier age he would have made a fine pirate: rugged; fit for his age, one metre seventy-five in height, rakishly built, with a craggy, oblong face, a determined, jutting jaw, an aquiline nose and a policeman’s set expression, except when he was relaxed; grey-blue eyes that could become cold and piercing when faced with a criminal but which emanated a natural charm when he was at ease. The small, dark scar that ran through his right eyebrow made her think of a pirate’s eye patch. He radiated energy and gave anyone watching him the feeling that he was on tiptoes the whole time, ready for anything. One of the things that attracted her most was his permanent good humour – obvious from the way he hummed a tune throughout the day whenever he was relaxed; always oldies from the days of the big bands: songs like "Georgia, East of the Sun, Manhattan", and particularly "As Time Goes By". He was quite tuneful, and his humming made her happy too.

He was blissfully unaware of how deeply she felt for him and would have been shocked had he known.

He grimaced, ‘I need to have a go at those damned stats that have been on my desk for three weeks. Ugh!’

‘Would you like me to help with them?’

Please say yes, so that I can sit with you.

‘That might