Jens Amundsen - Death on Pilot Hill

“Ja,” said Matthias Otterstad with a chuckle. “I think we both married our wives because they made so much more money as nurses than we did back then as lawyers. By the way. . I’m glad to see you and Emma are so happy together. That’s getting to be a rarity nowadays.”

“Ja.”

“I think Sohlberg that you owe me a lot. . because Nora and I introduced you to Emma. I’m so glad you married her. . Nora and I were so worried about you those two years after Karoline died.”

“Thank you my friend,” said Sohlberg who quickly switched the topic. “But you owe me more for vouching for you and recommending you to your first clients when they asked for references.”

The men laughed.

Karl Haugen did not understand why his father no longer looked for him. Several times his father had come so close to him but his father had not seen or heard him. He now felt so far away from his father.

“Daddy!” he yelled.

Silence. As always. The silence sometimes overwhelmed him. Other times he felt happy when he heard the pretty music. He wondered how long he would be kept away from his father.

Sohlberg looked carefully at Matthias Otterstad and his immense estate and wondered how all this had happened for a man who had never practiced law. Shortly before graduating from law school Matthias Otterstad inherited $ 200,000 kroner or less than $ 40,000 U.S. dollars from an elderly aunt. Within a year he had quadrupled his inheritance by investing in out-of-favor stocks and commodities and currencies from his home.

“Ja ja my good friend the Sohlbergmeister. I owe you. And that’s why I’ve asked you many many times to come work with me. Thanks to your references and recommendations I soon had wealthy investors in Norway and abroad begging me to manage their money.”

Sohlberg nodded. He remembered the fawning newspaper and magazine Arcticles about his friend. Within four years of starting his investment fund Matthias Otterstad was managing large amounts of Other People’s Money for a hefty percentage of profits. Over a ten year period his take-home income added up to tens of millions of dollars and kroner and euros.

Matthias Otterstad moved closer to Sohlberg and said:

“Any regrets over not joining me in the business?”

“No. None.”

“Really?”

“No. I truly love what I do.”

“Why?”

“Because nothing excites me more than outsmarting the criminal mind. Nothing. I also love finding out how people really live their life in private. . away from the public eye. Their choices fascinate me. . how they make choices for the better or for the worse.”

“But a policeman’s pay is so little compared to what you could’ve earned in business.”

“Material possessions never attracted me.”

“How lucky. You know. . it’s always a fight to own things and not let them own you. My five children all know that they will get very little when I die. . just as I got very little when my father died. See those fancy Beneteau boats floating out there?”

“Ja.”

“Those boats are not a rich man’s toys but rather the principal assets for three of my children who own small businesses that charter and rent the boats. No sir. . my children will not to grow up to be weak degenerates like the royals of Europe or all those trust fund babies.”

“Good for you. I’ve seen so many disasters when parents spoil their children. You have no idea how many of my worst criminals became just that thanks to a father or mother who coddled and spoiled them and encouraged them to do whatever they felt like doing.”

“Ja! That’s why all of my children have to work if they want to eat.”

“So they get nothing?”

“Practically nothing. Just seed money to start a business or get an education or learn a trade. Almost everything will go to foundations and charities and think-tanks and political causes when Nora and I kick the bucket. More than anything else we want to make sure that Norwegians stay Norwegians. . that Norway stays out of the European Union racket and stops all this social engineering nonsense of immigration and other insanities.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t moved to Switzerland to avoid taxes.”

“We did for a time after I sold the company to those idiots in New York. But we couldn’t stand being in Switzerland. . it’s the money laundering capital of the world. . after a while the stench of dirty money starts clinging to you. You know what I mean?”

“I think so.”

“Sooner or later you start smelling like a filthy pig from all those dirty billions of euros and dollars parked in Switzerland from drug bosses and corrupt Third World dictators. I’m sure most of Interpol’s targets have all or most of their money in Switzerland.”

Sohlberg smiled and switched the topic to avoid even the remotest chance of accidentally mentioning any Interpol investigation. “What luck of yours Matthias. . or intelligence. . in selling out your company before the market crashed.”

“You wouldn’t believe what. . ”

Both men fell silent when other guests joined them. Fru Sohlberg and Fru Otterstad came back with plates of food and wine for the Otterstads and apple juice for the Sohlbergs.

He lost track of his wife at the gym. She kept flitting about from machine to machine and then chit-chatting here and there with all of her fake and extremely superficial gym friends. Of course he now knew all about her flirting in the gym and picking up men for dalliances when he was at work. He looked at her in her tight workout clothes and noticed that she was indeed no longer in as good physical condition as she had been when she was a body builder. Although she was no longer a Miss Froken Charles Atlas or Miss Froken Arnold Schwarzenegger he knew that she would probably put up a good fight if he tried to strangle or stab her. He had to avoid any combat with her. The trick would be to disable her and maybe even drug her beforehand. Or get her really drunk. She liked smoking cannabis two or three times a week and that might do the job along with some beers and tranquilizers.

He took a break from the strenuous exercise that the Jacob’s Ladder gave him. Of all the gym equipment the Jacob’s Ladder was his absolute favorite because of the punishing nature of that exercise beast.

Who was the genius who designed the Jacob’s Ladder exercise machine?

As he drank the Farris mineral water he realized that the Jacob’s Ladder exercise machine was nothing less than a perfect symbol for his life. In other words he was climbing a ladder and a marriage that went nowhere and the efforts were draining his energy and the ladder and the marriage would eventually exhaust him and ultimately prevail over him. He looked at other gym members on others ladders and the grueling workouts that they received as they climbed the endless procession of wood rails on the 40 degree slope.

Wasn’t there a Bible story about a Jacob’s ladder? Or was it the story about Jacob wrestling with God?

He tried to remember the exact context of the Bible story. Like almost all Norwegians he had grown up as a member of the government-sponsored Evangelical Lutheran Church of Norway. Like most children he had taken the mandatory Kristendomskunnskap or Christian theology courses given in public elementary schools until 2007. Like almost all Norwegians he celebrated religious Christian holidays like Easter and Christmas as well as Lutheran ceremonies for births and confirmations and weddings and funerals. And like most Norwegians he never went to church except for those holidays and events.

Jacobs’ ladder. . what did the Bible say about that?

He went to the weight lifting section and began a workout with dumbbells. He then switched to work out with various hand grips in order to strengthen his hands and wrists in preparation for the happy day when he would kill her. Strangling her with his bare hands would be such a pleasure. First would come the sensual and exciting feel of squeezing the lovely flesh around her neck. Second he would have the luxury of looking deep into her eyes and watch her life flicker away with the ultimate satisfaction that the last image ever to appear in her retina would be that of him snuffing the life out of her. All of that would be the perfect climax following hours or days of torturing her. This is his plan. This is his obsession.