Free Beyond the Truth: Hanne Wilhelmsen Book Seven (A Hanne Wilhelmsen Novel) by Anne Holt Page B

don’t say that sort of thing in our family.”
    ‘We don’t slap one another in our family, either!”
    “I didn’t slap you,” Nefis said, turning on her heel. “But God knows I wanted to.”
    Hanne Wilhelmsen was in a foul mood when, eleven minutes late, she entered the large conference room where the Superintendent had assembled sixteen investigators, two police prosecutors and a couple of clerical staff around the table. Hanne gave a brief nod to the Deputy Chief of Police, who sent a wide smile in her direction. She glibly disregarded Silje Sørensen, Erik Henriksen and Billy T., before taking a seat at the far end of the table, with a trainee officer on either side. Throughout the Superintendent’s report she stared at the table, hiding her eyes behind her heavy fringe. She seemed not to be following what was said at all. Unease spread around her: the others withdrew, as if feeling a physical aversion to her presence.
    “There can be no doubt that the ongoing conflict among the family members was brutal enough,” Billy T. said, when the meeting was opened for discussion. “There’s a great deal of fairly complex case material, but the main quarrel concerned to what degree Hermann Stahlberg had committed himself to leaving the shipping company to Carl-Christian. After Preben’s return home, it was increasingly clear that the elder son had a greater capacity for business activities than his brother. The company was functioning better and expanding, including signing contracts for two new small cruise ships that will be completed in eighteen months’ time. A year ago, all the paperwork was drawn up. The shipping company, an unlisted limited company, wholly owned by Hermann and Turid Stahlberg, was to be signed over to Preben. Admittedly, both Carl-Christian and Hermine were to be provided for with a smaller block of shares each, but big brother would retain all the power. When I say that all the paperwork was ready, it’s important to emphasize that it was never signed. Carl-Christian took out an action against his father, and has produced what he claims to be documentation showing that Hermann had promised, with binding effect, to pass the shipping company to him.”
    Billy T. wriggled his way up between the wall and the row of chair backs to an overhead projector and fumbled with the light switch. Then he placed a transparency upside-down on the glass plate. Silje Sørensen gave him some assistance and finally they could all see a chart of the Stahlberg dynasty.
    “I think,” Billy T. began, “that it may be important for us all to have some understanding of how this family is composed. So, we have the mother and father here.”
    He circled the older generation with a marker pen.
    “Tax-assessment figures for last year, in themselves, are modest. Over four million in income and something over twenty-five in capital. But of course we all know …”
    Grinning, he cast a glance at Silje, who twisted her enormous diamond ring round to her palm, a habit she had adopted every time money became a topic of conversation.
    “… that sums such as these lie. They are forced down as far as possible.”
    “But anyway, we’re not talking about a huge fortune,” the Superintendent commented.
    “Well, I think twenty-five million is a hell of a lot of money,” Billy T. said. “But fair enough. We’re not talking about Rockefeller here.”
    Again, he circled a name on the transparency.
    “Preben Stahlberg, then, is the eldest of three children. His wife – Jennifer Calvin Stahlberg – is Australian. She’s a stay-at-home housewife, educated as a dietician, and doesn’t speak Norwegian. They have three young children. I don’t think these surviving relatives have any major significance for our inquiry. But things get more exciting here …”
    He smacked the pen against the younger son’s name.
    “Carl-Christian Stahlberg. He was only in his early teens when his brother ran off to sea. He claims he had