It feels good to wake up to something bigger than a missing dog.
Not that I dislike the small cases — they've kept me afloat for years. A lost cat here, an unfaithful husband there, neighbors suspecting each other of everything from theft to cutting wood illegally. Those cases pay the bills, but they never give me the feeling I had when I was a young investigator. The feeling that something real, something that matters, is at stake.
The call came last night, just before midnight. I was sitting in my living room with a lukewarm cup of coffee and an old crime magazine when the phone rang. Unknown number. Normally, I would have let it go to voicemail, but something in me reacted. As if I already knew this was important.
"Bekkholt?" the voice was calm but carried an undertone of gravity.
"That's me," I replied.
"This is Sheriff Gunnar from Sauda. We have a situation. Unusual. We need outside assistance, someone who can look at the case without local bias. Can you come?"
I leaned back in my chair. It had been a long time since someone had asked for my help in that way.
"What kind of situation are we talking about?"
"Possible drowning. But it's… strange. We don't want unnecessary attention, so we're contacting you directly."
I didn't need more convincing.
"I can be there tomorrow morning."
"Good," he said shortly. "We'll be waiting for you."
He hung up without further words, and I sat there with the phone in my hand, smiling a smile I hadn't felt in years. This was what I needed. Finally, a case that could bring me back to life.
---
I packed light. A couple of shirts, my notebook, a camera, and the old trench coat that has followed me through rainy Oslo streets and freezing nights in Finnmark. I also brought the revolver I inherited from Uncle Leif. It's never fired at anything but a target, but it gives me comfort.
The Volvo started on the first try. It felt like a good sign.
---
The drive toward Sauda was like driving into an old postcard. The road wound between mountains and deep valleys, and the sea glimmered like a mirror between the trees. The wind was crisp, carrying the scent of forest and salt. I rolled down the window and let the air fill my lungs.
The further I drove, the calmer I became. The city noise faded behind me, and with it, the pressure I'd carried for years. I started to remember why I chose this life. Not for the money, not for the recognition, but for the feeling of understanding what others overlook.
I stopped at a gas station in Hjelmeland for coffee. The woman behind the counter smiled broadly when she heard where I was headed.
"Sauda? They always have strange weather up there," she said with a sparkle in her eyes.
"As long as it doesn't rain inside the car, I'll manage," I replied.
She laughed. "Good luck, you might need it."
---
As I approached Sauda, the landscape changed. The mountains rose higher, the trees stood closer together, and the air took on a metallic tone from the smelting plant towering in the distance. It smelled of both industry and nature at the same time — an odd combination, but not unpleasant.
I drove into the center of town, a small cluster of shops, a bakery, a café, and a few houses pressed close together. Everything seemed quiet, almost sleepy. But not dead. There was life here, just a slower, measured kind of life than I was used to.
I liked it immediately.
---
The sheriff's office was easy to find. A low brick building with a Norwegian flag hanging limply in the wind. Gunnar was waiting on the steps. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a beard that had seen many winters. His eyes were calm, but there was something in them. A weight.
"Welcome to Sauda, Bekkholt," he said, extending his hand.
"Thanks. Glad to be here."
His handshake was firm, like gripping a piece of wood.
"We're glad you could come. I've arranged a room for you at the guesthouse. You'll find the key there. We meet tonight at seven, you'll also meet the priest."
"A priest?" I asked with a small smile.
"He knows people. And places. You'll like him."
We parted ways, and I drove the few meters to the guesthouse. It was a small wooden building tucked behind a stand of pine trees, with a view of the river. The water shimmered faintly in the evening light, catching the last warmth of the sun as it disappeared behind the mountains. The sound of it flowing was steady, almost soothing.
Inside, the room smelled of wood and freshly brewed coffee. The bed creaked when I sat on it, but it was clean and inviting. I didn't unpack right away. Instead, I stepped out onto the small veranda and leaned against the railing. From here, I could see the river winding its way between the trees, the surface glinting like a sheet of glass.
For a moment, I felt like I was being watched.
Not in a threatening way — more like the town itself was curious about me.
Maybe it was just the nerves.
---
Back inside, I found the key placed neatly on the table. Beside it was a small brochure with the words "Welcome to Sauda – Nature's Pearl!" written in swirling letters. The font made me chuckle; it looked like something from an old tourist poster trying too hard to be charming.
But the truth was, the town was charming in its own way. Quiet. Simple. Exactly the kind of place that makes you believe the world still holds pockets of peace.
I flipped through the brochure. Pictures of hiking trails, fishing spots, a few old landmarks. No mention of drownings, of course. Just smiling faces and bright waters.
---
After resting for a while, I walked down to the edge of the river. The air was cool, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth. The surface of the water reflected the sky perfectly — too perfectly. I crouched and dipped my fingers into it. The cold bit at my skin, sharp and clean.
For a brief second, I thought I heard something.
Not a voice, not exactly. More like a faint hum.
I straightened quickly and looked around. No one was there. The only movement was the slow drift of the current.
I told myself it was just the wind.
---
At seven sharp, I walked to the church where the meeting was set to take place. The air had cooled further, and the smell of burning wood drifted from somewhere nearby. The path was narrow and climbed gently uphill, leading me to a wooden church standing like a dark triangle against the fading sky. A few streetlights cast a yellow glow across the gravel, and the old building seemed to absorb it rather than reflect it.
The door creaked as I opened it. Inside, the light was warm, and the smell of old timber mixed with candle wax. Gunnar was waiting near the entrance, smiling as if I had passed some unspoken test.
"Bekkholt. Glad you made it."
"Wouldn't miss it," I said.
Further inside, a tall, slender man rose from one of the pews. His priest's robe hung loosely, and his eyes were dark yet calm.
"Mikkel Bekkholt, is it?" he asked, his voice soft but clear. "I'm Father Erik. We are grateful you came. Not many from outside would have."
"As long as the pay is fair and the case interesting, I'll be there," I said with a grin.
He smiled back, but it was brief, polite rather than warm.
---
We sat together on the front row while Gunnar began to explain the case. Three deaths. All young adults. All drowned in the river or nearby waters. And all with markings on their bodies. Not random cuts, but precise symbols, carved with care.
"No signs of struggle," Gunnar said. "No forced entry, no witnesses. The last one was found just three days ago."
I leaned forward.
"And the symbols?"
"That's why you're here," Gunnar replied. "We don't know what they mean. We only know they're not natural."
The priest remained silent through most of the briefing, but when I glanced at him, he was watching me carefully, as if weighing my reaction.
Finally, I closed my notebook and asked,
"I want to see the sites. All of them. Tomorrow."
Father Erik nodded.
"We'll make sure you have everything you need."
---
When the meeting ended, I stepped out into the cool evening air. The sky had deepened into blue-black, and the stars were starting to pierce through. Maja joined me as we walked down the hill together.
"Do you think it was suicide?" she asked suddenly.
I looked at her.
"No. Not after what I've heard. This is something else."
She let out a small breath, almost of relief.
"Good. I thought I was losing my mind."
I smiled.
"Not until you start hearing voices in the river. Then you can start worrying."
She laughed, short but genuine.
---
I walked back to the guesthouse alone. The river glistened under the stars, black silk stretching through the town. I stopped on the small bridge and leaned against the railing, staring down. The current moved steadily, but the surface seemed… strange. Too smooth.
It didn't reflect the light.
It swallowed it.
And then, just for a moment, I heard it.
A sound.
Low, rhythmic. Not the wind. Not the water.
Music.
Like a flute being played far, far beneath the surface.
I blinked, and it was gone.
I shook my head, telling myself it was nothing. Just exhaustion after a long day.