Lethal Investments

23

Then it was off to the courts, where Gunnarstranda went through the archives and made some enquiries. Made some telephone calls. It all took time. Herr Brick was an industrious solicitor on the letter-writing front. A/S Software Partners was involved in no fewer than seven legal claims, and that in just the last six months. In fact, one case had been withdrawn, but Gunnarstranda took the trouble of writing down the names of the litigants on a sheet of paper. Stuffed it in his wallet. Several of the cases concerned demands from companies wanting the sales contract to be rescinded as a result of defaulted payments. One case was between Software Partners and A/S Rent-An-Office, the lessor of Engelsviken and Co.’s rooms. Rent-An-Office demanded a court eviction as no rent had been forthcoming. Brick, on behalf of A/S Software Partners, demanded compensation for what Brick called a scandalous lack of commitment to the lease contract and demonstrable discrepancies between the said contract and actual conditions.

Gunnarstranda was chewing at the inside of his cheek as he left the courthouse on his way to Kafé Justisen.

It was quite crowded. By and large the usual gamblers and jobless drinkers were there knocking back beer, but with the occasional colleague thrown in. Right at the back sat Reier Davestuen, a detective from the Fraud Unit. Reier shared a table with a fair-haired hobo who kept shouting something over to the gamblers’ table and rocked to and fro with a toothless grin. Poor Reier had shrunk into a corner so as not to be jolted. He did not have much success though, he took up a lot of room himself, and the large pink copy of Dagens Næringsliv did not make the matter any easier. Reier of the big hands, size 47 shoes and clothes that always seemed too small.

Gunnarstranda wove his way through to the steep staircase to the veranda that formed the first floor and went up. Almost as full here, too. An empty seat by a wrinkled face under an old felt hat. The person had a mouthful left of beer and had already started to point his galoshes towards the staircase.

‘Is it free?’ the policeman asked.

The man tried to move his lips, but abandoned the attempt and nodded instead, with the result that his hat fell over his face.

‘Special!’ Gunnarstranda yelled at the young waitress sitting with a lit cigarette in front of the kitchen door.

Today’s special consisted of veal, olives, pease pudding, three boiled potatoes with dill on top and an utterly wonderful sauce. He twisted to allow the old boy with the galoshes to dodder off, and he dug in. He relished every bite. Smiled at the waitress who came to the table carrying a bottle of mineral water with a white label because she knew that was the one he wanted. He was of a mind to compliment her on the sauce, but this was beyond him. Instead, in a very effusive way, he ordered a packet of twenty Teddy.

From his seat there was a good view of the tourist deck where Davestuen was still thumbing through the stock exchange listings. Gunnarstranda watched his colleague raise his right arm to disguise a yawn, energetically shake his head and draw breath before looking round with sluggish, withdrawn eyes. Anonymous and grey for as long as he was sedentary. A thin blond fringe and a bony face protruded from a much too small suit jacket around a loud yellow tie that was doing its best to throttle him.

Eventually Gunnarstranda managed to catch his eye and beckon to him. Reier gave a start, then waved back. Got up without knocking over the table, but earned a look of dismay from his toothless neighbour when he drew himself up to his full height.

‘Anything new on the stock exchange?’ Gunnarstranda asked, still chewing, and held on to his plate as Reier’s knees raised the table as he sat down.

‘Nothing,’ he exclaimed, stretching out his legs and thereby lowering the table. He stared Gunnarstranda in the eye, ‘Nothing at all.’

Reier’s intensity could on occasion be tricky to negotiate. Gunnarstranda looked down. ‘I have a computer company increasing the taxpayer’s burden with seven lawsuits all at the same time,’ he informed him. ‘Plus, to a large extent, panicked demands for compensation reminiscent of distress calls from an empty wallet.’

Davestuen nodded and folded his large hands on the table in front of him, two pale hams bristling with wiry blond hair.

‘The MD is a dubious sort,’ Gunnarstranda went on, with the smell of mothballs from Reier’s jacket assailing his nostrils. ‘Several bankruptcies behind him in the course of very few years.’

He picked up a brochure. ‘The company in question is soliciting fresh capital from investors.’

Davestuen took the brochure. Flicked through it and stopped at the picture of the Finance Manager, Bregård. ‘This the dubious sort?’

‘Nope,’ Gunnarstranda answered quickly. ‘The dubious MD is not mentioned at all in the booklet. And I was just beginning to reflect that this was a very astute move on their part.’

He slurped the coffee the waitress had put down in front of him unbidden. Smiled at her and she smiled back, not just out of politeness; she winked, too. He liked that, tapped out a cigarette from the packet of Teddy and offered one to the Fraud Unit officer.

‘No, thank you,’ he answered, raising a deprecatory hand. Gunnarstranda stared at him in amazement. ‘You? Given up the fags?’

Reier Davestuen nodded gravely.

‘When was that?’

‘Yesterday, now that you mention it.’

Gunnarstranda acknowledged his respect, and lit up.

‘I know beardy here,’ Davestuen continued unruffled and pointed a stout yellow finger at the photograph of Bregård. ‘Øyvind Bregård. Ex-bully boy. Big muscles, right?’

Gunnarstranda nodded slowly.

‘Done for GBH at least once.’

Gunnarstranda blew out smoke, waiting.

Davestuen’s bony brow creased as he tried to remember.

‘He was working for some dodgy debt collection agency we snuffed out a few years ago, but for the moment I can’t remember which.’

‘And what did he get?’

‘A prison sentence. For beating to pulp a Pakistani who ran a shop in Oslo West. Don’t remember the man’s name or where it happened, but we can find out, of course.’

Gunnarstranda said:

‘What he’s doing now is definitely not hustling. It’s a computer business. I suspect it is not quite kosher though.’

Davestuen nodded.

‘Bregård’s the Finance Manager.’

Davestuen grinned, displaying pointed teeth. ‘Not at all kosher,’ he declared and revealed a gold bridge in his lower jaw.

‘I’m investigating the murder of a girl working there,’ Gunnarstranda went on. ‘I don’t know if this business is connected with the murder, but it stinks to high heaven.’

Davestuen spat on his hands and straightened his fringe with his palms. ‘There’s not a lot I can do…’

‘You could check out the case, find out what these people are actually up to. How can this bully boy possibly be a finance manager?’

Gunnarstranda tapped a nicotine-stained nail on Bregård’s photograph.

Reier peered down at Bregård’s bearded face, took the brochure and studied it closer. ‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Just phone calls for the time being.’

Gunnarstranda stood up. Major things happen in this world of ours, he thought. Europe, the collapse of the Eastern bloc and now bugger me if Reier Davestuen hasn’t given up smoking. He walked towards the telephone on the wall. Time to reel in Frølich and take a trip to Software Partners, he thought with satisfaction.