Lethal Investments

40

The two detectives were back at Police HQ. It was early morning and this wing of the station was dead. They were the only ones in the corridor. Frank Frølich slumped against the wall and watched Gunnarstranda fumbling in his pockets, looking for the keys. In the end, he couldn’t be bothered to wait any longer and unlocked the door himself. Went in first, threw himself into a swivel chair, swung round and took two cups from the window sill. Stifled a yawn.

‘I wonder what this bloody thief was after,’ Gunnarstranda mused aloud from the sofa while Frølich attended to coffee.

‘There’s a pattern here,’ the inspector reasoned in vexed mood. ‘Someone broke into Software Partners three weeks ago. He turned everything upside down, but apparently he didn’t steal anything. Someone searched Reidun’s place on the night of the murder. No easily fenceable items stolen. Someone went through her flat a second time with a fine-tooth comb, last night. Odds are it was the same man.’

‘Mmm,’ agreed Frank without much enthusiasm. Put a foot on the floor. Swung round and regarded himself in the window. Could see a little frown growing in the dip between nose and forehead. ‘This break-in seems very peculiar to me,’ he exclaimed and could not restrain the burgeoning yawn. ‘I don’t see the link with the murder. I don’t see why whoever burgled Software Partners would burgle Reidun. And I’m buggered if I understand why she had to die as a result.’

‘She didn’t die because of a break-in,’ the inspector answered, his mind elsewhere, hiding behind a drowsy veil in front of his eyes.

Silence descended. The coffee machine coughed and spluttered. Gunnarstranda got up, lifted the lid impatiently, stared down at the brown liquid that had not yet seeped through the filter.

Bet he won’t be able to wait, thought Frank. Right first time. Gunnarstranda had to pour himself a cup. He cursed aloud when the coffee splashed and burned his fingers. He dried his hand on his coat and sipped the coffee. Sat down. Blew on the coffee and took another sip. His little head was almost concealed by the cup. Only his bald crown with the cotton-like hair and the slightly curled ears were visible.

He looked up. Eyes clear now. Banged the cup down on the table. ‘Let’s take one thing at a time, shall we,’ Gunnarstranda proposed. ‘No one climbed in her window the night of the murder. That’s obvious. And Sigurd Klavestad was willing to swear he heard her lock click behind when he left. But Mia Bjerke found her door unlocked. It isn’t a latch lock. The door has to be locked with a key from the outside or the handle on the inside. So how did this thief get into her flat on the night of the murder?’

‘She let him in.’

‘Or he had a key.’

Frank objected. ‘Reidun would never ever lend her flat key to anyone.’

‘No?’ Gunnarstranda queried, taken aback. ‘Why not?’

‘I just know she wouldn’t.’ Frank leaned forward. ‘Her personality,’ he argued quietly. ‘I envisage a girl with some distance from people, a girl who does as she wants! For her it was important that she was in control of her fate. That she could spend her time as she wished.’ He straightened up in his chair again. ‘We’ve just seen that the murderer had to break in. So why would he have had a key on the night of the murder and not now?’

Gunnarstranda nodded slowly.

‘No one had a key on the night of the murder,’ Frank stated with conviction.

Gunnarstranda’s eyes lit up. ‘Let’s assume you’re right,’ he continued eagerly. ‘No one had a key and no one caught her by surprise. We know she locked up after Sigurd Klavestad. They had hardly fallen asleep when Sigurd got up to go. She went over to the window where she drew the curtains as Johansen said. Afterwards she went back to bed. Sigurd told Kristin Sommerstedt that Reidun’s telephone rang just before he left. It was an anonymous caller. No one spoke. Let’s assume it was the murderer who called.’

Gunnarstranda paused, got up and surveyed the town as the grey dawn began to break.

‘At first Sigurd Klavestad couldn’t get out of the yard,’ he continued, facing the town. ‘It took him time to clamber out. Johansen confirmed that. Reidun, who had gone back to bed, was probably asleep. At least we know some time passed. Johansen said it was a quarter of an hour. Sigurd maintained it was ten minutes tops.’

Frank glanced instinctively at the clock himself. It was half past five. He imagined Eva-Britt sleeping at home in his bed. She would probably have gone back to Julie by the time he had finished here, fairly annoyed with him, he assumed. So he had better ring her afterwards and arrange a morning walk or something to pacify her.

‘In the end, Sigurd manages to scramble over the bloody fence and into the street,’ Gunnarstranda’s voice came from the window.

‘Mm.’

Gunnarstranda nodded and turned to Frølich.

‘I think the old boy saw the murderer, too,’ he concluded. ‘The old codger wouldn’t concede he’d seen the two hippies arrive by taxi before Sigurd Klavestad went home. They unlocked the gate and the door to the stairs. Johansen kept mum about them until we pressed him. So he must have seen the murderer go the same way. That was why he was so bloody high-handed with us. He was messing us around, he knew what we wanted to know and kept it close to his chest. He was so pleased with himself. Because he had followed Klavestad, knew who he was and where he lived.’

Gunnarstranda gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘He exchanged the information for a wad of one-thousand-krone notes. He could do that because he had seen the murderer and knew who he was! You saw yourself how his face changed when he heard that Sigurd Klavestad was dead. If it was Johansen who sold Klavestad’s name and address to the murderer it’s no wonder he got het up when we pressed him.’

‘Hm,’ Frank pondered. ‘How did Johansen find the murderer?’

Gunnarstranda shrugged. Seeming to lose confidence.

‘Hard to say,’ he said, dismissing the question. ‘We know he had been watching Reidun for more than a year. He must have seen most people who visited her last year. That’s a possibility. He recognized the murderer, knew who it was.’

Frank wasn’t impressed by his boss’s tentative response. ‘Thin,’ he contended. ‘There must be a better explanation than that.’

‘Maybe. Let’s leave that for the time being.’

The inspector faced the town again. ‘We know Sigurd Klavestad met the murderer outside the gateway. That’s why he’s lying on Schwenke’s slab now. He met this person who killed Reidun.’

Frank closed his eyes. Opened them. Pulled the hold-all on the table towards him. Took out the bag of bank notes. Held the plastic up to the light, let it dangle in front of his face.

‘Would the old idiot try anything so stupid?’

Gunnarstranda eyed him. ‘Have you got a better suggestion?’

Frank cleared his throat. ‘The jogger, this big-mouth upstairs. We could put the squeeze on him, find out if he really knows as little as he claims.’

Gunnarstranda wrinkled his nose. ‘Bjerke,’ he mumbled, lost in thought. Nodded to himself. ‘It’s true the man noticed precious little on his jog.’

Faint smile. ‘Would be interesting to hear what he has to say about the burglary last night.’

The smile broadened into a big grin. ‘Good idea, Frølich!’

He snatched the telephone. ‘What about if a couple of boys toddle over to Bjerke now and spoil the morning jog?’

Gunarstranda picked up the receiver, rang and got what he wanted. Leaned back in his chair afterwards with coffee cup in hand.

‘That’s done then,’ he said under his breath. Raised the cup to his mouth, but put it down quickly. Pulled a grimace at the confrontation with cold coffee. Lit a cigarette instead, exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.

I’ll remember that smell for ever, thought Frank, closing his eyes. Smoke, coffee and the boss’s Aqua Velva aftershave. The smell of night in this room.

‘There are still several loose threads,’ Gunnarstranda mulled aloud. ‘But let’s unravel the knotted ones we know. The murderer,’ he began. ‘The person Klavestad met and Johansen saw going into the block of flats. The gate was open. It had been opened by the freaks on the top floor with the half-dead cannabis plant on the window sill. The murderer went upstairs and rang Reidun’s doorbell.’

Gunnarstranda took a break. Frank inhaled and continued for him:

‘Reidun must have thought it was Sigurd coming back!’

‘Presumably,’ Gunnarstranda concurred with a nod. ‘She got out of bed, went over to the door…’

He hesitated.

Neither of them said anything. Frank rose to his feet, walked over to the sink with the coffee jug and filled it with fresh water. Gunnarstranda sat with his elbows on the desk. Staring ahead, puffing on his cigarette without removing it from his mouth.

For the second time they sat listening to the chug of the coffee machine as the water trickled through.

‘This is where we have to tread with great caution,’ Gunnarstranda mumbled to himself.

‘We know the knife came from the flat,’ Frank affirmed.

His colleague nodded.

‘So the murderer didn’t take the weapon with him.’

Gunnarstranda nodded slowly. ‘That’s important,’ he nodded. ‘No weapon.’

He stubbed out the cigarette, interlaced fingers and put them under his chin. Rested his head on his hands with his elbows on the table. ‘She opened the door a fraction,’ he said softly. ‘Because she wasn’t wearing any clothes. She thought it was Sigurd coming back, but then someone else was standing there.’

‘She knew him,’ Frank said. ‘He was unarmed.’

‘Yes,’ Gunnarstranda nodded. ‘She knew him. The murder was not an accident. It was committed in passion. The murderer exploded in there. But how well did she know the person who rang? Suppose it had been you standing there, what then?’

‘Then she would have asked what the hell I wanted.’

‘And you would have said you wanted to talk to her.’

‘“Talk then,” she would have said.’

‘“Let me in,” you would have said.’

‘She would have told me to piss off. But if I had known her I assume she would have closed the door in my face and kept me waiting in the corridor while she put on some togs.’

‘That could have happened,’ Gunnarstranda decided, extinguishing another cigarette. He sat with his head lowered. ‘It could have happened like that,’ he repeated softly. ‘Except that she put on a loose dressing gown without a belt, and nothing else.’

Frank raised one foot on to the edge of the desk. ‘It could have happened like that until she tried to close the door!’ He fought another yawn, lost the battle, his jaw clicked. ‘But the person standing there never let her close it. He just shoved open the door and went in before she could react.’

‘But that doesn’t make any bloody sense!’

Gunnarstranda got up with his coffee cup, poured the cold slop into the sink, came back and poured himself another cup from the fresh brew. ‘If whoever-it-was forced his way in,’ he argued, ‘then some time must have passed before the murder was committed! After all, she was wearing this dressing gown. And the man who was there had to locate the knife first, the murder weapon. Since he came unarmed he would have had to lose his temper enough to kill her, to grab the knife in passion. That takes time, too. In addition, he managed to make a terrible mess of her flat! That takes time. And in all this time that just ticked away none of the neighbours heard a single sound. There’s something very bloody wrong here!’

He thumped his fist on the desk and rubbed the edge of his hand afterwards. He’d hit it so hard he hurt himself.

‘Fine,’ Frølich said with diplomacy. ‘Let’s drop that one then. And go on. We’re assuming that Sigurd Klavestad met the killer outside. He died because he had seen the killer there. But why the hell would the killer feel threatened by him?’

‘Because Sigurd saw him again.’

‘Where?’

‘At Software Partners when he was searching for someone to share his grief with and found Kristin Sommerstedt.’

Frank whistled. Stared at his colleague. ‘If Sigurd was murdered because he recognized the killer at Software Partners, then the murderer is one of those connected with the business. As far as we know, Reidun had a close relationship with most people there. I assume a knock at the door from someone there would not especially alarm the woman.’

Gunnarstranda nodded and heaved a sigh.

Frank smiled without opening his mouth. ‘So we know the murderer was connected with Software Partners,’ he beamed, unable to curb the laughter creeping up on him. ‘Why for pity’s sake would the guy break in at Software Partners then?’

‘That’s it,’ roared Gunnarstranda. ‘Of course!’

He jumped up. His lips were trembling and he nervously ran his long fingers over his bald patch. ‘That’s how it has to be,’ he whispered, excited.

Frank felt he was hanging on by his fingernails. ‘How what has to be?’ he shouted testily.

‘You’re right!’

Gunnarstranda’s voice was still a whisper. His eyes sharpened neurotically. ‘The thief doesn’t work there. Only the murderer!’

Frank was none the wiser.

‘Use your grey matter, Frølich!’

Gunnarstranda sat down slowly and managed to find his mouth with the cigarette. But when he lifted the lighter his hands were calm and his eyes shone across the table, cold and triumphant. ‘There were two people, of course!’

He grinned with a barely concealed supercilious expression on his face. Lit the cigarette, leaned back in his chair and lectured:

‘The thief used a crowbar to break into Software Partners a fortnight ago. But he didn’t find what he was looking for. One Saturday two weeks later Reidun is picked up at Scarlet. A place where we know these computer people hang out. She takes Sigurd home to her place. They spend the night together. He leaves at the crack of dawn. Then the murderer comes. Speaks to Reidun. Speaks about something that is incredibly important to the visitor. The time suggests that. Whoever drops by at six o’clock on a Sunday morning must be fairly agitated. As Reidun is standing there without any clothes on she can’t be all that interested. She’s tired and is just waiting for her guest to piss off. In the end, the guest grabs the knife that’s lying around and takes out his rage on Reidun’s chest. Then the murderer runs away. Doesn’t even bother to close the door.’

Gunnarstranda got up.

‘Later the burglar comes along, the one with the Software Partners’ break-in on his conscience. The door’s open and he can walk right in.’

The little man sat down again. ‘For some reason he’s got it into his head that whatever he’s looking for is in Reidun’s flat. He finds the dead girl on the floor, but doesn’t give a damn about her. Starts looking, but then panics. It must be the morning, before Mia Bjerke has returned from her Sunday promenade with husband and child and decides to wash the stairs. The thief clears off without finding anything, but also without having a thorough look. So he is fairly desperate. Has to go back and finish the job. Which he did last night. The body has been removed and he feels safe. Things have calmed down and he can break in at his leisure and search for hours undisturbed.’

‘That can’t be right,’ Frank interrupted with a thick voice. Had to clear his throat. ‘Give me one good reason why this burglar would be passing that particular door on that particular morning with Reidun lying dead inside.’

‘I can give you several,’ Frølich’s colleague replied. ‘She could have arranged to meet him for all we know. Or the burglar may have some arrangement with the murderer. Perhaps he was tailing him. There are several possibilities. But that’s not the main point.’

He smiled. ‘The most important thing for us is to find what he was looking for. Then we’ve got him!’

Frank stared at him. The older policeman with the cigarette and coffee cup had blue bags under his eyes. The thread-like hair lay in unruly tufts across his balding head, his coat was creased and his face sallow under the grey stubble.

Goodness, he thought. Then we’ve got him!

He turned to the window and saw that day had broken. The sky above the street called Grønlandsleiret was blue.