Lethal Investments

49

Inspector Gunnarstranda had the microphone in his hand and was speaking into it with unusual intensity. The woman taking the message answered calmly like a tram driver before the doors are closed. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was tense. Her tone of voice was just that bit too polite. No giggles, no witticisms. This was serious.

Frank thought about a maid with a badly buttoned-up blouse.

The inspector put down the microphone.

‘That was why the maid was so frightened,’ Frank declared and switched off the siren as they approached Hoffsjef Løvenskiolds vei. ‘She must have known everything.’

Grim-faced, Gunnarstranda nodded.

‘Sonja picked up her sozzled husband outside Scarlet at half past three. The owner said Engelsviken was totally out of it. I suppose the maid must have been woken up when they came home.’

‘And Sonja Hager must have listened to so much shit on the way home that it was the last straw,’ whispered Gunnarstranda. ‘She drove back to town after off-loading her husband. The maid must have heard her come back, perhaps they had a chat, Sonja with blood on her clothes. Bloody hell, how could we have forgotten the maid?’

Frank didn’t answer. He was dreading the scene to follow, the boys with the military helmets crawling through the grass and all the drama.

‘So, along come Davestuen and his boys today,’ he continued. ‘She happens to be there. With Bregård. She must have twigged the raid had something to do with us.’

Frank said nothing. So she made a quick exit to finish off the job, he was thinking.

There.

A small blue Honda had skidded to a halt in front of the large garage. Ski box open. Car door left open. Frank parked. Strange that Macho Man Bregård should have such a small car, he thought. Jumped out.

A car radio was blaring out at full volume. ‘Fishin’ in the Dark!’

He lifted the lid of the ski box. Empty. Bent down and looked inside the vehicle. Open case of cartridges. Eley Grand Prix 12 bore. Half full. As he guessed. A rifle as macho as its owner. Gunnarstranda followed. Frank showed him the half-empty case of cartridges and closed the door. The music was muted. Far away there was the sound of sirens coming closer. Now they would have something to talk about in this suburb, too, he thought. Remembered the maid with the blouse again. Thought about Clint Eastwood. Cigar in his mouth and a Magnum.44. Chewing! Drop it angel, or I’ll make you fly! No explanations. Dirty Harry never had to explain anything. Certainly not why he walked around with a Magnum in his belt. And Dirty Harry was never suspended from duty. Dirty Harry wouldn’t lose his job if he broke the regulations on important missions. Frank opened the car door again and switched off the radio. Silence settled over the ridge. Shit, weren’t there any kids living here? He noticed that Gunnarstranda had gone back to the car and sat inside. Busy with the microphone. The sirens were coming closer.

Frank stared up at the house and thought about her. Among the circle of lunatics in this case Sonja Hager was one of the few who had spoken about genuine feelings. For some a vow is serious, she had said. After taking a life.

He looked from the house to the police car and back again. Uncertain. Wondering what was going through her head. If she was afraid. She was definitely under emotional strain. And probably pretty screwed up since she had managed to mobilize so much hatred to protect herself.

Behaviour, rational to a certain degree. She had systematically removed all the witnesses. Possibly in action again now. If the job had not already been done.

Was she in full possession of her faculties? Yes, but still not of a mind to accept her punishment. So actually anything at all could happen, he thought, slowly making his way to the house.