The Writing on the Wall

Eight

THE LEATHER BOUTIQUE was in two sections. One was targeted at young people and people on middle incomes with special offers for under a thousand kroner. The other part was super exclusive and literally on a higher level than the rest of the shop.

The girl to whom I explained the purpose of my visit was in the lower part and shook her head, saying she knew nothing about it, quickly directing me to the manageress, who inhabited the upper sphere.

The characteristic smell of suede and leather grew stronger with every step I took into the shop. As I climbed the four steps to the domain of the upper classes, I noticed another less identifiable smell that reminded me ever so slightly of formalin and probably came from the furs of which there were several racks here. I located the manageress in a cross between an office and a glass showcase at the far end of this part of the shop.

She was one of those well-turned-out women, with pale skin and a hint of red in their hair, who never seem older than their late forties. She looked as though she’d been born and grown up in a beauty salon, a creature of luxury whose true place is lounging on a sofa with a fur jacket slung casually over her shoulders, a glass of champagne in her hand, rather than spending her days in something so vulgar as a boutique. The russet leather skirt and the light-green silk blouse hinted that she probably had very exclusive tastes in underwear too. Perhaps this is why I suddenly thought of Judge Brandt… Where did he buy his stuff? I wondered.

The look with which she sized me up put me straight into the category of middle-aged deliveryman. Her voice was crystal clear and cool as she stood up behind the narrow dark-brown desk and said: ‘How can I be of assistance?’

‘The name’s Veum. Varg Veum.’

I put out my hand, and she gave me a perfunctory handshake as cool as her look and didn’t even bother to introduce herself.

‘It’s about this theft from the boutique…’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean exactly?’

‘Er, there was a father in here yesterday, wasn’t there? To smooth things out after a theft by his daughter?’

‘Oh, you must be thinking of…’ Two tiny rosettes appeared on her prominent cheekbones. ‘It was extremely unpleasant. And even harder to fathom.’

‘Harder to fathom?’

‘You’ve come here… Who reported this? We didn’t at any rate…’

‘Actually, it’s about another girl from the same milieu…’

A pensive frown appeared on her brow and remained there, almost like the symbol for infinity. She paused in front of one of the clothes racks. ‘Look at this. Considering the value of what we have on display here, we’ve installed the most sophisticated security measures.’ She took out one of the items of clothing, a short green leather jacket with extremely fine stitching at the waist. With long white fingers and nails the same reddish tint as her skirt, she showed how the garment was chained to the rack. ‘We do this so no one can just come in, snatch a garment and run off. Apart from this, every single item has a security tag that sets off an alarm if you try to leave without paying.’

‘And does it remain there even when garments are being tried on?’

‘Of course. Besides… we always size up our customers.’ Here she looked at me sharply. ‘In this trade you soon learn to be discerning about people.’

‘So how did Åsa manage it then? The girl I mentioned.’

‘Oh, one asks oneself, doesn’t one?!’ She looked at me with raised ironic eyebrows.

‘Yes, I am asking – you.’

‘It definitely wasn’t a theft.’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘We spoke to the assistant who had sold her the jacket. She recognised her straight away. She’d been struck by the fact that a girl so young had so much cash on her.’

‘So she bought it, in other words?’

‘She did.’

‘But how… what did she have to say about it?’

‘That’s just what’s so incredible. She denied it! She hadn’t bought it, she said, but had stolen it. And her father insisted she was right!’ Her pearl grey eyes flashed. ‘Can you imagine?’

‘But they went back home, with a new jacket?’

‘Which her father paid for, yes! In addition to the fact that they returned the other one…’

‘But why… couldn’t they just have paid for the one she claimed she’d taken?’

‘She wanted to do that. But her father wouldn’t. If she wanted a jacket, all she had to do was choose another.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Even though it was more expensive, actually – well, for us it didn’t make any difference,’ she added. ‘We were paid twice, after all.’

‘Hm.’

‘Yes, strange, isn’t it? But in any case it can’t be a matter for the police, can it?’

‘No, not as such… It would have to be the finance section in that case…’

‘The finance section?’

‘Yes, to see how you’ve entered all this in the books…’

I smiled gently as I left. If nothing else, at least I’d given her that to chew on.