Frank Frølich turned back and noticed a tiny ring in the weightlifter’s left ear.
Silence.
‘Well?’
Bregård rocked on his feet to and fro, not at ease.
‘Perhaps we should find somewhere to talk,’ Frank obligingly suggested.
The Finance Manager nodded and led the way to a door at the other end of the room.
The man’s office was sparsely furnished. A desk, and not much more. But the chair that accompanied it was a classic. Velour material, head rest and an inbuilt tilting mechanism. A chair that was ideal for planning the year’s fly-fishing, for tipping back and putting your feet on the desk. Otherwise there was nothing apart from a wobbly stool which the policeman placed by the wall to have something to lean against. Pink walls. Decorated with advertisements for computer equipment. Pretty glossy stuff. A babe, full-length, pulling on fishnet stockings and supporting her legs on a computer. Unusually attractive legs. And unusually thick hair on her head.
Bregård sat down in the swivel chair. Now wearing narrow, rectangular rimless glasses.
Frank tore his eyes away from the fishnet thighs. ‘This is about, as I’m sure you know…’
‘Reidun,’ Bregård interrupted with several nods. ‘I’ve understood as much.’
Frank smiled. Jotted down ‘ASSHOLE’ in capital letters on his notepad and went on to draw Kilroy behind a wooden fence.
‘Reidun Rosendal was employed as a saleswoman?’
Bregård nodded.
‘From what I’ve been told, you sell computer technology?’
‘Administrative systems, office solutions.’
The man pulled a drawer out of his desk and rummaged in it. ‘We’re about to embark on a fairly large expansion programme.’
The words tumbled out staccato as he searched through the drawer. Finally he lifted out a pile of brochures, passed it to the police officer and slammed the drawer shut. ‘Reidun was part of that, too. Finding distributors and interested parties for the expansion. And of course selling standard services,’ he added, folded his hands in a business-like fashion on the table in front of him.
Frank flicked aimlessly through the brochures. Colour bar graphs and fine words about profitability. The moustachioed face of the man before him smiled up at him from the glossy middle-page spread. Nice pic. The policeman compared the photograph with the man on the other side of the table. The ring in his ear was not visible in the photograph. And he was more formally dressed than in real life. The picture revealed a classic office worker in a white shirt, tie and grey jacket. The same glasses as now. The Finance Manager was giving a thumbs-up the way Allied pilots did during the Second World War. ‘Trust me’ the speech bubble above his head said.
‘Did anyone else work in the sales department other than Reidun?’
‘Svennebye, our Head of Marketing. And me.’
He opened his palms wide. ‘We’re a small enterprise, lots of overlapping. Engelsviken, the manager here, also does sales work if he has time.’
‘How many employees are there?’
‘In all, five; sorry, four. There were five of us with Reidun.’
The policeman picked up the brochures. ‘So the company is planning to grow?’
‘It will become very big,’ Bregård corrected immodestly. ‘We’re in the process of acquiring new distributors all over the country in fact.’
‘Anything home-grown?’
‘No, we have a foreign agency.’
He tilted back in the chair. Spread his fingers and lightly tapped tips against each other. ‘It’s all in the name. Software Partners. The company has been built on that concept and will grow by linking up with joint venture collaborators.’
Frank nodded. ‘With regard to Reidun…’
Bregård waited, composed.
‘Do you know a restaurant called Scarlet?’
Bregård’s eyes went walkabout. He leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk. Stroked his moustache.
‘Scarlet?’ Ran the name over his tongue. ‘Yes… indeed… in fact I’ve been there.’
‘Long time ago?’
‘Probably a few weeks back.’
‘You weren’t there last Saturday?’
‘No.’
‘Where were you on Saturday?’
‘At home.’
The detective allowed the silence to linger, then said:
‘Can anyone confirm that?’
‘In fact, I spent Saturday evening on my own!’
‘Watching TV?’
‘No.’
‘There’s just crap on the box, isn’t there,’ Frank posited, testing for a reaction. ‘I never watch TV, either. I tie flies.’
The Finance Manager stared across the desk, without making a comment.
‘When I tie flies I listen to the radio.’ The detective scribbled on his pad. ‘Lots of good music on a fair number of stations. Much better than tired TV family entertainment. Don’t you think?’
Indulgent smile from Bregård. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
‘You weren’t listening to the radio on Saturday by any chance, were you?’
The smile vanished. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Married?’
The man shook his head.
Frank stretched out his legs and slipped off his worn-out boots. A faint aroma of stale socks filled the room. Bregård’s face went stiff. Frank followed the man’s eyes and identified a hole in the toe of one sock. A bony little toe poked out, inhaling fresh air. He splayed his toes. Made a mental note that he ought to cut his toenails.
‘Girlfriend?’ he asked.
The man didn’t understand.
Frank sighed. ‘I asked if you had a girlfriend!’
‘No,’ he answered with irritation.
‘What were you actually doing on Saturday, Bregård?’
‘I was at home!’
Face of rebuttal. ‘I didn’t watch TV, didn’t listen to the radio. I went to bed early.’
Frølich nodded.
‘Went to bed early because I had to be up early on Sunday.’
The detective frowned, one raised eyebrow.
‘For a long walk through the fields.’
‘Isn’t it too wet underfoot now?’
‘It’s wet, but I go anyway.’
‘Alone?’
‘Alone,’ Bregård stated with a nod.
‘Often?’
‘Yes, often.’
Frank eyed him. Tanned features. Muscles. Wouldn’t be unusual to meet this guy in the forest. Not at all. Just a change of clothes. A thick jumper instead of the white cotton shirt, green walking trousers instead of fashionable jeans. Walking boots and thick socks. Yep, the guy probably was the outdoor type. Whether he had been hiking on the Sunday morning in question was quite another matter. Frank decided to change the topic:
‘Did you know her well? Reidun, that is.’
Bregård hummed and hawed.
‘You worked together for six months,’ Frølich pressed. ‘Did you get to know her?’
‘A bit.’
The guy was in two minds about something.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, heaving a resigned sigh. Fidgeted uneasily and placed his hands on the desk. ‘This is too awful!’
He got to his feet, walked over to the window and stared out. Broad shoulders, slim waist and unusually powerful thighs.
‘On Friday she was here with us!’
He said something else that was drowned in an intense grimace. His facial expression was reminiscent of a character from a TV drama. Hands clenching and unclenching in an over-animated fashion. Emotional toss of his head at the same time. There was something over the top about all of this. Something feigned that was uncomfortable to watch.
‘When did you see her last?’
‘Friday afternoon. I invited her out, but there must have been a problem.’
The detective waited. But the man was keeping the rest to himself.
‘So you two had been out together before?’
‘On occasion.’
‘Were you a couple?’
‘A couple?’
The guy turned, scented something. Frank took a deep breath and returned a cold stare. ‘Have you been with her?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you been to bed with her, shall we say?’