It was different here, in this flat. What did she think about, this wealthy woman? A girl murdered downstairs. Did she think that this wickedness would implicate them, her and her family? And if they wanted to move, where would they move to? Lots of money had been invested in this flat. These were people who undoubtedly had the means to take the final step. To move to Bærum, or to Nordstrand. Without stopping a few hundred metres further up, in Valdresgata, where the blocks were newer and there were still enough journalists and union bosses for high society not to feel comfortable.
He leaned his forehead against the window pane and stared down on to the street, patiently waiting until she was finished and had returned from the kitchen.
‘You’ve been lucky with this flat,’ he exclaimed with his back to her. ‘And you’ve done the place up nicely. Imagine, when I was growing up, there wasn’t even a toilet in the corridor. And at that time it was as cold inside the block as it was outside.’
He turned and pointed to the sun beaming down through the pane. ‘You’ve got the sun here, too. Not many people have that here in Grünerløkka.’
She nodded politely, a bit apprehensive.
‘I grew up here, I did,’ he said, pointing out of the window. ‘In Seilduksgata, down from Dælenenga, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I haven’t hung out in this place at one time or another.’
The latter accompanied with a broad smile.
He strode across the floor and took a seat on the curved pink leather sofa.
The little boy clung to his mother’s trouser legs. Staring at Gunnarstranda with large eyes. Her bright blue eyes glinted nervously above a small strained smile that told him he should not reminisce about old times any more than was necessary. He squinted at her across the table, ignoring the boy. Children did not particularly interest him.
‘Are you a policeman?’ the boy wanted to know.
‘My father worked at Freia, the chocolate factory,’ Gunnarstranda continued, rapt in thought. ‘Got a good pension as well. He was famous for it, company director Throne-Holst was! Gave his workers a pension before the idea had even occurred to anyone else. Yes, you’ve heard of Throne-Holst, I suppose?’
The woman shook her head, wary.
He leaned over to her in confidence. ‘Please excuse me,’ he broke off, bursting with curiosity. ‘But for someone like me who grew up in these parts I have to say an incredible amount of work has been lavished on this flat. It can’t have been cheap.’
Her smile changed at the compliment and Gunnarstranda inferred she had played an active role in the redecoration. But the smile vanished. She was serious again.
‘Well, that is the issue, isn’t it?’ she answered. ‘Now that she has been killed downstairs. Joachim and I are worried the prices are going to plummet, and then we would lose loads of money on this.’
‘Are you going to move already then?’
Gunnarstranda essayed a little smile with the boy as well. ‘So, you’ve started work as an estate agent, have you?’
She smiled. ‘Joachim is my husband. This is Joachim Junior.’
She patted the boy on the head.
Joachim Junior, Gunnarstranda repeated to himself. Took a deep breath. ‘The murdered…’
Met her eyes. ‘How well did you know each other?’
She hesitated for a moment, considering the question.
‘Depends what you call well.’ She took her time. ‘I said hello to her quite a few times, of course. She seemed… well… quite nice. Seemed the easy-going type to me… and to Joachim.’ She hesitated again. ‘I don’t think he knew her any better than I did. That’s my opinion and I’m sticking to it,’ she laughed with a slight undertone.
Gunnarstranda wasted no time. ‘How do you mean?’
She looked down. ‘It was a joke,’ she said with a strained smile. ‘As you know, she was a very attractive woman.’
The words were spoken with a face that said she was the kind to keep an eye on her husband.
‘So he did talk to her once in a while?’
Gunnarstranda detected some irritation at his question.
‘We were neighbours in a way, weren’t we, and yes… no!’
She threw out her arms.
‘You didn’t have much to do with her then, you didn’t have mutual friends?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know if she hung around with a particular group? Was there anyone who visited her a lot?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there,’ she said firmly. But continued when the inspector said nothing.
‘Yes, she lived below us, and the times I met her she was on her own by and large. I suppose I must have seen her with other people, men and women, as you would expect. She was just a normal girl living alone and we, well, we’ve hardly been here six months, not even that.’
‘Are you at home all day?’
‘Half of it, yes.’
The boy grew restless hanging from his mother’s arm, and she was being distracted.
‘Would you recognize any of these people, from a photograph?’
‘Which people? Stop it now, Joachim!’
She grabbed the wriggling boy’s hand to restrain him.
Gunnarstranda stared at her patiently. ‘The ones you’ve seen her with.’
‘Excuse me,’ she said, and got up. Bent down to the boy and talked softly to him while looking him in the eye.
‘Mummy has to talk to the man. Now you go and find something to do. Play with your bricks.’
‘No!’
The child was not in a co-operative mood. In a huff, he eyed the policeman, who took out his tobacco pouch and started to roll a cigarette. The lad was intrigued by the roller and turned to watch Gunnarstranda making a stockpile of filter roll-ups on the glass table.
Mummy had time to think. ‘To be honest, I don’t believe I noticed any of them she was with, don’t think so anyway.’
The inspector didn’t glance up. ‘But you’ve been living here six months! And there hasn’t exactly been a stampede on the staircase, has there.’
She didn’t answer.
‘And she was quite a good-looking woman,’ he continued. ‘The sort your husband would have cast an appreciative eye over!’
He met her eyes and noted the confusion there. But he didn’t give more than a glimmer of a smile. He could see she was of a mind to interpret the question in the best spirit. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I would recognize anyone in a photo after a brief encounter on the stairs. No, I don’t think I would.’
Gunnarstranda gathered all the roll-ups together. Got to his feet. At that moment they heard someone come through the front door. The boy ran towards it with his mother behind him. He lit a cigarette. Went over to the window and opened it a crack while she welcomed her husband. He could hear the father indulging in horseplay with his child and the couple whispering.
So as not to offend anyone, he tried to blow as much of the smoke as he could through the window.
Soon they were in the living room. ‘Feel free to smoke,’ she assured him, flustered. ‘I’ll find you an ashtray. This is the gentleman from the police.’
The latter was said to her husband, who trooped in behind her.
They greeted each other.
The man was getting on for forty, but had stopped somewhere along the way. Clammy hands, maybe as a result of wearing gloves. His hair was thick and bristly and fell in front of his eyes as he made a very formal bow. At the back of his head his hair had been cut in a straight line around his neck. His frenetic eyes emphasized a repellent energy in his nature.
‘We’re investigating the murder of a young woman on the lower floor,’ Gunnarstranda said gently.