Silence at last. A gentle breeze wafted through the partly open window. Her perfume sweetened the air. By some happy chance he had had only one glass of home brew. To hell with Gunder. The mechanic always managed to saddle Eva-Britt with a bottle. As a rule she emptied it down the pan. Yesterday she had spared it, and he had been foolish enough to sample it when they came home.
He felt her turning on to her side. Her heart-shaped bottom smiled at him. He stroked her hip. She stirred and grunted from miles away. Carefully he spread the duvet over both of them and turned on his side to continue sleeping.
Then the telephone rang again.
He opened his eyes wide and stared into the dark. Examined the crack between the mattress and the wooden frame of the damaged bed. Had to get up on his knees. Grabbed the receiver. Crackles. Boss on the line. Gunnarstranda’s abrupt voice injected energy into the room.
Frank drew down the arm with the receiver. ‘Are you aware this is the middle of the night?’ he whispered groggily.
‘Yes,’ the line crackled. ‘Get dressed.’
He tripped over the bedstead. Wasn’t used to having the mattress on the floor. That hurt! He rolled across the floor. Bloody phone. Working at this hour! Why the hell didn’t I pull out the jack-plug?
He was upright. On all fours anyway. Less enthusiastic than a mediator in pay discussions. Brain hiding behind the sofa like a tortoise. Dreaded thought of standing on two legs. Did it. Dizzy. Thank you, Lord. No nausea. His mouth tasted of beer, garlic and Christmas cake.
Staggered into the bathroom. Threw water over his face. Head felt like it was under a pile of wooden boards. Cleaned his teeth. Held a hand in front of his mouth afterwards, tested his breath without fainting. Got clothes on, trudged into the kitchen and wrote a note to Eva-Britt on a corner of the loaf paper. Tore it off. Dithered outside the bedroom door.
The bed framed the mattress and her. She lay on her side facing him, no duvet. Lying in a box. Dark nipples. Smooth tummy, rounded legs and a thin line of hair curling towards her groin.
And I can’t even put this down as bloody overtime, he thought bitterly. Folded the note in the middle and placed it on the bedside table by the telephone like a tent. Quietly closed the door after him.
Felt dizzy on his way down the stairs. Rain outside. Paused for a moment before unlocking his car. Looked at his watch. A quarter to three. Pangs of conscience, which he instantly dismissed. Found some chewing gum in his jacket pocket and unwrapped it. It tasted like a sheet of A4.
The car shot across the Ring Road. It was night and it was raining. The windscreen wipers beat a steady rhythm, and Sinsen intersection was reflected in the glistening wet tarmac, vast and empty. A husky woman’s voice was speaking on the radio. She was gone, played ‘When the Night Comes’ with Joe Cocker, after the obligatory howl the guitar solo that made his spine tingle. The traffic lights on amber in deserted Hans Nielsen Hauges gate. A blonde bird rubbing up against a guy in the telephone booth on the corner of Sandakerveien. It must have been cold. Middle of April. The gleam of the lights seemed dark in the rain, almost orange.
Frank drove into the taxi rank in advokat Dehlis plass and parked. Got out of the car, stood inhaling the fresh air in the drizzle. The paving stones in the turnaround glistened and the light from the jeweller’s made everything sparkle.
He could feel his jaws aching and spat the chewing gum into the conveniently nearby litter bin. A stooped figure was coming down Bergensgata. It was Gunnarstranda. Without an umbrella, with a wet coat. The grey material had begun to darken over the shoulders.
‘You’d better drive,’ Frank said in welcome and occupied the passenger seat.
Gunnarstranda pulled up at the red lights in the crossing with Arendalsgata. Frank yawned aloud, unembarrassed. Gunnarstranda glared to his right. ‘Weren’t you working last night?’
‘Can’t sit for four to five hours drinking coffee in a place like that!’
‘There is such a thing as moderation! You smell of vomit.’
‘That’s why I asked you to drive.’
‘Did you find anything?’
Frank indicated the lights. ‘It’s green.’
The inspector gunned the engine and set off with a kangaroo hop.
‘I met Engelsviken.’
Gunnarstranda drove in silence.
‘Silk suit and Italian shoes. Pretty plastered. We met by the urinals.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘Bit. He boasted he had screwed her.’
‘Whom?’
‘Reidun. And in fact that was all he said.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘He started to shout his mouth off. Asked what the fuck the cops were doing following him to the toilet.’ Frank sighed. ‘He was already drunk when he arrived. Joined a group of younger socialites he must have known. Two men and two women who put on one hell of a show when he appeared in the doorway. The guy was pouring champagne down them.’
He yawned and went on: ‘The guy’s face was drenched with sweat, he was loud and waving his arms about. Dragged the girls on to the dance floor. Where he tried to stuff his fingers down the knickers of one of them. With people watching.’
Gunnarstranda nodded slowly to himself, slowed down and looked right before crossing on amber. The wipers scraped across the window. He pushed in the cigarette lighter.
Frank resumed:
‘That happened right after he and I had been talking in the toilet. But the girl wouldn’t stand for it. She made quite a scene. Slapped him so hard you could hear it over the disco music.’
The lighter clicked and jumped out. Frank rolled down the window as his boss lit up.
‘Then Engelsviken spotted me,’ Frank continued. ‘It was quite embarrassing. The girls left, so Engelsviken was alone on the dance floor. Legs akimbo, spine arched backwards. A sick smile on his mug. Suddenly he started slapping himself in the face. Ten, eleven, twelve real stingers. With the red and green disco lights flashing above his head and the music pounding. And he wasn’t holding back, his head shook from the slaps. Crazy stuff!’
Frank yawned aloud. ‘After he had finished slapping himself his nose was bleeding. But the man didn’t notice; he just teetered back to the table with his shirt tail hanging out and the same sick smile on his face. He looked dreadful. Blood from his nose was running into his mouth, discolouring his teeth. Then he finished off the bottle of champagne, jumped up on the table and yelled.’
Gunnarstranda smoked with a dry smile on his lips.
‘Then Eva-Britt couldn’t take any more.’
‘Eva-Britt?’
‘Girlfriend came along. She reckoned this madness was because of me, and began to feel uncomfortable. So we left. In fact, that’s not long ago.’
‘And was the madness because of you?’
‘He looked over between slaps.’ Frank grinned, and stifled another yawn.
‘The conversation in the toilet…’
‘Yes?’
Gunnarstranda tapped the ash off the cigarette through the rolled-down window.
‘The drunken chat?’
‘He wasn’t confused, if that’s what you think. He seemed jovial at first. I followed him in to make contact. Told him who I was, told him I’d spoken to his wife during the investigation.’
Frank yawned. ‘He got pretty upset, didn’t give me time to finish what I was saying. He called Reidun a mattress. Nerdspeak.’
Frank sighed. ‘Afterwards he turned and began to have a leak, then he suddenly screamed: ‘What sort of fucking whisky do they sell here? My piss smells like lager!’
Frank adjusted his jacket. ‘And so on,’ he groaned. ‘Then he calmed down and commented to me over his shoulder: “Yeah, I gave her a seeing-to now and again. That’s what you want to know, isn’t it.” I didn’t answer, and he zipped up. Then leaned back and hollered: “I’m just a gigolo!” I just watched. Then he kicked the condom machine, shook it and laughed out loud before going all personal, as if we were old friends. Put his arm round my shoulders, eyes went all gooey. Good and pissed he was. He was going to let me into some secrets. “Do you know what I remember best of all,” he said. “Well, when she came she twittered like a little canary!” “You don’t say,” I said. But he didn’t like that. Lost his rag and yelled at me: “What the hell do you think this is, following me into the piss house, you bloody perv. Are you a homo?” And with that he was gone.’