‘I wonder what this bloody thief was after,’ Gunnarstranda mused aloud from the sofa while Frølich attended to coffee.
‘There’s a pattern here,’ the inspector reasoned in vexed mood. ‘Someone broke into Software Partners three weeks ago. He turned everything upside down, but apparently he didn’t steal anything. Someone searched Reidun’s place on the night of the murder. No easily fenceable items stolen. Someone went through her flat a second time with a fine-tooth comb, last night. Odds are it was the same man.’
‘Mmm,’ agreed Frank without much enthusiasm. Put a foot on the floor. Swung round and regarded himself in the window. Could see a little frown growing in the dip between nose and forehead. ‘This break-in seems very peculiar to me,’ he exclaimed and could not restrain the burgeoning yawn. ‘I don’t see the link with the murder. I don’t see why whoever burgled Software Partners would burgle Reidun. And I’m buggered if I understand why she had to die as a result.’
‘She didn’t die because of a break-in,’ the inspector answered, his mind elsewhere, hiding behind a drowsy veil in front of his eyes.
Silence descended. The coffee machine coughed and spluttered. Gunnarstranda got up, lifted the lid impatiently, stared down at the brown liquid that had not yet seeped through the filter.
Bet he won’t be able to wait, thought Frank. Right first time. Gunnarstranda had to pour himself a cup. He cursed aloud when the coffee splashed and burned his fingers. He dried his hand on his coat and sipped the coffee. Sat down. Blew on the coffee and took another sip. His little head was almost concealed by the cup. Only his bald crown with the cotton-like hair and the slightly curled ears were visible.
He looked up. Eyes clear now. Banged the cup down on the table. ‘Let’s take one thing at a time, shall we,’ Gunnarstranda proposed. ‘No one climbed in her window the night of the murder. That’s obvious. And Sigurd Klavestad was willing to swear he heard her lock click behind when he left. But Mia Bjerke found her door unlocked. It isn’t a latch lock. The door has to be locked with a key from the outside or the handle on the inside. So how did this thief get into her flat on the night of the murder?’
‘She let him in.’
‘Or he had a key.’
Frank objected. ‘Reidun would never ever lend her flat key to anyone.’
‘No?’ Gunnarstranda queried, taken aback. ‘Why not?’
‘I just know she wouldn’t.’ Frank leaned forward. ‘Her personality,’ he argued quietly. ‘I envisage a girl with some distance from people, a girl who does as she wants! For her it was important that she was in control of her fate. That she could spend her time as she wished.’ He straightened up in his chair again. ‘We’ve just seen that the murderer had to break in. So why would he have had a key on the night of the murder and not now?’
Gunnarstranda nodded slowly.
‘No one had a key on the night of the murder,’ Frank stated with conviction.
Gunnarstranda’s eyes lit up. ‘Let’s assume you’re right,’ he continued eagerly. ‘No one had a key and no one caught her by surprise. We know she locked up after Sigurd Klavestad. They had hardly fallen asleep when Sigurd got up to go. She went over to the window where she drew the curtains as Johansen said. Afterwards she went back to bed. Sigurd told Kristin Sommerstedt that Reidun’s telephone rang just before he left. It was an anonymous caller. No one spoke. Let’s assume it was the murderer who called.’
Gunnarstranda paused, got up and surveyed the town as the grey dawn began to break.
‘At first Sigurd Klavestad couldn’t get out of the yard,’ he continued, facing the town. ‘It took him time to clamber out. Johansen confirmed that. Reidun, who had gone back to bed, was probably asleep. At least we know some time passed. Johansen said it was a quarter of an hour. Sigurd maintained it was ten minutes tops.’
Frank glanced instinctively at the clock himself. It was half past five. He imagined Eva-Britt sleeping at home in his bed. She would probably have gone back to Julie by the time he had finished here, fairly annoyed with him, he assumed. So he had better ring her afterwards and arrange a morning walk or something to pacify her.
‘In the end, Sigurd manages to scramble over the bloody fence and into the street,’ Gunnarstranda’s voice came from the window.
‘Mm.’
Gunnarstranda nodded and turned to Frølich.
‘I think the old boy saw the murderer, too,’ he concluded. ‘The old codger wouldn’t concede he’d seen the two hippies arrive by taxi before Sigurd Klavestad went home. They unlocked the gate and the door to the stairs. Johansen kept mum about them until we pressed him. So he must have seen the murderer go the same way. That was why he was so bloody high-handed with us. He was messing us around, he knew what we wanted to know and kept it close to his chest. He was so pleased with himself. Because he had followed Klavestad, knew who he was and where he lived.’
Gunnarstranda gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘He exchanged the information for a wad of one-thousand-krone notes. He could do that because he had seen the murderer and knew who he was! You saw yourself how his face changed when he heard that Sigurd Klavestad was dead. If it was Johansen who sold Klavestad’s name and address to the murderer it’s no wonder he got het up when we pressed him.’
‘Hm,’ Frank pondered. ‘How did Johansen find the murderer?’
Gunnarstranda shrugged. Seeming to lose confidence.
‘Hard to say,’ he said, dismissing the question. ‘We know he had been watching Reidun for more than a year. He must have seen most people who visited her last year. That’s a possibility. He recognized the murderer, knew who it was.’
Frank wasn’t impressed by his boss’s tentative response. ‘Thin,’ he contended. ‘There must be a better explanation than that.’
‘Maybe. Let’s leave that for the time being.’
The inspector faced the town again. ‘We know Sigurd Klavestad met the murderer outside the gateway. That’s why he’s lying on Schwenke’s slab now. He met this person who killed Reidun.’
Frank closed his eyes. Opened them. Pulled the hold-all on the table towards him. Took out the bag of bank notes. Held the plastic up to the light, let it dangle in front of his face.
‘Would the old idiot try anything so stupid?’
Gunnarstranda eyed him. ‘Have you got a better suggestion?’
Frank cleared his throat. ‘The jogger, this big-mouth upstairs. We could put the squeeze on him, find out if he really knows as little as he claims.’
Gunnarstranda wrinkled his nose. ‘Bjerke,’ he mumbled, lost in thought. Nodded to himself. ‘It’s true the man noticed precious little on his jog.’
Faint smile. ‘Would be interesting to hear what he has to say about the burglary last night.’
The smile broadened into a big grin. ‘Good idea, Frølich!’
He snatched the telephone. ‘What about if a couple of boys toddle over to Bjerke now and spoil the morning jog?’
Gunarstranda picked up the receiver, rang and got what he wanted. Leaned back in his chair afterwards with coffee cup in hand.
‘That’s done then,’ he said under his breath. Raised the cup to his mouth, but put it down quickly. Pulled a grimace at the confrontation with cold coffee. Lit a cigarette instead, exhaled a cloud of blue smoke.
I’ll remember that smell for ever, thought Frank, closing his eyes. Smoke, coffee and the boss’s Aqua Velva aftershave. The smell of night in this room.
‘There are still several loose threads,’ Gunnarstranda mulled aloud. ‘But let’s unravel the knotted ones we know. The murderer,’ he began. ‘The person Klavestad met and Johansen saw going into the block of flats. The gate was open. It had been opened by the freaks on the top floor with the half-dead cannabis plant on the window sill. The murderer went upstairs and rang Reidun’s doorbell.’