Gunnarstranda took a break. Frank inhaled and continued for him:
‘Reidun must have thought it was Sigurd coming back!’
‘Presumably,’ Gunnarstranda concurred with a nod. ‘She got out of bed, went over to the door…’
He hesitated.
Neither of them said anything. Frank rose to his feet, walked over to the sink with the coffee jug and filled it with fresh water. Gunnarstranda sat with his elbows on the desk. Staring ahead, puffing on his cigarette without removing it from his mouth.
For the second time they sat listening to the chug of the coffee machine as the water trickled through.
‘This is where we have to tread with great caution,’ Gunnarstranda mumbled to himself.
‘We know the knife came from the flat,’ Frank affirmed.
His colleague nodded.
‘So the murderer didn’t take the weapon with him.’
Gunnarstranda nodded slowly. ‘That’s important,’ he nodded. ‘No weapon.’
He stubbed out the cigarette, interlaced fingers and put them under his chin. Rested his head on his hands with his elbows on the table. ‘She opened the door a fraction,’ he said softly. ‘Because she wasn’t wearing any clothes. She thought it was Sigurd coming back, but then someone else was standing there.’
‘She knew him,’ Frank said. ‘He was unarmed.’
‘Yes,’ Gunnarstranda nodded. ‘She knew him. The murder was not an accident. It was committed in passion. The murderer exploded in there. But how well did she know the person who rang? Suppose it had been you standing there, what then?’
‘Then she would have asked what the hell I wanted.’
‘And you would have said you wanted to talk to her.’
‘“Talk then,” she would have said.’
‘“Let me in,” you would have said.’
‘She would have told me to piss off. But if I had known her I assume she would have closed the door in my face and kept me waiting in the corridor while she put on some togs.’
‘That could have happened,’ Gunnarstranda decided, extinguishing another cigarette. He sat with his head lowered. ‘It could have happened like that,’ he repeated softly. ‘Except that she put on a loose dressing gown without a belt, and nothing else.’
Frank raised one foot on to the edge of the desk. ‘It could have happened like that until she tried to close the door!’ He fought another yawn, lost the battle, his jaw clicked. ‘But the person standing there never let her close it. He just shoved open the door and went in before she could react.’
‘But that doesn’t make any bloody sense!’
Gunnarstranda got up with his coffee cup, poured the cold slop into the sink, came back and poured himself another cup from the fresh brew. ‘If whoever-it-was forced his way in,’ he argued, ‘then some time must have passed before the murder was committed! After all, she was wearing this dressing gown. And the man who was there had to locate the knife first, the murder weapon. Since he came unarmed he would have had to lose his temper enough to kill her, to grab the knife in passion. That takes time, too. In addition, he managed to make a terrible mess of her flat! That takes time. And in all this time that just ticked away none of the neighbours heard a single sound. There’s something very bloody wrong here!’
He thumped his fist on the desk and rubbed the edge of his hand afterwards. He’d hit it so hard he hurt himself.
‘Fine,’ Frølich said with diplomacy. ‘Let’s drop that one then. And go on. We’re assuming that Sigurd Klavestad met the killer outside. He died because he had seen the killer there. But why the hell would the killer feel threatened by him?’
‘Because Sigurd saw him again.’
‘Where?’
‘At Software Partners when he was searching for someone to share his grief with and found Kristin Sommerstedt.’
Frank whistled. Stared at his colleague. ‘If Sigurd was murdered because he recognized the killer at Software Partners, then the murderer is one of those connected with the business. As far as we know, Reidun had a close relationship with most people there. I assume a knock at the door from someone there would not especially alarm the woman.’
Gunnarstranda nodded and heaved a sigh.
Frank smiled without opening his mouth. ‘So we know the murderer was connected with Software Partners,’ he beamed, unable to curb the laughter creeping up on him. ‘Why for pity’s sake would the guy break in at Software Partners then?’
‘That’s it,’ roared Gunnarstranda. ‘Of course!’
He jumped up. His lips were trembling and he nervously ran his long fingers over his bald patch. ‘That’s how it has to be,’ he whispered, excited.
Frank felt he was hanging on by his fingernails. ‘How what has to be?’ he shouted testily.
‘You’re right!’
Gunnarstranda’s voice was still a whisper. His eyes sharpened neurotically. ‘The thief doesn’t work there. Only the murderer!’
Frank was none the wiser.
‘Use your grey matter, Frølich!’
Gunnarstranda sat down slowly and managed to find his mouth with the cigarette. But when he lifted the lighter his hands were calm and his eyes shone across the table, cold and triumphant. ‘There were two people, of course!’
He grinned with a barely concealed supercilious expression on his face. Lit the cigarette, leaned back in his chair and lectured:
‘The thief used a crowbar to break into Software Partners a fortnight ago. But he didn’t find what he was looking for. One Saturday two weeks later Reidun is picked up at Scarlet. A place where we know these computer people hang out. She takes Sigurd home to her place. They spend the night together. He leaves at the crack of dawn. Then the murderer comes. Speaks to Reidun. Speaks about something that is incredibly important to the visitor. The time suggests that. Whoever drops by at six o’clock on a Sunday morning must be fairly agitated. As Reidun is standing there without any clothes on she can’t be all that interested. She’s tired and is just waiting for her guest to piss off. In the end, the guest grabs the knife that’s lying around and takes out his rage on Reidun’s chest. Then the murderer runs away. Doesn’t even bother to close the door.’
Gunnarstranda got up.
‘Later the burglar comes along, the one with the Software Partners’ break-in on his conscience. The door’s open and he can walk right in.’
The little man sat down again. ‘For some reason he’s got it into his head that whatever he’s looking for is in Reidun’s flat. He finds the dead girl on the floor, but doesn’t give a damn about her. Starts looking, but then panics. It must be the morning, before Mia Bjerke has returned from her Sunday promenade with husband and child and decides to wash the stairs. The thief clears off without finding anything, but also without having a thorough look. So he is fairly desperate. Has to go back and finish the job. Which he did last night. The body has been removed and he feels safe. Things have calmed down and he can break in at his leisure and search for hours undisturbed.’
‘That can’t be right,’ Frank interrupted with a thick voice. Had to clear his throat. ‘Give me one good reason why this burglar would be passing that particular door on that particular morning with Reidun lying dead inside.’
‘I can give you several,’ Frølich’s colleague replied. ‘She could have arranged to meet him for all we know. Or the burglar may have some arrangement with the murderer. Perhaps he was tailing him. There are several possibilities. But that’s not the main point.’
He smiled. ‘The most important thing for us is to find what he was looking for. Then we’ve got him!’
Frank stared at him. The older policeman with the cigarette and coffee cup had blue bags under his eyes. The thread-like hair lay in unruly tufts across his balding head, his coat was creased and his face sallow under the grey stubble.