EliseHermansen was obviously flustered when she came in. She stood in the doorwaypeering around. 'I've never been inside a police station before,' sheapologized in an anxious voice, stroking her newly coiffured hair.
'You'llbe fine,' Gunnarstranda said. He took her elbow and guided her towards thetable in the middle of the floor. 'Please take a seat. Is there anything youwould like? Coffee, for example?'
'No,thanks,' she said, sitting down. 'Do I really have to go through this?'
Gunnarstrandaconsidered the question. 'You don't have to, but it would be nice if you wouldtake the trouble.' He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out apile of photographs. He stood by the desk in silence for a few seconds, butwhen she showed no intention of answering, he continued: 'From your descriptionthe man who entered your agency was about forty years old, five-foot-eleven,wore an earring and was well-built, not fat.'
EliseHermansen nodded.
'Well-built,but not fat,' Gunnarstranda repeated, looking her in the eye. 'Like thepoliceman you spoke to first – Frank Frølich?' Gunnarstranda gesturedtowards Frølich, who had just entered and was closing the door behindhim.
EliseHermansen blushed, gave a nervous smile and fluttered her eyelids.
Frølichgrinned. 'Do you think I'm fat… rather than well-built? Was he slimmer thanme?'
EliseHermansen was reassured by Frølich’s smile. 'I like men to be more thanskin and bone,' she said with more relaxed intonation. 'Let's say he wasnarrower round the waist than you.'
'Great,'Frølich said, winking at her. He turned to the other policeman: 'I'dlike to discuss a witness. I'll be outside.' He pointed to the other door andmade a move to leave.
'Comparedwith you, he was slim in fact,' Elise Hermansen said to Frølich as hewas leaving.
Frølichclosed the door. The lady turned to Gunnarstranda. 'I didn't mean it likethat,' she said.
'Theman was good-looking in a brutish sort of way,' Gunnarstranda read aloud.
Elisenodded again.
'Whenyou were asked what you meant by the expression "good-looking in a brutishsort of way" you answered that his face was a bit like an Italian actor's,such as Marcello Mastroianni or Sylvester Stallone.' She looked up again.
Elisenodded.
'Couldyou expand on that?'
'Therewas something about the mouth and the chin. But to be specific…'
Gunnarstrandanodded.
'Abit ravaged… masculine.'
'Isee. And when you were asked what colour his eyes were you answered that youcouldn't remember. Can you remember now?'
Eliseshook her head in regret.
'Yousaid he had salt and pepper hair, a pony tail and an ugly scar on his rightforearm.'
Elisenodded.
'Butyou can't remember his name? Did Katrine Bretterud mention the man's name?'
'That'swhat I'm not sure about.'
'Mhm?'
'Ithink she may have mentioned a name.'
'Whenthe two of you were talking?'
'No,when I was asking her questions afterwards she told me his Christian name, Ithink, but I'm sorry, I can't bring it to mind.'
'Nevermind,' Gunnarstranda said in a friendly voice. 'I've passed on your informationabout this man to the archive ladies at Kripos, the Serious Crime Squad, and Iasked for photos of people born in 1955 through to 1964. That's an age range of35 to 45. Some people look older than they are, and some look younger, don'tthey. It depends on hair, clothes and so on…'
'It wasa sort of thug's name,' Elise interrupted.
Gunnarstrandastraightened his glasses. 'Thug's name?'
'Yes,the sort of name those brutes often have: Stig, Ronny
Gunnarstrandasat nodding. He mumbled. 'Bird maybe? Roger? Jim?'
Eliseshook her head in despair. 'I might remember…'
'Inthe meantime,' the policeman said, 'I'd like you to take your time and have agood look at the pictures. You don't have to be a hundred per cent certain. Youcan tell me if you see a trait that rings a bell and Frank Frølich or Iwill discuss it with you afterwards. And you don't have to be afraid you'regoing to hurt anyone. If you recognize someone, what happens is that we talk tothe respective person to try to clear up whether he could have had any connectionwith Katrine – or just eliminate him from our enquiries. All right?' Elisenodded.
Gunnarstrandahad to fight to suppress a coughing fit. He smiled in apology and went on: 'Ishould point out that even if a person has a photo in the police archives itdoes not necessarily mean he is a criminal. I say this so that you don't jumpto any conclusions if you see someone you know in this pile. Still all right?'Elise Hermansen nodded.
'Let'sroll,' Gunnarstranda said, placing the pile of photographs in front of her onthe desk.
'Wonderwhether we'll be lucky,' Gunnarstranda said, closing the door behind him.'There doesn't seem to be much wrong with the lady's memory. What did you wantto talk about?'
'Theyoung man with the goatee. We may have to consider Henning Kramer a suspect,' Frølichsaid, swinging round in his chair.
'Isee,' said Gunnarstranda. He took Frølich’s report and began to read itwith interest.
'Hesays he picked up Katrine from Annabeth s's party, drove round with her andended up on the old Mossevei – in Oppegård, almost right over byTusenfryd amusement park – where he claims they made love. She was willing.'
'Isee,' Gunnarstranda said, reading on. Frølich swung gently to and fro onhis chair while his partner read.
Atlength Gunnarstranda raised his head and said, 'What do you think about this?'
'Ithink I…' the younger policeman began, but paused because Gunnarstranda washaving one of his terrible coughing fits.
'Ithink…' Frølich held his breath as a series of new jerks ran throughGunnarstranda's lean body. The man was trying to suppress a cough that wouldnot yield. That's no twitchy nose or the start of a cold, thought Frølich.The boss's cough was hollow, asthmatic and bronchitic, a cough that rumbled andhacked from a foothold deep and entrenched in the man's lungs. Like arockslide, thought Frølich, trying not to show that he had noticed thestubborn muscular convulsions in Gunnarstranda's face. But it was not easy topretend when the man's eyes were bulging and his lips pressed together so tightthat his head went a deep burgundy colour as the air from his lungs pushed athis cheeks and mouth from inside. The detective inspector was beginning toresemble a frog. The rocks in his lungs were waiting to pile down the side ofthe mountain; it was just waiting for the first one to come loose. 'You shouldsee a doctor,' Frølich said when he could stand it no longer.
'Wh…wh… hm… hm… why's that?'
'Itcould be emphysema. Heavy smokers get emphysema.'
Thefit began to subside. The boss sent him a stiff glare until his breathingbecame more regular and the rocks inside had settled. 'It's not emphysema,' heanswered with suppressed anger. He cleared his throat as if to confirm that thefit was over. The detective inspector mopped his brow. 'It's a smoker's cough,'he mumbled 'A bog-standard smoker's cough.'
'Isthat what the doctor says?'
'Yes.'
'You'vegot to give up smoking!'
'Ofcourse. But I've got the cough under control now. I don't inhale so deep.'Gunnarstranda was already fidgeting with another cigarette. 'Besides, smokingis one of my pleasures.'
'But
'Shutup about my smoking! Talk to me about Henning Kramer. Is he a rotten apple?'
Frølichflinched at the other man's outburst. Then he hurriedly continued: 'Maybe.There's a flaw in his story. He seemed quite credible until the bonk in thecar, but then he began all this weird stuff about driving her to the roundaboutjust by the crime scene.'
'Ishe lying?'
'Idon't know. It might have been nerves. Just suppose he was telling the truth inthe first part; in other words, he drove her out there to have a love-in, butthen… '
'…then she didn't want to, you mean?' Gunnarstranda nodded and went on, 'Supposehe tried it on, was rejected – after all she had a boyfriend. He raped her,left loads of sperm on her clothes. She resisted, tore his hair, scratched him.That would be a logical train of thought.' He nodded.