Hewent into a crouch and checked around the area of the trodden-down raspberrybushes. He examined the ground and tried to trample as little vegetation aspossible. Whether the flattened edge of the ditch had been a crime scene or notwas of less importance now as the pouring rain was washing away any clues theremight have been. His green jacket hung down to his hips. On his legs he waswearing dark jeans and high green waders. He had tried to fold the stiff rainjacket at the bottom so that not too much rain would trickle down on to histhighs. But it was no use. Both his trouser legs were dark blue with the rain,and every time he moved he had the unpleasant sensation of his trouserssticking to his skin. His hood fell forwards like a helmet and obstructed hisvision on both sides. Every time he turned his head, he had to pull back thehood with his right arm in order to be able to see anything apart from theinside material. Frølich stood up and headed for the other crime sceneinvestigators.
'Idon't know,' he said.
Hedidn't need to say any more. The others understood what he meant. Someone mayhave committed a murder in this place, but it could equally well have been deermoving around and trampling scrub and thicket.
'Noclothes anyway,' said Yttergjerde, the oldest policeman in the group, abow-legged man with a powerful, almost barrel-shaped upper torso, long upperarms and a stooping posture.
'Haveyou been on leave yet, Frankie?'
Frankshook his head inside the hood.
'Youhaven't been out to catch the great pike?'
Frank,who knew of Yttergjerde's passion for pike fishing, said, as was the truth, 'Itend to concentrate on trout.'
'Pikehave never turned you on?'
'No,'said Frølich, staring into the rain. 'Fly fishing is an art form all itsown – finding out what's in the area, making up the right fly and holding onwhen you have a bite.'
'Pikesare toughies,' said Yttergjerde. 'On Sunday I caught one weighing four kilos.'
'I'mnever allowed to go away at the weekends,' Frølich responded. 'Mypartner isn't at all interested in fishing.'
'Fourkilos,' Yttergjerde repeated. 'I had to kill it with a hammer axe, bang away atthe head until it cracked, and afterwards I put the pike in a black bin bag atthe bottom of the boat while I tried for a couple of hours to catch a few more.When I arrived home the missus wasn't in, so I put the pike in the utility sinkand wrote a message to Mum to scrape it and make fishcakes for supper! Thatevening the missus came home and went looking for a knife. The pike flapped itstail and jumped into the air. Yup, it had been lying there, drying out andbreathing air for half a day, but down on the floor it wriggled over towards mymissus snapping its jaws like a hungry croc!'
Frølichgave a weak smile. 'Must have been one of the ones that eats kiddies swimmingin the river,' he said drily.
'Youthink I'm bull-shitting, don't you,' Yttergjerde said. 'But it's almostimpossible to kill them. They're jungle creatures. Bury themselves in the mudwhen it's dry season. As the pools dry out in July you can see them buryingthemselves with their eyes poking out. The good old boys take time off to goand kill pikes day in, day out, but the buggers are hard to kill! Then therains come and they smack their tails on the surface of the water like smallwhales and swim off.' He was not smiling. There were deep furrows in the man'sface. He had long, narrow teeth he hid by pressing his lips together, whichgave him a surly expression – and which gave even the tallest of fisherman'stales an appearance of credibility.
Frølichnodded. 'Long time yet to a dry summer,' he said looking up at the sky. 'Whathave we found so far?'
'Acrushed, empty can of Coke,' Julius read from a list he had made. 'A usedcondom – washed out and rotten, several bits of paper that were once packets ofcigarettes… a load of rusty beer-bottle caps… and an electric motor, a waterpump at a guess.'
'Whowould throw away a water pump?' Frølich asked.
'Anyone,if it was knackered,' Yttergjerde said. He nodded towards the water's edgefurther down. 'Just wait until you deploy the divers. We'll be wallowing instolen cars and caravans.'
'We'reonly looking for fresh clues,' Frølich said in a tired voice, rubbingthe blue biro mark on the back of his hand. 'Clothes, a woman's party frock, Isuppose nylons with lace, that sort of thing… underwear… and jewellery.'
Yttergjerdeshook his head in despair. At that moment a young constable came round the bendwith an object in his hands. Both Frølich and Yttergjerde turned to facehim. Rain was dripping from the shadows on the young constable's police cap;there was one drop hanging from the underside of his nose. The policeman heldout what he had found. It was a woman's high-heeled shoe soiled with mud anddirt. 'That must have spent at least three winters in the woods,' Yttergjerdesaid gloomily. He focused on Frølich and heaved a wordless sigh, whichexpressed what they all felt, all of those who were searching the area in thetorrential rain. 'Shall I put the shoe on the list?'
Thepoliceman who had made the find was standing in the same military posture as Frølich,at ease, so as not to feel the soaked clothes on his skin. 'There were a coupleof empty plastic bags, too,' he commented.
'Shewas last seen on her way up to Holmlia,' Frølich said. 'And she wasfound less than five hundred metres from here.'
Hepointed past the white bathing hut and across to the other side of the inlet.'There,' he said, 'where the road bends and there is just the safety barrierleading down to the beach. Someone tipped her over the barrier. She wasstrangled somewhere close by.' He looked at his watch. 'Hope you can stand abit more,' he mumbled. 'I have…' He cleared his throat as he searched for theright word. 'I'm afraid I have… an interview with a witness.'
Heleft them and strolled over to the car. They could think what they liked. Therewere more useful things he could do elsewhere.
Hefound an old plastic bag in the boot of his car and put it on the seat beforegetting in. He needed dry clothes and so drove home first. As he was unlockingthe door he heard the telephone ringing in the sitting room. At once heremembered he had promised to phone Eva-Britt. He took the call on the cordlessand continued to search for dry clothes while talking. Eva-Britt reminded himof the arrangement they had on Friday night. That was just what Frank had beendreading. 'I may be able to make it on Saturday instead,' he answered airily,taking a pair of dry jeans out of the wardrobe. The silence on the phone didnot bode well. 'I know you don't like that,' he mumbled, wondering whether hehad an ironed shirt. Doubtful. 'But I can't say no to Gunnarstranda, not onthat day. When the man asks me to his mountain cabin, it's not a cabin, it'sthe Holy Grail.'
Hefound socks in the drawer and a pair without holes in the heel while Eva-Brittwas gasping for air, wherever she was. Holy Grail or not, that was not thepoint. The point was that he was a past master in putting her in second place.It was humiliating and it made her doubt his feelings – it was the usual story.He put the cordless down on the window sill, lay on the bed and peeled thesaturated trousers off his thighs as her voice cut through the room: 'Are youlistening to what I am saying?'
Frankgrabbed the phone. 'Oh shit,' he said.
'What?'
'Idropped the phone. Can you repeat the last thing you said?'
Hewrenched off his trousers as her voice crackled like a radio. Eyed himself inthe mirror. Too fat, too white. He picked up the phone again and raised it tohis ear. 'I see that,' he said as she paused for breath. 'And I am reallysorry. But can you do Saturday or not?'
Shewas stuttering with anger. This was the phase before she began to lay into him.He had to interrupt: 'Then I'll buy a bottle of red wine for you and some beerfor me. I'll invite you to salted cod, bacon and mushroom ragout, which you canmake – and I won't start work on Sunday until ten, I promise.'
Heheld the phone away from his ear before she progressed into mid-rant.
'Well,'he repeated. 'I'm afraid appeals won't help. I have to work on Sunday.' He putdown the phone again, pulled on his dry trousers and buttoned up the fly. Thenhe lifted his trousers from the waistband and studied his stomach side on.