Hecast a last glance over the fjord and followed Gunnarstranda, who was alreadyon his way to the car.
'Thereare a couple of things I don't like about this theory,' the police inspectorsaid as they drove on.
Frølich:'Which theory?'
'Thatthe killer was coming from Oslo. The problem is that we seem to be groping inthe dark. If the car came east from Oslo the killer might be in Sweden now andwe would be none the wiser.'
Chapter Nineteen
Shewas sitting and waiting at their usual table at the back of the restaurant. Shemust have been sitting there for a while because there was a half-empty bottleof Farris mineral water beside her. The sunlight from outside made her thick,dark hair shine. She was reading, and had already seen him because she waspacking away her papers. He gave the cloakroom attendant his denim jacket,having put his wallet in his back pocket first.
Theygazed at each other. She was wearing a light summer dress. It was different.She tended to dress more formally on weekdays. He stood for a couple of secondsand studied her; her shoulders were tanned, summer-brown, golden.
'Theusual?' she asked.
Henodded and sat down.
'Good,'she said. 'I've already ordered.'
'Whatdo you think of tattoos?' he asked.
Sheraised her eyebrows in query. 'You're not telling me you have…?'
'No,I mean for you. Have you ever thought about it? Having a tattoo?'
Sheshook her head. 'Me with my job?' She pushed out one shoulder and peered downat it as though there were a design there. 'Me with my image…'
'Themurdered girl had a tattoo, a big tattoo on her stomach.' His hand circled hisstomach.
Eva-Brittlooked at him sideways. 'Do you think it's sexy, Frankie?'
'Maybe.But not on a dead body. But what do you think? Could it be tasteful?'
'Ifyou're a stripper, maybe.' She made room for the waiter to place the food onthe table. 'But I'm not,' she added and began to sprinkle parmesan cheese overthe spaghetti.
'Lenahas a tattoo, I gather,' Frank reminded her. Lena was Eva-Britt's girlfriendfrom way back.
Eva-Brittreconsidered the idea. 'It might be tasteful,' she decided.
'BecauseLena's got one?'
'No,Lena has quite a tasteful motif. It's a comic figure. The little yellow birdwith the big head…'
Frankhad no idea who she meant.
'Inthose old Daffy Duck comics,' Eva-Britt said. 'The bird that always fought withthe cat.'
'Tweetyand Sylvester,' Frank said.
'Mm,'Eva-Britt nodded. 'Tweety'. She pointed to her bare shoulder. Lena has a tattooof Tweety here. It's quite tasteful because it's a bit downmarket. And thenit's quite funny. Roses and birds and that sort of thing are worse because theyare supposed to be sexy. It means you have to think about what clothes youwear. In my job you can't walk around with a cartoon on your shoulder. As awoman…'
'What'sso special about your job?'
'Areyou being sarky?'
'No,'Frank assured her. 'I'm curious. I'm thinking about this girl with the largeflower on her stomach.'
'Well,she could always cover that one up,' Eva- Britt nodded. 'But being the managerof a medium-sized company with many male colleagues…' She threw him a lopsidedsmile and shook her head. 'I can't provoke men into fantasizing about my body,Frankie. A tattoo is downright unthinkable.'
'Soyou have considered having one?'
Sheglanced up, but ignored the question. 'And that's without even mentioning thefact that tattoos are hard to remove. I just consider them ugly. I once saw ayoung woman in Felix. She had a snake tattooed over her leg, a python wrappedaround her thigh going down under her knee. Every single man she meets will befantasizing about where the rest of the snake is. Do you understand? I'm sureit's fun for her when she is young and crazy and attractive. But she won't everbe able to last a day in a serious job that demands respect and professionaldistance.'
'NowI don't understand what you mean,' Frank said. 'I thought you were for women'srights and against sexual harassment.'
'ButI am!'
'Butshould it count against her that she's got a snake tattoo that excites men'sfantasies?'
'Listento what I'm saying. It should not count against her, but she sidelines herselfbecause every man will focus on her sexuality more than her other qualitieswhen he meets her.'
'Hm,'Frank said.
'Haveyou learned something new?'
'Don'tknow,' Frank said. 'You have a point.'
'Justimagine,' Eva-Britt went on. 'I can also feel sexy, feel like being sexy
'Bringit on,' Frank said contentedly.
Sheignored him. 'But why should I paste it all over my body and never be able tofree myself from it again?'
Frankgrew serious. 'What I'm wondering is whether the tattoo says anything abouther.'
Eva-Brittsmiled. 'And what do you think?'
Hedeliberated. 'I think she was trying to create a new life for herself. Everyonesays that. She was trying to find freedom.'
'Butthen a symbol of that kind can be interpreted in a great many ways,' Eva-Brittsaid. 'If the tattoo is old, she may have regretted ever having it done. But itcould also be a useful reminder.'
'Useful?'
'Akind of stigma, the symbol of something that should never be repeated.'
Heabsorbed her comments. 'You're on the ball today,' Frank said. He started toeat as well, but was soon lost in thought again.
Eva-Britt:'What are you thinking about?'
'RagnarTravis says you can become addicted to tattoos, like cigarettes.'
'Cigarettes?'
'Yes,he says one tattoo is fine, two is OK too, but three – then you're hooked. It'sjust a question of time before the whole of your body is decorated.'
'Thatis definitely grim. People like that look as though they have been made in afactory.'
Henodded.
'Talkabout something else, Frankie,' Eva-Britt said with raised fork. 'Just don'ttalk about going to the cabin with that mad boss of yours.'
Frankgulped. 'What do you feel like doing afterwards?' he asked at length.
'Cinema,'she said.
'Tosee what?'
Eva-Brittput on a mischievous smile. 'It doesn't matter so long as it's sexy.'
Chapter Twenty
Theprevious day might have been wet, but this day was drier than white wine.Police Inspector Gunnarstranda rolled down the car window and watched thesturdy figure of Frank Frølich approaching. The car park was empty apartfrom the odd car frying in the sun. Through the opening in the cypress hedgethat divided the car park from the cemetery came a female gardener. She waspulling off a pair of filthy gardening gloves and plodding around in shorts andheavy boots covered in soil and clay. Clumps of earth fell off, leaving a trailbehind her. She wiped the sweat off her brow and lit a cigarette which shestood smoking while staring pensively at the ground. A minibus trundled intothe car park, passed the gardener, and Frølich too, before parking. Alogo with the name of the rehab centre was painted in large, hazy, colourfulletters on the side of the bus: vinterhagen. A crowd of well- dressed youngpeople piled out. They seemed fragile in their fine clothes, almost as thoughthey had been rolled in starch to ensure that they remained erect. Frølichgave them a nod. The youths looked around with their hands buried deep in theirtrouser pockets before ambling off to the chapel where a gentleman in darkclothes from the funeral parlour was waiting for them. Ole Eidesen was theretoo. He stood with his nose in a booklet for the funeral ceremony. He wasdressed in black.
Frølichgot into Gunnarstranda's car bringing with him a strong smell of deodorant andsweat. 'Those are the VIPs,' he mumbled, nodding towards the youths in front ofthe chapel. 'Shall we go in?'
Gunnarstrandashook his head. 'Let them have half an hour to themselves.'