'Andyou're the brother?'
'Yes.'
Theothers in the room breathed out and began to move again. Gunnarstranda couldfeel their eyes on him. There was a body on the floor and he was standing withthe dead man's brother in his arms. He could not question him here.
Gunnarstrandalooked around the flat. It was full of bookshelves up and down the walls. Theroom was attractive, decorated with taste. A few African masks and art postershung from places where there was no shelving.
'Sothis is your flat?' Gunnarstranda had another look around. His gaze fell on asmall wood-carving of a horseman balancing precariously on the bookshelf. Justinside the door was a suitcase with a British Airways label still hanging fromthe handle and a bag of duty-free goods beside it. 'Been travelling?'
Thevet followed the policeman's gaze and nodded.
'Forlong?'
'Tendays or so.'
'Quitea welcome home,' Frølich interjected.
Thevet slumped into a chair and stared into the distance with a blank expressionon his face. 'I'm worn out,' he said, shaking his head dejectedly. 'I haven'tslept for over a day. My body is riddled with jet lag. And I come here and findHenning hanging from the lighting fixture. It's too much. I can't cope.'
'Whatdid…?' Gunnarstranda started to say, but Frølich stopped him andhunkered down in front of the vet whose eyes were still glazed. 'You have ourfull sympathy,' Frølich said in a gentle tone. 'We understand that thismust be a terrible strain, but we are nevertheless obliged to clear up a fewmatters, even though this is your flat. If you wouldn't mind coming with me,I'll book you a hotel room until tomorrow.'
'Thisis my flat,' the man in the chair stated from faraway.
'Ofcourse it's your flat.'
'Sowhy don't you leave? Why can't I be alone?'
'Wehave to take your dead brother with us,' Frølich said. 'And we have tolet a few forensic technicians go through the flat to ascertain how thishappened.'
'Butit's obvious how it happened.'
'HerrKramer,' Frølich insisted, taking the suitcase into the hall. 'Could youcome with me, please?'
Gunnarstrandawatched through the window until they appeared in the street. Frølich,large and broad with a rolling gait; the other man grey, almost a smudge, withhair whirled up by the wind revealing a bald patch as they strolled towards thepolice car. With a little twitch of the mouth, Gunnarstranda involuntarilyraised a hand and patted his comb- over.
Atthat moment two ambulance men came in through the door. They were carrying astretcher and a body bag. Gunnarstranda looked down at the deceased HenningKramer.
'Weneed some technical assistance here,' he said tersely. 'After that I'm off forthe weekend.'
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Itwas Friday afternoon and the summer traffic in Drammensveien was desperatelyslow. But as soon as Frølich turned off to take the old Lier hillsroute, the traffic eased. In Hurumlandet there were almost no other cars to beseen, especially after leaving the main road and taking the winding tracklinking the farms. Here and there the road went through a farmyard where anidle elkhound or a St Bernard lay with its head between its front paws, openingan indolent bloodshot eye to follow the car. Then he passed through an areawith fields and meadows on either side. He slowed down as the road narrowed fora bridge over an old dyke and passed some mountain crags where some hardyfellow passing himself off as a farmer had released a few cows that eithergrazed between mounds of rock or waited with listless, hanging heads by ashelter made with round poles.
FrankFrølich was never very sure of the way after the tarmac came to an endand the road entered the forest. The tyres rumbled and the stony track was dry- it hadn't rained for a few hours – as the dust was swirled upwards causingFrank to close all valves and vents. The sunshine cut through the foliage atthe side of the road and still he was passing lines of green postboxes foroutlying properties, or crossroads where the track split and a tractor's tyremarks or cattle trails led into the wild. Frank never remembered where heshould stop; he wouldn't remember until he saw Gunnarstranda's red Bцlanzride-on mower. If he could locate the mower he would have his bearings again.It was always like this, and every time he thought the way seemed longer thanon the previous journey. He passed a small farmyard where graceful horses withshiny coats were strutting around a well-trodden paddock. He passed another farmyardwhere more graceful horses jerked nervously as the car went by. He drove pastcabins with barred windows, past cabins with colourful postboxes, but he didn'tslow down until he spotted a green rubbish skip for cabin owners. Five hundredmetres up the mountainside he saw Gunnarstranda's mower parkedhiggledy-piggledy under some pine trees. He parked beside the mower, opened theboot and took out a sleeping bag, a parcel of meat for the barbecue, a six-packand a bottle of Ballantine's whisky. He locked the car and ambled down thenarrow path between the trees leading to Gunnarstranda's holy of holies: thecabin he called the Palace.
Hefound his boss on the veranda. In a track suit. He looked like he had beenrolled in dough, but the baking operation had been abandoned. On a chair satsomething white with a head protruding from the top, two arms at the side andtwo clumpy, almost unused trainers resting on the balustrade. The man's fingerswere rolling a supply of cigarettes.
Frølichstarted by delivering his report on Henning Kramer's brother. 'The brother'sthe one who owns the car – the Audi. Henning was allowed to make use of the carwhen his brother wasn't there. His brother had been away for ten days; he saysHenning was living with his mother, but he kept an eye on the brother's flat,too. He may have slept there – on the odd occasion. They had no specialagreement this time, except that Henning was to pop by and water a few plants.That cactus, among others.'
Gunnarstrandalowered his feet, stood up and threw more charcoal on the brick grill in thecorner where the fire was blazing with dry, cracking noises.
'Getsome glasses,' he said and started unpacking the marinated meat from thecarrier bags.
Frølichwent in through the broad glass doors straight to a shelving system thatseparated the sitting room from the kitchen. Here he found two large beertankards which he took outside.
'I'vemade some salad,' Gunnarstranda mumbled and gave a nod of acknowledgement as Frølichpoured beer into the glasses.
'Thebrother says Henning often used his flat. He also says he spoke to Henning onthe phone. Henning rang him on Thursday.'
'Whattime of day was that?' Gunnarstranda asked.
'Eighto'clock in the evening, Norwegian time, and as it was Henning who called, thebrother sees that as evidence that he was making sure he wouldn't be disturbedwhile he hung himself.'
'Howso?'
'Firstof all, because it was three in the morning – in the Philippines. Henningrespected his brother and would never have rung him unless it was for somethingspecial – his brother thinks. The conversation boiled down to a question aboutwhen the brother was coming home. Henning had never called his brother when hewas abroad before.'
'Thursdayevening. Wonder what I was doing then,' the police inspector mumbled tohimself.
'Iwas in the cinema anyway,' Frølich said.
'Youwaste your time going to the cinema, do you?'
'Iwasn't alone. I had a lady with me. Besides it was one of the most violentfilms I've ever seen. It was the film that Katrine Bratterud saw the eveningbefore she was bumped off, The Matrix. By the way, one of the charactershad the same beard as Kramer. In fact, he looked very much like him.'
'Youdon't say. Was he a hero or a villain?'
'Villain,'Frølich said with a grin.
'Whatdid they talk about?'
'Who?'
'Henningand his brother.'
'Life,the meaning of life, whether things were predetermined or you had control overyour own life… destiny.'
'Thatdoesn't have to be depressing,' Gunnarstranda said. 'You can do that with asense of wonder.'