‘How do you mean awful?’
She flung her arms in the air. ‘Maybe wild is a better word. It was all a bit… wild listening to the latest in the peeping tom war!’
‘She wasn’t at all frightened?’
‘Nope.’
‘And this was last week?’
‘Yes. I think she talked to me on Thursday. Yes, it was Thursday.’ This was such crucial information that the woman must have known. He studied her features. The sensitive lips and the brown eyes.
She went on: ‘We didn’t talk about this a lot. But we did talk about our accommodation in general. She didn’t have much room and she wanted something more spacious, there were things she wanted to do. And that was when the conversation came back to the war.’
Gunnarstranda listened to Kristin Sommerstedt talking about Reidun’s private war. She touched on personal development and awakening. The right to be a woman and dress how you wanted, to live your own life even though you had an old pig living in the adjacent block. ‘In a way she felt affronted!’
Kristin Sommerstedt’s brown eyes flashed with emotion. ‘Affronted by not being allowed to live her life in peace.’
Gunnarstranda nodded. He tried to imagine a long-limbed buxom blonde struggling to rid herself of Arvid Johansen’s harassment by opening the curtains and making love all night with this long-haired lad. Listening to her, the detective felt old. So when the woman paused, he said with a cool smile: ‘She didn’t get any kind of pleasure out of this, did she? It wasn’t just that she liked to get the old pig going, was it?’
Her eyes met his. With undisguised disappointment.
‘Is that even a remote possibility? That she would get any kind of pleasure from it?’
She stared down at the floor. Her mind boiling with anger.
He waited.
‘I should have kept my mouth shut,’ she burst out, getting up and pacing to and fro. This was no posturing.
He leaned back. The sofa was unpleasantly soft. It was impossible to sit there and relax. ‘Calm down,’ he said, clearing his throat and leaning forward. Gave a resigned sigh. ‘I asked you if she got any pleasure from inciting the old pig because I consider you sharp-minded enough to answer me if this was the case. Don’t trip over your bottom lip! Tell me if she was happy at work.’
Something glinted in her eyes. A connection. Ironic smile above the birthmark. A sigh. Unarticulated ‘All right then’. She sat down.
‘Did Reidun have a steady boyfriend?’ he asked.
‘Not that I knew of.’
He waited.
‘I think there were a few who had a soft spot for her,’ she mumbled.
‘But you don’t know of anyone in particular?’
She replied with a shrug. ‘No one I can think of.’
‘She didn’t talk about any other neighbours?’
Kristin pondered. ‘Don’t recall any.’
‘A couple with a small child?’
‘No.’
‘No other men nearby who helped her with odd jobs, starting the car when temperatures dropped?’
‘’Fraid not.’
Kristin smiled.
‘Was she happy at work?’
‘We-ell…’
She drew out the pause. ‘Have you met them?’ she asked
‘No.’
‘The boss is a bit special.’
‘Engelsviken?’
She nodded. ‘Over forty. Behaves like twenty-five. Whizzes round in an open sports car, wearing a silk suit and sunglasses. Never acknowledges you. Swears a lot and uses loads of jargon in his speech. Tries to play the millionaire type people find exotic. But he’s just a fat adolescent fixated on tits and ass. Short chubby fingers and a smile full of teeth.’
She shuddered and her shoulders contorted. It wasn’t feigned.
‘His wife’s just the opposite. The fine lady. Bit virtuous like girls in fairy tales. Absolutely amazing that they’re married to each other.’
‘Amazing?’
She bided her time. ‘In fact, I don’t think she’s very happy,’ she said in a quiet voice.
He waited. The woman stared into middle distance. ‘Sonja’s been through quite a bit. It can’t be easy always having to clear up after that shit. Keeping a front.’
‘Should they have got divorced?’ Gunnarstranda asked. Adding when he saw her expression: ‘Perhaps they’ve got kids who keep them together?’
‘Don’t know. I don’t think they have any children.’
Kristin continued: ‘Still I find it hard to imagine Sonja Hager giving up the house on the ridge. Or going out on the town alone. Or…’
She grinned. ‘To be frank, I don’t understand how she sticks it. Ask her.’
He could not sit still any longer. It was his turn to get up and pace the floor.
‘The Finance Manager?’
‘Hunting-mad fitness junkie.’
‘Hunting-mad?’
She nodded. ‘Drives round with this big box on the roof of his car. Whole year round. Keeps a rifle in it twenty-four-seven.’
Gunnarstranda scowled.
‘It’s true. He’s shown me. Suppose he wanted to impress me. He’s like that. Shows off his muscles and boasts he sleeps under the stars. Told me he drives to the woods at night to shoot a hare or suchlike. Loves to go on about how easy it is to clean dead animals.’
‘To gut.’
‘What?’
‘It’s called gutting an animal when you remove their intestines,’ Gunnarstranda said in a low, slightly remote voice. ‘He likes going on about that, did you say?’
‘Loves making girls recoil with horror. So that he can put his rough arms around them and let them feel his muscles.’ She sneered.
‘Have you often seen this rifle of his?’
‘Once. But everyone knows Bregård drives around with a rifle on the roof.’
‘What kind of rifle?’
‘Don’t know. I’m not very well up on that sort of thing.’
‘How many barrels, one or two?’
‘Two.’
The police officer held back, and she confirmed with a nod. ‘Two,’ she repeated.
Gunnarstranda stroked his chin. ‘A rifle on the roof,’ he muttered.
She peered up at him. ‘You seem like an intelligent man,’ she said, out of the blue.
He stopped. Their eyes met. This was more difficult.
Kristin Sommerstedt talked about what it was like to be a woman. Playing roles all the time. Gunnarstranda thought of the dead girl who had worked at the Post Office, on the supermarket till and selling computer equipment. What dreadful roles had she gone around playing, he mused with a sudden anger. Looking at the attractive woman on the sofa. Full red lips and a fascinating birthmark by her chin. Her lips spoke of what it was like to be a woman among men. Especially if you were smart. Smarter than the men. ‘Reidun was smart,’ she explained. ‘Smarter than most. But she was never acknowledged. Reidun was one of those who adapted to circumstances. Played the dumb blonde, assumed a role, not to stand out, to be accepted.’
The detective nodded slowly. Her self-image. Important. Was Johansen’s little rose a small, conceited know-it-all?
‘How good was she at this role?’
‘Fantastic.’
‘Did she challenge those around her?’
‘No, she was in total control. She did as she wanted.’
‘Did she manipulate people?’
‘I wouldn’t use a word like that. She did as she wanted.’
‘But she angered some people?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You just told me about an old pig who lost his temper.’
She didn’t answer.
He tried to visualize her. Reckless. Doing a striptease for a randy old sod hiding behind binoculars.
The woman on the sofa observed him. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ she said. ‘She wasn’t like that. She could be like that.’
‘Uhuh,’ he answered, mind elsewhere. ‘This Bregård, did he get lucky with Reidun?’
‘I have absolutely no idea!’
‘You weren’t on intimate terms?’