Goodness, he thought. Then we’ve got him!
He turned to the window and saw that day had broken. The sky above the street called Grønlandsleiret was blue.
41
Later Frank was better, but nowhere near in top form as he walked through the glass door and entered the restaurant known as Scarlet. The darkened room was completely still. Chairs hung from tables with their legs in the air. There was the sweet smell of beer and many smoked cigarettes.
He crossed the room, passed the small dance floor where Terje Engelsviken had inflicted punishment on himself a few hours earlier, and went over to the brown counter in front of the shelves lined with bottles. Behind the bar, beyond two swing doors to the kitchen, he could hear someone banging around.
‘Hello!’ he shouted.
A man appeared in the doorway. He leaned against one of the swing doors with an inquisitive yet unsympathetic expression on his round, unshaven face.
‘I’m looking for the owner.’
‘That’s me.’
‘Police.’
Frølich showed his ID. The man came from the door to the bar. Looked at the ID. His mood was serious.
‘What’s this about?’
The policeman lifted a chair from one of the tables and sat down. ‘A customer,’ he said casually and studied the man taking a half-litre glass from a plastic dishwasher tray on the bar. Drew off beer from a tap and kept scraping away the rolling mass of white froth. Ordinary sort of person. Knitted blue waistcoat over a plain blue shirt. About fifty. A round and slightly bloated restaurant face with perma-bags under his eyes, which were dull and expressionless until the content of the glass was brown and clear. ‘Fancy a beer?’ he asked, concentrating on his work.
Frank hesitated. ‘No, thanks.’
The man fished out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches from his breast pocket. Put them all on a tray and joined the policeman at the table. Opened the packet and lit what smelt like a cigar.
‘Terje Engelsviken!’
The man nodded. ‘We know him,’ he answered, crossing one leg over the other in business-like fashion. ‘We call him the Kaiser. Gives generous tips,’ he explained.
‘Saturday, the 13th of April.’
The man deliberated. ‘Just a mo.’
He put the cigarette in the ashtray, got up and left.
The cigarette went out after four minutes. Two minutes later the man returned with a receipt. ‘This is dated the 15th of April,’ he said and sat down. ‘That means Engelsviken was here that Saturday. The receipt is for a sheet of glass we had to replace.’
A question formed on Frank Frølich’s furrowed brow.
‘He kicked in the glass,’ the man explained with a dry smile, pointing over his shoulder to the glass door. ‘Expensive business.’
‘When did he arrive?’
‘He usually comes at about eleven. He’s got a card, and comes right in. Doesn’t have to queue.’
‘And on that Saturday?’
The man rested his chin on his hands with a fresh cigarette, and cast his mind back. Took a last drag and crushed the butt in the ashtray. ‘I came here at twelve, so I can’t say when because he was already here.’
‘How so? Did you notice him or what?’
The man glowered. Then his eyes went blank. ‘What’s this about?’
The policeman didn’t answer.
‘For me Engelsviken’s a good customer, that’s all,’ the man continued and took a swig of his beer. Smacked his lips. ‘Nothing personal.’
‘Terje Engelsviken was here that Saturday. He told us,’ Frank lied, focusing on the man’s eyes. ‘Look at it this way: what you say confirms what we already know. But I’m interested to hear your version of events.’
The man nodded. ‘It was the same as always,’ he said, cracking a match in the ashtray. Began to poke around in his teeth with the sharpest fragment. ‘The usual mayhem.’
‘Who was he with?’
‘Don’t know. He’s all over the place. Feels comfortable, knows people. Sometimes he comes with someone but…’
He took something out of his mouth and examined it. ‘I don’t know. The Kaiser’s not the kind to refuse a drink, let me put it like that. And I suppose he had a skinful then, too.’
‘More than usual?’
‘Possibly. But it’s hard to say.’
‘Do you know the name Øyvind Bregård?’
‘No.’
‘Big fellow, bodybuilder type, blond hair, ring in the ear and a big moustache, droops down on both sides.’
The man nodded and chewed the matchstick. ‘A gent with a moustache. We know him. Pal of Engelsviken’s.’
‘Right. Was he here that Saturday?’
The man rolled the match from side to side in his mouth. ‘Don’t know,’ he said in the end. ‘I didn’t notice him anyway.’
Frank rummaged in his inside pocket. Passed the man the photograph of Reidun Rosendal. ‘Seen her?’
The man studied the picture. Tilted his head. Tried to rub off the brown stain that obscured the face. Gave up. ‘Hard to say,’ he mumbled. ‘Looks pretty standard, doesn’t she?’
‘She was here that Saturday.’
The man shot the policeman a glance, waiting.
‘She must have left the place between half past eleven and half twelve,’ the policeman said. ‘With a boyfriend. Slim, good-looking lad with his hair in a pony tail, I think, about twenty-five. Dressed appropriately. I mean, the artist type, black clothes and nose in the air.’
The man nodded. ‘That could fit,’ he mumbled, head bent back, stroking the stubble under his chin. ‘The time could well fit!’
‘Oh yes?’
‘I arrived at about twelve. Long queue. Not many people leaving. Straight after that there was a bit of a fuss. The Kaiser was stirring it. I had a peep to check how it was going, but everything was back to normal. Engelsviken was sitting by the bar and called out something to a long-haired bloke on his way out with a cool blonde.’
‘What kind of bloke?’
‘Well, nose in the air a bit, as you said. Long, black hair.’
‘Pony tail?’
‘No.’
‘Engelsviken yelled. Was that all that happened?’
‘Yep. The bloke gave him the finger, and left with the woman.’
‘Could it have been her?’
The man studied the picture again. ‘Possibly. I had my eyes on her bum. But it could have been this babe, yes, it could.’
‘Tall?’
‘Yes, long legs, black, tight-fitting clothes, mini-skirt.’
‘How tall?’
‘About one seventy-five.’
‘What was her hair like?’
‘Blonde.’
‘I mean, permed curls or what?’
The man looked at the picture of Reidun with permed curls.
‘No,’ he concluded. ‘This one had thick, blonde hair. Cut at a sharp angle over her ears.’
Reidun! Frank coughed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, indeed, that’s why I remember. The woman had style, she was hot. The short hair and the figure.’
‘What did Engelsviken call out?’
‘Haven’t a clue. He was pissed off with them!’
‘And then?’
‘Nothing, it was all peaceful again. Some chick wrapped herself around Engelsviken to get him in a better mood. The woman was gone.’
‘But Engelsviken didn’t move?’
‘Right.’
‘And?’
The man smiled and stroked his mouth.
‘The receipt! Engelsviken held out until half past three. When we were closing up he was asleep. Seemed unconscious. The boys had to carry him out. This can happen.’
The man smiled apologetically. ‘Not that often, it’s true to say, but a few customers have a glass too many. We bundle them in a taxi as a rule. But we had our work cut out this time.’
He thumbed over his shoulder to the glass door again. ‘You see when they tried to take him through the doors he went berserk, put up a fight and smashed the whole door with a couple of kicks.’