A list of Software Partners’ legal adversaries for last year. Seven names. But only one name shone up at him. The fourth. Scribbled in blue biro.
A/S Ludo.
Beside a small hand-drawn square. The square that indicated this was the company which had withdrawn its lawsuit against Software Partners.
He studied the list. Could feel himself smiling. The last piece. The picture was beginning to take shape. He sat down and stared out of the window, puzzled. A hazy grey veil shrouded the night sky. Why was Joachim Bjerke in conflict with Software Partners? Why had he kept this quiet from the police? And why had he withdrawn proceedings against Software Partners?’
After a while he fought to lift both legs on to the desk and lit a cigarette. Smoked and considered three questions, without coming to an answer. There was only one thing to do: visit Joachim and ask him. Gunnarstranda looked at his watch. No reason for his conscience to bother him. In a way he had promised them he would be returning.
45
Her face seemed to fill with fear as she opened the door and recognized him.
‘Nice to see you again,’ said Gunnarstranda.
She didn’t reciprocate.
‘We often pay people a second visit,’ he reassured her in a pleasant voice.
The reassurance did nothing to soothe her nerves. She stood there, her fingers fidgeting with the door handle.
‘I’d like to have a few words with your husband.’
She didn’t react at once, her eyes roamed. The little boy appeared at ground level. Hanging on to her leg. Nappy on his bottom and dummy in his mouth, wearing light blue pyjamas. Mother in short, pink skirt over thick, dark tights that crackled like electricity as the boy pulled at her leg. She was attractive.
‘Isn’t he at home?’
She collected herself. Tossed her hair, which was tied up in a thick side plait with a pink ribbon. ‘Yes, he is,’ she admitted after some hesitation, opened the door wide and let him pass.
The sound of a television could be heard from inside the flat.
He took his time hanging up his coat, let her go ahead and warn him. The sound of the TV was gone and he heard her manoeuvring the child to a room where the voices became a faint drone. A mother reading to her son.
The detective straightened his jacket and his sparse hair before entering. Joachim Bjerke was on his feet and waiting between the leather sofa and the table.
‘You’ve made no progress, I understand!’
Sarcastic tone, like last time.
‘Well?’
The detective didn’t answer at once. Caught himself instinctively checking his watch, smiled at his ingrained mannerism. ‘We’ve made some progress.’
He sat down on the sofa unbidden. Leaned back and crossed his legs, relaxed and looked around. Confirmed the flat was as tidy as before, even though three people lived here. Noticed a few property brochures fanned out on the table. Nodded towards them. ‘Thinking of moving?’
Bjerke ignored the question, sat down but fortified himself with the same armour.
‘Let’s get to the point, shall we,’ he said coolly.
As arrogant as ever, you horse’s asshole, the policeman thought, and adopted his nicest smile.
‘This is about the legal disagreement between yourself and Software Partners.’
‘What business is that of yours?’
‘You knew where Reidun worked, I take it?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Yet you didn’t mention the row you were having with her boss?’
‘Why would it occur to me that this wrangle could be of any significance to your investigation? Reidun Rosendal was a low-level employee. The lawsuit was withdrawn anyway.’
Gunnarstranda blinked with his heavy eyelids. ‘I can assure you that it has some significance for our investigation,’ he declared. ‘But it’s not the most important matter. The point is that you should have been more co-operative. You should have told us about this relationship whether asked or not.’
‘Are you saying I’m not co-operative?’
‘You are worse than that. You are working against the investigation.’
Bjerke let the answer sink in; something occurred to him that occasioned a condescending smile. ‘You’ve come here unannounced late on a Sunday night. Are you harassing me?’ His smile died and he went on: ‘Yes, I instituted legal proceedings against SP.’
SP! Gunnarstranda swallowed the familiarity. Stared across the table and listened to the young upstart say the proceedings had been withdrawn and that therefore the matter was closed.
Bjerke had risen to his feet and gestured.
‘So now you have what you wanted. Was there anything else?’
Towering above the detective, he held his hand open in an arrogant gesture of showing him the door.
Gunnarstranda wondered for an instant whether the man was as stupid as he made himself out to be. Leaned back to study the bumptious sod closer. Observed the severe wrinkle in the man’s young skin. The pursed lips. Nope. He was not stupid. Just a sack of unusually well fermented shit. This conclusion gave him cause to relish what was to come. ‘You might know there has been a burglary in the flat below,’ he said.
‘In fact, I did. Friday night. I rang and reported it. If you had been doing your job you would have known. You would also have known that I have already been involved in this matter enough as it is.’
‘You should not entertain such a poor opinion of us, Bjerke.’
The man sat down again, sighed. ‘Do we have to go through the rigmarole once again? May I point out that I wasted two hours last time? Because I reported it. But do you imagine anyone came when I rang? No, you choose to come while people are asleep! Early in the morning, before anyone in the building has got out of bed!’
He heaved a sigh of despair. ‘Two brainless clods from the police came. And wrote down every word I said.’
‘How did you know there had been a burglary?’
‘As I said, I have made a statement.’ He made a show of looking at his watch. ‘So if the burglary is what’s on your mind perhaps we should discuss it more when you’ve had a chance to brief yourself on the case?’
‘You have such a poor opinion of us, Bjerke.’
‘Do you know what the time is?’
Gunnarstranda blinked. ‘How did you know there had been a burglary?’
‘Would it be quicker if I told you?’
‘How did you know there had been a burglary?’
‘I saw the marks.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I saw that someone had forced the door to the flat.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘I saw the gate as well, of course! But let’s drop this. I can’t see the point. As I said, two uniformed policemen have been here and they took a statement. I told them everything. It would have saved the taxpayer a few kroner if you had briefed yourself beforehand.’
The policeman ignored the comment. Ploughed on regardless. ‘There are a couple of things about the burglary that strike me as odd. You see, the door to the flat was broken with a small crowbar while the gate lock was smashed with a sledgehammer or a rock.’
‘Why is that odd?’
‘Because it doesn’t seem professional. A bit clumsy.’ Gunnarstranda smiled, as if suddenly remembering something. ‘Amateur,’ he added. ‘Our crime scene people think the blow to the gate would not have helped our friend the burglar much.’
He bent forward and explained the forensic officers’ theory, that the gate below must have been open when someone smashed the lock with a sledgehammer. The damage to the plaster matched the gate lock case. ‘It almost seems as if someone is trying to hoodwink us,’ he concluded. ‘As if someone wants us to believe the gate was smashed in order to open it.’