'Areyou hard of hearing or something? It wasn't me!'
'Shutup, will you!' The policeman's spittle was white. 'You killed her and robbedher. You had to know we would be knocking at your door and with the jewelleryin the house your position would not look good. At the same time, however, youneeded" something of value in case a debt collector came round. That's whyyou put the jewellery in your postbox, because you thought we wouldn't think tolook there. You could easily have done that in the time between killing her andbeing arrested on Sunday night.'
'Useyour head. Why would I put jewellery in my own postbox, so near to my ownflat?'
'Youneeded quick access if one of your creditors came to the door. You wereplanning a robbery. In fact you were arrested for a robbery that sameafternoon.' v
'Whatthe fuck do you want me to say?'
'Tellme why you visited Katrine on Saturday.'
'Sheowed me money.'
'Whatfor?'
'Olddebts.'
'Butwhat for?'
'Fora name.'
Gunnarstrandasat down with a deep frown imbedded in his forehead. 'A name?'
RaymondSkau nodded.
Theinspector waved his fingers at him in irritation, to move him on.
'TormodStamnes.'
Gunnarstrandawas waving his fingers like a man obsessed.
'TormodStamnes was working for child welfare in the Nedre Eiker district when Katrinewas assigned new parents. He was responsible for her case.'
'AndKatrine was interested in this?'
'Shewasn't interested in anything else. That was all she had in her head. Findingout about her past.'
'Andwhat did this man say?'
'Noidea.'
Gunnarstrandawas sceptical. 'You have no idea?'
'Inever asked him about things like that. I found out quite by chance…Skau glaredacross the table. 'What will you give me?'
'Idon't understand what you mean.'
'Youjust said you would do me for sex with a minor. What will you give me inexchange for what I can tell you?'
Gunnarstrandastared at him.
'Whatabout dropping the charge against me?'
Gunnarstranda'seyes darkened. 'Don't play games with me, boy. I'm giving you your only chance.Tell me what you know!'
Skaulooked up through his fine eyebrows. He was thinking. Thinking and swallowing.At last he took a decision. 'I used to drink with an old dipso who's been onthe social for ever.'
'Who?'
'Hisname's Arne and he's in a wheelchair. He told me who was working at the officewhen Katrine was placed with Beate and Fredrik Bratterud at the age of two.'
'Wheredoes this Arne come from?'
'Krokstadelva.'
'Buthow do you know it was this Stamnes who dealt with the case?'
'Arnetold me that child welfare and social security were under the same roof inthose days. And in those days Tormod Stamnes did everything, but he's prettyold now. He stopped work several years ago. What happened was that, out of theblue, my pal Arne remembered his name. And, eventually, I found out where helived. He said he remembered the case when I spoke to him about it.'
Andhow much did Katrine pay you for the name?'
'Sheowed me ten thousand.'
'Tenthousand?'
'Tenthousand spondulicks isn't much to find out the truth about yourself, is it?'
Gunnarstrandarose and walked towards the door.
'Youcan't leave me sitting here until the morning,' Skau yelled.
Thepoliceman closed the door behind him without another word.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Frølichwent on foot because it turned out that Tormod Stamnes lived close by inUranienborgveien, a four-storey brick-built block with fine balconies and asecure front door. He rang down below but without attracting a reaction of anykind, no buzz and no one on the stairs. In the reflection of the glass door heglimpsed a thin, young woman in her mid- twenties walking across the road. Shewas accompanied by two thin hounds. All three had the same bouncing gait. Frølichmoved to the side. The woman unlocked the door and threw him an appraisingglance before letting in her two dogs, which skipped in through the narrowopening without a sound. The woman followed and made sure the door was lockedproperly.
Frølichtook a decision, turned round and ambled down Uranienborgveien. An electricwheelchair was moving down the middle of the road driven at a crawl by a manwearing a hat. Cars were queuing behind the vehicle, which had yellow blinkersand indicated left at the crossing with Parkveien. It was strange to see theerect back of the man in the chair turning left. He seemed to be leaningbackwards against a whole procession of cars and holding them up.
Frølichturned left, too. It was drizzling and there was a chill in the wind. Thestreets were empty, hemmed in by shiny, hostile, impenetrable windows. Anoccasional black-clad silhouette drifted out of sight between the tree trunksin the park behind the palace. It was morning in Oslo. Frølich wanderedaimlessly up Parkveien passing an opulent art gallery and finding himselfoutside the old Lorry restaurant. Frølich sniffed. His nose for beer hadled him to the source. He cast around, went up the staircase to the front doorin two strides and grabbed the door handle. It was open.
Chapter Thirty-Three
HenningKramer's mother lived in a semi-detached house in Stasjonsveien. There werebeautiful shrubs in the garden, with a trim sibiraea hedge growing alongsidethe fence and preventing passing motorists from prying. The nameplate on thedoor was made of copper and had turned green. Kramer was engraved in the sameGothic type as the logo of the Aftenposten newspaper. Police InspectorGunnarstranda rang the bell beside the sign. From deep inside he heard a hollowring. A shadow behind the kitchen curtain window told him he was being watched.He stood with his back to the door and observed the traffic.
Therewas a rattling of chains on the inside and he slowly turned around.
'Yourson,' Inspector Gunnarstranda started when both were standing in the small butvery tidy kitchen with the window facing the road. As he eyed up the womanopposite him, he considered what he would say. She was around sixty years oldwith a face that was worn and now marked with grief. Her eyes were red-tingedand her cheeks bloated. She pulled a tiny grimace. Her quivering lips and atwitch revealed that she was fighting to control her feelings. She returned hisgaze with vacant eyes, neither friendly nor unfriendly, nor curious, eyes thatkept going despite the pain and the stoical suffering. He cleared his throat.'Your son didn't leave a letter.'
Shecontinued to gaze with the same empty eyes, full of apathy. 'What letter?' sheasked after a while, bewildered.
'Mostsuicide victims leave a letter,' the detective explained in a neutral tone, hiseyes fixed on hers. He sensed a storm brewing inside her and was on his guard.
Shegrabbed the oven handle of the ceramic stove. Apart from that one movement, shedidn't react.
'Letter,'Gunnarstranda repeated with a slight nod.
Therewas no storm. Even though she wound herself up to speak, her intonation wasflat and languid. 'I can see that you might make mistakes,' she said. 'It'seasy to make mistakes when you judge someone you don't know. If you had knownHenning, you wouldn't think as you do.'
Shewas breathing through an open mouth, as though it had cost her a great effortto say these words.
'Whatdo you think?' Gunnarstranda asked at length.
'Aboutwhat? What do you want me to think about?' Her temper seemed to flare up. 'Idon't feel as if I'm here. I know he's dead, but I still expect to see himcoming through the door. I thought it was Henning when you rang just now.'
Thepoliceman stood on the same spot with his jacket open and his hands buried deepin his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes fixed on her. She was taller than hewas. She had tears in her eyes, and was leaning against the stove now, whichmade them the same height.