Gunnarstrandasat down on a bench at the tram stop to wait. An elderly woman was inspectingthe litter bins in the park and found two empty bottles which she stuffed intoa large bag. A young couple who were walking hand in hand stopped to admire thefoliage at the top of a birch tree. Gunnarstranda was on the point of lightinga cigarette when the pale blue tram rounded the bend in Schleppegrells gate.
Thebuilding in Drammensveien was the kind that Johan Borgen's Little Lord mighthave grown up in: a three-storey stone building – the plaster was an attempt toapproximate the colour of sandstone – with two balconies adorning a facade ofwhich even the King and Queen would have been proud. The feudal character wasemphasized by the Doric pillars at the front entrance. On the wall beside theheavy door was a sign saying Horgen AS, squeezed between a consulate's sign anda sign for an embassy representing one of the states that had recently brokenaway from the old Soviet Union. Axel Horgen himself opened the door and hisbulldog-like face split into a wet grin as he recognized Gunnarstranda on thedoorstep.
Ifthe facade was impressive, the hall inside was more confused because ofrepeated unsuccessful renovation work. The staircase curving down from thefirst floor was one of the original features. The sculpture filling one of theniches in the wall probably was, too. But the floor had been laid with linoleumand the walls were covered with inelegant hessian. The stucco work in theceiling had begun to disintegrate; in one place it sagged. Axel Horgen drew himinto this low cave, past a fierce woman who ruled the centre of a ballroom furnishedas an antechamber. She was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the roomand, with a clear view of the window, desk and fax, she kept an eye onpassers-by like a spider lying in ambush in its web. The corridor did anothercouple of twists before the two men pushed open a door into Axel Horgen'sspartan office. Even though the desk was huge, it seemed very lonely in thecorner of the room. There were two armchairs in another corner. But the heightof the ceiling created acoustic reverberations that made their heels sound likeechoes in the Alps. Gunnarstranda studied Axel Horgen's certificates anddiplomas hanging on the wall. 'Impressive,' he mumbled. The other man seatedhimself at the desk and rested his legs on an open drawer. 'No flattery, Gunnarstranda.Cut the crap. You didn't come here to examine my wall decorations.'
'Oh,I was thinking more of how impressive it is that you take such good care of allthese papers… Russian course,' Gunnarstranda read aloud while looking atone of the framed documents. 'Do you attract clients because you can speakRussian?'
'Weattract clients with anything that smacks of serious political work. Have youthought of changing to pastures new?'
Gunnarstrandashook his head.
'Weneed old foxes,' Horgen said and seemed to mean it.
Witheyebrows raised in query, Gunnarstranda took out a cigarette from his coatpocket.
'Bemy guest,' Horgen said. 'So long as we close the door and open the window, westill hold sway in our own offices.'
Gunnarstrandalit his cigarette and took a seat in one of the deep armchairs. It was likelowering your backside into a large wad of cotton wool. On his way down hisfeet lost contact with the floor and ended up pointing towards the facing wall.'I'll never get out of this chair again,' Gunnarstranda said, stretching hislegs.
'Ifyou had been a potential client, I would have dragged you out when you wereready to sign the contract.'
'Areyou making ends meet?'
'There'senough to butter your bread and a bit left over.'
'Expensiverooms?'
'Cheaperthan in Aker Brygge.'
'Ican believe you,' Gunnarstranda said, and added, 'I'm working on the case ofthe corpse they found by Hvervenbukta.'
Horgennodded. 'I've heard.'
'Twentyyears ago when you still had a sense of decency and worked for Kripos,'Gunnarstranda said, 'a woman was killed in Lillehammer. Name of Lockert.'
Horgennodded. He had the expression of a listener, but was experienced enough not toshow whether he was listening with interest or not.
Gunnarstrandainhaled.
'Trueenough,' Horgen said. 'True enough.'
Theywatched each other in silence.
'Youwere on that case,' Gunnarstranda stated.
Horgenpulled a face. 'Gunnarstranda,' he said with a grave air. 'I had been workingthere for six months. I was still wet behind the ears. The only thing I did waswrite reports as long as novels on that case. Have you read them?'
'Iwill do.'
'Readfirst, Gunnarstranda, and ask afterwards.'
Gunnarstrandashook his head. 'I need a briefing.'
'Why'sthat?'
'Ihave to know what I'm looking for.' Gunnarstranda played for time, flicking theash into his open hand. He leaned forwards, breathed in and braced himself. Atthe second attempt he managed, with some effort, to release himself from thechair. He walked over to the high window, opened it a crack and threw out theash. He stood observing the traffic. A blue tram rattled down Drammensveien.The sound boomed inside the room. He watched the tram disappear. Slowly othersounds returned: a door slamming on the other side of the street, a car hornhonking in the distance, the scraping sound of a woman's stiletto heels on thetarmac and behind the green hedge the voices of two children playing. He turnedto Axel Horgen.
'Thegirl who was killed was the daughter of Helene Lockert.'
Horgenwhistled.
Theylooked at each other for a long time. Horgen lifted a corner of his mouth intoa wry smile. 'That case has tormented more policemen than me over the years.'He lowered his feet on to the floor and straightened up in the chair.
'Butyou're the one I know,' Gunnarstranda said.
'Sowhat if your corpse was Lockert's daughter?' Horgen said at length. 'We alldie.'
'Thegirl was strangled.'
'I'veheard rumours that she was raped.'
'That'snot definite.'
'Notdefinite?'
'Onewitness maintains he had consensual sex with her.'
'Andwhy hasn't he already confessed?'
'He'sdead. Hanged himself.'
'Whyhaven't I heard anything about a moving suicide note detailing his confession?'
'There'sno letter, not yet anyway,' Gunnarstranda said in a fatigued voice.
'HeleneLockert was strangled, but there was no sex involved at all.'
Gunnarstranda:'I hope the Lockert case is not connected. I can't put a man on a case that istwenty years old. And definitely not a case that was never solved.'
'Well,what is there to say?' Horgen shrugged. 'Helene Lockert was left to look afterher daughter. Single mum. The father was a seaman. If anyone in the world had awatertight alibi it was him. He was working as a second officer on a Fred Olsenboat when Helene Lockert was killed. I don't think there was ever anything seriousbetween Helene Lockert and this seaman. If there had been, he would have lookedafter the daughter. She was small, anyway, not more than a couple of years oldand unable to say anything. Helene was killed in her own home while thedaughter was strapped into the pram or a play pen. And that's all there was. Astruggle in the middle of the day in a peaceful little town in mid-Norway. Astruggle that ended with Helene's death. Unknown killer. Still unknown.'
'Arrests?'
'None.But…'
'Yes?'
'Wewondered for a long time about charging a man who was engaged to Helene. He hada sort of an alibi, though. And there was no motive. The guy was about to marrythe victim. They were just a couple of days away from the wedding. Anotherhypothesis was jealousy. Lockert and this man – what the hell was his nameagain?… Buggerud, Buggestad, Bueng… yes, that was it, Bueng – he was getting oneven in those days, by the way. He was at least twenty years older than her, ifnot more…'
'Thesecond hypothesis?' Gunnarstranda asked when Horgen went quiet, as if a thoughthad struck him.