'Justa moment,' Frølich said with a glance over at Eva-Britt lying naked onher back in bed. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him from deep insidea dream. With the mobile under his chin he lifted the duvet and covered her.Bit by bit her eyes closed again. He took the phone and tiptoed into thekitchen, with his trousers and jumper in hand. 'Now,' he said. 'Now I can speaklouder.'
'You'vegot post,' Gunnarstranda said.
'Now,in the middle of the night?'
'It'shalf past twelve.'
'I'djust gone to sleep.'
'Yougo to bed too early and the letter's important.'
Frølichyawned. 'But why can't I read the letter tomorrow?'
'Becauseit was sent by Henning Kramer.'
'Oh,shit,' Frølich said.
Thesound of paper being torn carried over the phone. 'As your superior officer Iassume you entrust me with the task of breaking the seal?'
'Breakaway.'
'That'snot so easy,' the police inspector mumbled.
'Haveyou tried opening a letter with two pairs of tweezers and a knife?'
'Howcome you only discovered the letter now?'
'Becauseit was in your pigeonhole. When did you last empty it?'
'Yesterdaymorning -1 think, anyway.'
'Thoughtso,' mumbled Gunnarstranda. 'Are you ready?'
'Asready as I usually am after half an hour's sleep. Bet you ten kroner it's thesuicide note.'
'Theodds were low, but you won. So that's it,' the inspector muttered. 'We'll haveto wait until tomorrow to have it confirmed, but it looks like the case isclosed.'
FrankFrølich yawned.
'Ourreasoning is written here in its entirety. He raped the girl, killed her, stoleher jewellery and sent it in the post to Raymond Skau. Fair old confession.'
'Doyou believe it?'
'Ihave my doubts.' Gunnarstranda whinnied.
'Why'sthat?' Frank asked.
'Listento this last sentence: I can't go on. Hm?' Gunnarstranda seemed piqued.'Would you have used such insipid language if you were going to kill yourself?'
'Noidea.' 'Bloody hell, this man was deep, thoughtful. Surely he wouldn't expresshimself like that?'
'Ihave no idea. Let a psychologist have a look at it.'
'Irritating,'Gunnarstranda sighed from a distance.
'Doesthe note mean we're off the case?'
'Notfor the time being. Kramer's autopsy report has come in. It says Kramer wasdoped up when he died.'
'That'snot very surprising, is it?'
'Idon't know. It wasn't speed. According to the pathologist he was full ofsleeping tablets.'
'Whatshall we do?'
'Doyou really want to go back to bed?'
'Butwhat can we do?'
'Everysingle word in the letter has been typed. There's no signature.'
Frølichpondered.
'Dowe believe in our heart of hearts that Henning Kramer wrote all this crap?' thevoice on the phone asked.
'It'spossible.'
'Isit likely?'
Frølichpondered once more. 'It's possible,' he concluded.
'Greathelp it was ringing you up, young man.'
'Wehave to do something!'
'I'vearranged a briefing with the public prosecutor about the whole of this case fortomorrow. And unless this is going to end with a downgrading or a closing ofthe case, we have to find proof that Kramer did not take his own life.'
'Hangon,' Frølich said as his boss rang off. Too late. The engaged tone. Hestood contemplating the phone. In the end it was his brain that reacted. Heyawned. Oh well, he thought, scratching his stomach. He stood in the doorway tothe bedroom and looked straight ahead. Inside, Eva-Britt had kicked off theduvet again. She was lying on her side with her face turned to his pillow, herbody in the shape of an elegant Z. Fascinated, he observed how her feetbeautifully rounded off and completed her body's imitation of a letter of thealphabet.
Hehad absolutely no wish to leave this woman. Not now at any rate. Not tonight.Now and then Gunnarstranda was prone to winding himself up into a stressed,hysterical condition. Of course the suicide letter would require the presentstage of the investigation to be summarized and evaluated. But why did thathave to be tonight? The man is obsessed, he thought. No, he's not obsessed. Hedoesn't have enough people around him. He doesn't have enough to think about.After working with the sourpuss for so long now, Frølich bore most ofthe man's whims with great composure. Of course I could go to work now, hethought. I could plunge into the darkness and sit and read reports. I couldspend the rest of the night with a headache and the taste of lead in my mouthand reduce everything to a conclusion about how far it would have been possiblefor Kramer to hang himself or not. Or I could lie down next to the beauty inthe bed, listen to her breathing, then think about Kramer, hope to sleep a bitand dream about Kramer – until I wake up with her. He grinned at the thought ofhow furious Gunnarstranda would be when he failed to turn up. He crept into thebedroom, lay down with as little noise as he could and stretched out in bed.Eva-Britt's regular breathing caressed his ear.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Fristad,the public prosecutor, sat with his legs crossed and both hands folded over hisplump stomach. He was a man who cultivated his boyish image by letting his hairgrow into a thick fringe down to two finely formed eyebrows. He signalled hisintellectual side with a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses, to which he hadattached a black cord and which hung around his neck to ensure they didn't gomissing. His glasses sat astride the tip of his large nose while the cordformed decorative loops on each of the clean-shaven cheeks. The publicprosecutor tried to prevent his glasses from falling off by stretching hismouth sideways as far as he could. This grimace inflated both cheeks in such away that they pushed the glasses back a millimetre, only to slide forward twomillimetres. He continued like this until his glasses fell on to his chest,which caused him to sigh aloud, then retrieve and re-position them.
Frølichlooked from him to Gunnarstranda, whose nocturnal exertions had left theirmark. The detective inspector had dark coffee stains on his lips, his leanfingers trembled as he held the papers and the narrow rimless reading glasses -doubtless bought by mail order – were unable to camouflage the dark shadowsunder his eyes.
Gunnarstrandacleared his throat. 'The body was found on the Sunday morning in a ditchalongside Ljansbrukveien, just by the bathing area in Hvervenbukta. Presumablydumped from a car. There had been no attempt to hide the body, which was foundby a pensioner out walking. His name is Jan Vegard Ellingsen and he has beeneliminated from our enquiries. There is some reason to believe that the bodywas transported by car to where it was found. The victim had been stripped andhad very few external injuries apart from strangulation marks and the odd grazeor cut to the skin which, in the pathologist's view, were consistent with theapproximately two-metre fall down the slope – before the body came to rest.'
Hepicked up the photographs of Katrine Bratterud's distorted and lifeless nakedbody with the staring eyes.
Thepublic prosecutor lost his glasses and put them back. He peered at one of thephotographs.
Fristadpointed to the picture. 'What's that around her navel?'
'Atattoo,' Frølich intervened. 'A kind of flower.'
Thepublic prosecutor studied the photograph. 'Reminds me of Norwegian rosepainting.'
Gunnarstrandacoughed. 'Apart from the scratches, which must have been caused by the fall,you can see…' He placed another photograph on the table – a close-up of thehead and shoulders. '… You can see the bruising to her neck which appearedafter the strangling, a wound where the cord -I presume it was the curtain cordthat was also found by the body – cut into the tissue during strangulation.'
'We'vegot that, have we?' Fristad asked. 'The cord?'
Gunnarstrandanodded. 'The victim had particles of skin under her nails, perhaps occurringduring the fight with the assailant. The DNA analyses confirm that the semenfound in the vagina of the victim belongs to Henning Kramer. Kramer himselfadmitted to having sex with the girl before she was murdered. In his firststatement Kramer falsely stated what happened in the car after the victim leftthe party in Voksenkollveien.'