Lethal Investments Read Free Page B

around the lips.
    The police officer elected the direct approach. ‘Have you ever been in her flat?’
    A hesitant silence cast a shadow over the other man’s self-assurance for a second. It was a shadow of cold calculation. For Gunnarstranda this was enough.
    ‘Yes.’
    Gunnarstranda felt the woman’s eyes burning into his right shoulder.
    ‘How many times?’
    This time the silence was longer. ‘I gave her a hand, didn’t I, Mia? . . . Helped her start her car with jump leads in the winter, there was also . . . well, after all, she was one of our neighbours.’
    The man spread his hands as if to crave understanding.
    Gunnarstranda gave a pensive nod. ‘Her flat is much smaller than this one. Would you mind if I had a little look around?’
    ‘I most certainly would!’
    Joachim Senior’s top lip was visibly curled. Gunnarstranda took another drag of his cigarette. He looked the other man straight in the eye. ‘You are interested in having this murder cleared up, are you?’
    The man glared back and snarled. ‘First of all, you kept yourselves to yourselves all yesterday morning, banging around, people and cars everywhere. Then we waited all afternoon for you. I cancelled two important appointments. At that speed you’ll have the murder cleared up some time in the next century!’
    ‘What’s your job?’ the policeman asked.
    ‘Financial consultant, auditor.’
    Gunnarstranda nodded. ‘Private?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you have a business card?’
    With a resigned expression, the man took out his wallet and passed over a card with the stamp of his company and a colour photo. Gunnarstranda flicked it backwards and forwards between his fingers. ‘Well, herr Bjerke,’ he said, focusing on the other man’s eyes. ‘Since this flat is so private, perhaps you could tell me which of these rooms is closest to Reidun Rosendal’s?’
    ‘The bedroom.’
    This answer came from Mia, still holding the child on her arm, with a nervous glance at her husband. ‘Our bedroom’s right above her flat, more or less,’ she continued, with a strained smile. ‘The bedroom is where you realize the walls are very thin in these old blocks.’
    Gunnarstranda turned to her. ‘Saturday night, did you hear anything in particular then?’
    ‘No, we went to bed early, we generally do, Joachim Junior wakes up at an unearthly hour, you know, and we like to go walking on Sundays, and . . .’
    ‘Her flat was in a terrible mess, as you probably noticed,’ Gunnarstranda interrupted. ‘Perhaps it was a burglary. That kind of burglary does not necessarily make a lot of noise; on the other hand, a scuffle between the intruder and her would have made quite a racket.’
    Her husband stirred with impatience. He burst out:
    ‘No one breaks into a house early on a Sunday morning when people are sleeping!’
    Gunnarstranda turned to him. ‘It’s happened before,’ he answered, ice-cold. ‘It’s also happened that single women have been attacked and molested in their own homes, while asleep, on Sunday mornings.’
    He had intended to say more. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead he addressed her. ‘And neither of you heard her coming in on Saturday night?’
    ‘No, it was all the same as usual.’
    She spread her hands outwards.
    ‘And on Sunday morning?’
    ‘I got up at eight,’ she answered, contemplative. ‘And by then Joachim was in the shower, because you’d been out jogging, hadn’t you.’ She smiled at her husband. ‘We had breakfast and did normal things, you know what Sunday mornings are like, and . . . yes, we went for a walk by the river, just a little morning stroll.’
    ‘You said the door to the crime scene was open and banging before you found the body. Did you notice if it was banging when you went out for a walk?’
    Joachim shook his head. Mia sat thinking. ‘I’m simply not sure,’ she concluded at length. ‘What I do remember is that I noticed it at once when I was