Sohlberg and the Gift Read Free Page B

bathroom because all other departments of the Oslo police district were just as depopulated as his was on that sunny but sub-freezing December morning.
     
    Good! No prying eyes or ears. No gossipy lips.
     
    The hallway merged into a balcony that overlooked the light-filled interior hall of the enormous Oslo police station—the politihuset—at 44 Grønlandsleiret. The enormous space felt like an abandoned cavern. Eight floors of balconies lined the massive interior space. An ethereal sculpture hanged down from the ceiling. The multi-piece sculpture reminded Sohlberg of the gold gossamer wings of an angel. Quite fitting for the Christmas season although it stayed on display all year long.
     
    After locking the door and making absolutely sure that no one was inside the three-stall bathroom Sohlberg stood by the stall furthest from the door. He surfed the web with his personal cell phone. Nothing unusual or interesting showed up in the newspaper articles that reported the murder of Janne Eide. Sohlberg then placed a call to the cell phone of an old friend and mentor who lived in the port town of Molde which is south of Trondheim and a seven hour drive north of Oslo.
     
    “Hei.”
     
    “Sohlberg?”
     
    “Yep.”
     
    Sohlberg was surprised. His mentor Lars Eliassen sounded much much older. Retirement did not agree with the former Chief Inspector of the lovely Møre og Romsdal district of western Norway. About 250 miles northwest of Oslo the district sprawls over exquisite fjords and the mountain-and-valley paradise that hikers and climbers worship. Cruise ship tourists also make the pilgrimage to Nature’s Nirvana southwest of Trondheim.
     
    “Good to hear from you Sohlberg.”
     
    “Are you alone?”
     
    “For now. I’m visiting my daughter in Ålesund.”
     
    Sohlberg heard no enthusiasm or joy in Eliassen’s voice. The wayward Ålesund daughter and her drug addictions and disastrous boyfriends had been a source of heartache and embarrassment for Lars and Helene Eliassen. Sohlberg left the emotional minefield of the daughter alone. Instead he proceeded on to business:
     
    “Have you heard of the Janne Eide case? She was murdered six years ago.”
     
    “Oh yes! I remember. It was a big deal in the newspapers and television. Pissed me off.”
     
    “Why?”
     
    “Well . . . you know . . . the media makes such a big deal about a very rich woman getting killed but they don’t bother to report as much on low-income or no-income victims who usually don’t even get a line in the morning paper or evening news.”
     
    “Anything else unusual?”
     
    “Yes . . . the wealthy heiress gets murdered when she’s all alone inside a mansion filled with tons and tons of security gadgets and alarms and cameras. And by tons I mean tons. Her father was a shipping tycoon . . . owned a major ocean freight company . . . he also owned huge oil tankers that carried Norwegian oil . . . our own country’s Statoil contracts alone made him very wealthy. He sold out to his competitor John Fredriksen many years ago. Anyway . . . Old Man Eide had the whole place wired up for his daughter with all sorts of sensors and miniature cameras . . . even in the hallways and bathrooms.”
     
    “Who killed her?”
     
    “The usual suspect. The husband. Seems he killed her after he disabled the security devices and cameras.”
     
    “So . . . is it an open-and-shut case?”
     
    “How would I know? . . . Just you calling me makes me think that maybe it’s not the usual spouse-kills-spouse case.”
     
    “Anything else about the case you can think of?”
     
    “No. Not really.”
     
    “Very good . . . thanks for the help.”
     
    “Sure but first tell me why you’re involved.”
     
    “I’m not involved .”
     
    “No?”
     
    “No. Just curious.”
     
    “So you say . . . so be it.”
     
    “I hope things go well for you in Ålesund.”
     
    “We’ll see. . . . Oh . . . one more thing. I forgot to tell you . . .