Lethal Investments (14 page)

Gunnarstranda gazed out of the window, watching the old man with the stick staggering down the long hill towards Grønlandsleiret. Arvid Johansen, peeping tom. Bent figure, wearing a coat and a hat with a brim. The man turned and shook his stick at Police HQ. A spiteful guest. A gesture that symbolized the man’s willingness to co-operate. A stubborn silence.
I wonder if that is all you can do
, the policeman by the window thought.
Can this shaking fist cut into flesh? Living human flesh? It would be a convenient solution to think it could. Easy. But probably wrong. So count your lucky stars we didn’t find any weapons in your flat.

The door was opened behind him. A man shuffled in, followed by an officer who turned, went out and closed the door without a word.

The silhouette of the new arrival was outlined in the window. Jesus! The man’s face was redder than a Pink Lady apple. Gunnarstranda stared alternately from the face in the reflection to Johansen on the street until he disappeared behind Grønland Church.

Then he swung round and asked Svennebye to sit down. He didn’t comply with the request and sluggishly remained standing where he was, in front of the desk. Gunnarstranda was forced to realize that the man had probably not been through the best of times recently. A sorry sight. The unbuttoned coat revealed stained trousers with the fly open where a shirt tail had got stuck. The tie hung like a loosely coiled skipping rope. The inspector sniffed the air and decided he would open the window.

‘Take a seat,’ he repeated, indicating with one hand a spindleback chair in the middle of the room, one and a half metres from his desk.

The man coughed and fumbled around with his right hand which was wrapped in a large white bandage. In the end he succeeded in hanging his coat over the back of the chair. Sat down gingerly, still with the tip of his tongue making swift forays up and down his lips.

‘Name?’

‘Egil Svennebye.’

‘Job?’

‘Unemployed.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Unemployed!’

The policeman sat down with a thoughtful furrow on his brow. Opted for the formal approach. Pulled out a drawer from the desk and rigged up a microphone. ‘Now, everything that is said in this room will be recorded,’ he explained, fidgeting with the mike which at first would not stand up and kept tipping over on to the table.

There. He caught the man’s eye. He was scowling. Pale blue irises floating from side to side in bright yellow albumen.

‘Your name is Egil Svennebye. Your last registered workplace was A/S Software Partners where your position was Marketing Manager. Is that correct?’

The man nodded.

The detective pointed to the microphone.

‘Yes.’

The man mopped his forehead with the bandage.

‘I’ll be quite honest with you,’ Gunnarstranda promised after a pause of a few seconds. ‘Drinking and public disorder offences are not my province. I deal with murder cases.’

The irises stopped floating.

‘How come A/S Software Partners still consider you an employee?’

‘Management has not yet received my resignation.’

‘So you are resigning?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

Svennebye cast down his eyes and sighed. ‘I’ve had a few days to mull this over and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s the only thing I can do.’

Gunnarstranda leaned back, pulled out the lowest drawer with the tip of one shoe and rested his foot. His trousers rode up, baring a pasty white leg with a mass of light blue veins across a red tractor rut made by the elasticated top of his sock.

Svennebye’s eyes were drawn by the sight.

‘What is your view of Software Partners as a place of work?’

‘May I have some water?’

The policeman got up and went to a white sink by the door. Flicked the tap which straight away made howling noises. He let the water run while testing the temperature with his fingers every now and then. Observed the profile of the man in the chair. His forehead was damp with droplets of sweat. He could not remember being that hung-over or fragile, ever. ‘I have taken the liberty of contacting your family,’ he informed him, reaching for a paper cup that was not entirely clean, and rinsing it. ‘Your wife says you were not happy there, at Software Partners.’

Svennebye took the cup with trembling fingers and greedily gulped down the water.

‘I’ve started looking for another job, yes.’

His voice had become breathless.

The inspector sat down. Placed both arms on the desk.

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t like it there.’

‘Why not?’

‘Too small, not enough responsibility.’

‘That’s not the kind of answer I want.’

Svennebye went quiet. His red face bore an uncertain expression.

‘I want details. Your wife told me about a strange business trip you went on a few weeks ago.’

Svennebye mustered a wry smile. ‘Strange is the word,’ he mumbled with a shiver and flipped the coat on to his shoulders. Folded his arms in front. ‘We were supposed to present our software at a fair in London. That is, Engelsviken, Bregård . . . me and . . .’

‘Reidun Rosendal,’ Gunnarstranda completed deftly. ‘When?’

‘Exactly seven weeks ago.’

‘And there we touch on something else that bothers me.’

The policeman deliberated. ‘Did you, you old soak, manage to keep off the booze in London’s pubs?’

Svennebye assented with a composed nod. It seemed that the inspector’s sudden informal tone had allowed him to relax.

‘I had a few problems dealing with the system,’ he answered, stressing ‘deal’. ‘At work, that is.’

There was a frozen grimace on the man’s lips. This was not easy for him.

‘Put it into words,’ the detective urged and saw his request strike home. The man nodded, as though to himself. ‘The whole enterprise was random, no planning. There was something peculiar about it from the word go.’

Gunnarstranda played with a cigarette and did not interrupt.

‘As long as you bow and scrape you’re everyone’s best friend, but the minute you make demands there’s resistance. Sarcasm and barbed comments rain down on you.’

‘What kind of demands?’

Svennebye wasn’t listening. He was still dealing with the sarcasm. ‘The more I think about it, the clearer I can see. There were two camps at work. Those who were in the know and those who weren’t. I belonged to the latter category.’

The man looked across the desk. ‘What kind of demands?’ he echoed with rising intonation, his mind elsewhere. Then he became serious. ‘The kind that expect to see results from the work you’re doing!’

Gunnarstranda was beginning to enjoy the conversation. ‘Was that why you went to pieces?’

Svennebye closed his eyes and leaned back so far the chair creaked. The inspector let him take his time. ‘Reidun and I started on the same day,’ he said with a solemn face. ‘Software Partners was becoming something, we were told. They were seeking sales staff and a Marketing Manager. I’m over fifty.’

His eyes twinkled with more life now. You could read the irony in his expression. ‘Early retirement was beckoning.’

Gunnarstranda stared at him. The ruddy complexion and the bags under his eyes. The coat and trousers that smelt of dried urine and vomit but which were quality garments. The policeman could easily imagine him on the way to a morning meeting with a project group, though in clean clothes, of course. Svennebye talked about his line of work. The hoarse voice reeled off key terms like creativity and youth. He had never believed he would get the job. But when it was in the bag he had felt like a dynamo. ‘I’m over fifty,’ he repeated with a smile. ‘I had beaten off competition from younger political and business economists and God knows what!’

‘But then,’ the dehydrated voice continued. ‘Let me put it like this: the job was a challenge.’

Gunnarstranda was told that Svennebye’s role was to develop a sales mechanism and a distribution network for the company. By Sonja Hager and Brick, their lawyer. Was the latter on the board of directors? Svennebye wasn’t sure; he thought he was. The whole bunch of those who were apparently ‘in the know’ had given a solid impression during the interview. But then nothing happened. ‘Can you imagine what that is like?’ he asked. ‘To want to do a job of work, to make a contribution, and then you’re just confronted with waffle! No specific planning. Just sporadic telephone calls at home late in the evening.’

Svennebye heaved a sigh of despair. ‘Engelsviken ringing with rock music in the background. Asking me to go to a meeting at half past eleven at night.’

He sighed. ‘So you go there, without an ounce of enthusiasm, but because you have to. And there’s Engelsviken, sitting half-pissed with this lawyer and he sets out these visions of the future that are crazier than the tower of Babylon.’

He paused for breath. ‘In the end you’re forced to wonder, to examine what you are doing and to ask yourself: Will any money come from this? How am I spending my time? What the hell are we doing?’

The man clenched his good hand. ‘And you can do nothing about it! You don’t even have the guts to quit.’

Svennebye lowered his voice. ‘I felt I was caught in a rat trap. When the police phoned on Monday I couldn’t stand it any longer. I was too thirsty.’

The detective nodded. ‘The trip to London? Was it a waste of time?’

‘I just went along,’ the man continued with the same intonation. ‘I had my suspicions, you see.’

‘What sort of suspicions?’

‘That it would be a failure. No one was prepared. All the advance planning degenerated into chat about pubs and beer and . . .’

He smiled for as long as his dry lips let him. ‘I joined them the first night, only had a Coke and went back to the hotel.’

Gunnarstranda trod water.

‘Absolutely hopeless it was! The Managing Director came on to Reidun, made some dubious suggestions to her, while Bregård was knocking it back and scowling like a jilted suitor in an American B-film.’

Svennebye mopped his sweaty brow with his bandage. ‘The next morning I had breakfast on my own. I sat in the lobby waiting for them for a couple of hours. We were supposed to be going to this fair. No one turned up. Can you believe it? No one. I went looking. Found Reidun and the MD in the jacuzzi wrapped around each other, oblivious to anyone else, most of all to me, standing there with my briefcase and indicating my watch.’

He wiped his brow again. ‘I thought it best to turn a blind eye. It wasn’t any of my business where she slept at night. But I was pretty annoyed that the MD wasn’t interested in doing any business. So I knocked on Bregård’s door instead.’

Svennebye angled another ironic smile. ‘Øyvind had just woken up when I arrived. Unshaven, and with a king-size hangover. The guy was only interested in where the others were. When I told him where I had seen them, he went ballistic.’

Svennebye’s lips forced a smile. ‘The big guy set off in his underpants. At the end of the corridor we met the lovers coming arm in arm. Bregård said nothing. Just pasted one on Engelsviken, who fell to the floor. The guy went completely beserk. Øyvind, that is. Called Reidun a tart.’

Svennebye paused.

Gunnarstranda lit a cigarette, removed a flake of tobacco stuck to his lip. Inhaled and blew out a cloud of blue smoke.

Svennebye stared at the cigarette poking out between the inspector’s fingers. Gunnarstranda reached into his pocket for a crumpled pack of non-filter Teddys, tapped out a creased one and offered it.

The man accepted and smoked greedily. Got up, went to the sink and spat. Drank some more water and sat down again.

‘You were saying?’ Gunnarstranda prompted. ‘What did Engelsviken do?’

‘Struggled to his feet. They flew at each other. Uneven contest. Engelsviken is a bit podgy and not exactly fit. And have you seen Bregård? The weightlifter. Engelsviken was back on the floor within two seconds.’

Svennebye gave a weak smile. ‘A cleaner down the corridor ran off in a complete panic. Shouting and dragging her Hoover. Straight afterwards two security men appeared with bulges under their jackets. Big guys who spoke some weird English no one understood. Could have been Scottish or Irish or something. I tried to calm everyone down. Seemed to work, anyway the security boys carried off Engelsviken and laid him on his bed. Reidun, the poor thing, was so embarrassed she fled to her room. Bregård went back to bed, and I went to the fair alone.’

‘Engelsviken is married, isn’t he?’

‘Mm.’

‘She’s in the office as well, isn’t she? Sonja Hager? How did that work?’

‘Sonja didn’t go to London.’

‘But afterwards, between Reidun and the MD?’

Svennebye shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me. But I really don’t know what the young woman was thinking about back in Norway. Having fun on an office trip is one thing. Continuing with it at home is quite another. Have you met Engelsviken?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘You haven’t missed much.’

He raised his hands in defence. ‘OK, stupid thing to say. The point is I don’t like him. But it’s personal. The guy’s all right.’

He nodded.

‘Very all right. That’s why he’s dangerous. He doesn’t look much.’

He tilted his head. ‘A man in the panic years. Silk suit, sports car and a roving eye when his wife isn’t looking. But he’s got charisma. Energy, immense energy. Friendly manner with people and dominates groups with his personality. So I didn’t think it was very strange when he checked out Reidun for a night. She was fresh and new and out for a bit of fun.’

He snuffed his cigarette. Leaned forward and grabbed the pack Gunnarstranda pushed across the desk. Lit up. Took a few drags with a contemplative pucker in his brow.

‘But I don’t understand why she persisted.’

‘The two of them were having a relationship?’

‘Mhm. For a while.’

The man on the chair closed his eyes. ‘Things turned nasty after the trip. That was how I perceived it. I’d seen them in London and observed the odd incident afterwards that maybe others hadn’t.’

‘Sonja Hager knew nothing?’

‘Nothing.’

He hesitated. ‘Perhaps she did. I don’t know.’