her. Certainly taken its time, though.’
‘Eight years,’ said the Trondheim Eagle.
‘Anyway, Lisbeth Harang stopped singing with Spinnin’ Wheel and married Barli. Money and beauty, ever heard that somewhere before?’
‘So the wheel stopped spinnin’?’
‘Eh?’
‘He’s asking about the band, Ruth.’
‘Oh, yeah. The sister sang solo, but Lisbeth was the real star. Think they’re playing holiday hotels and the Denmark ferries now. Sure they are.’
Harry got up.
‘Just one last routine question. Do you have any idea what Wilhelm and Lisbeth’s marriage was like?’
The Trondheim Eagle and Ruth exchanged further radar communication.
‘Sound carries over enclosed spaces like this, as we told you,’ Ruth said. ‘Their bedroom also looks out over the yard.’
‘You could hear them having a row?’
‘Not having a row.’
They held Harry’s gaze with meaningful expressions. A couple of seconds went by before he twigged what they meant and to his irritation he noticed that he was blushing.
‘It’s your impression then that the marriage worked especially well?’
‘His terrace door is left ajar all summer, so I joked that we should sneak up onto the roof, go round the square and jump down onto his terrace,’ Ruth grinned. ‘Spy on them a bit, why not? It’s not difficult, you just stand on the railing of our balcony and put a foot on the gutter and…’
The Trondheim Eagle nudged her partner in the ribs.
‘It’s not really necessary though,’ Ruth said. ‘After all, Lisbeth is a professional… what do you call it?’
‘Communicator,’ said the Trondheim Eagle.
‘Exactly. All the great imagery is in the vocal cords, you know.’
Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Real screamer,’ the Trondheim Eagle said with a tentative smile.
When Harry returned, the Ivans were still going through the flat. Officer Ivan was sweating and German Shepherd Ivan’s tongue was hanging out of its open mouth like a liver-coloured welcome carpet for VIPs.
Harry sat down carefully on one of the reclining arrangements and asked Wilhelm Barli to tell him everything right from the beginning. His account of the afternoon and the timings confirmed what Ruth and the Trondheim Eagle had said.
Harry recognised genuine despair in the husband’s eyes. And he began to suspect that if a crime had taken place, then this might – might – be one of the exceptions to the statistics. But most of all it strengthened his belief that Lisbeth would turn up soon enough. If it wasn’t the husband, it wasn’t anyone. Statistically speaking.
Beate returned and reported that people were at home in only two of the apartments in the building, and they hadn’t heard or seen a thing, not in the stairwell and not outside on the street.
There was a knock at the door and Beate opened up. It was one of the uniformed officers from the patrol car. Harry recognised him immediately. It was the same officer who had stood watch at Ullevalsveien. He turned to Beate without showing any awareness of Harry’s presence.
‘We’ve been talking to people on the street and at Kiwi. We’ve checked the entrance and the yard. Nothing. But it is the holiday period and the streets are almost deserted, so the lady could easily have been dragged into a car without anyone noticing a thing.’
Harry felt Wilhelm Barli, who was standing next to him, give a start.
‘Perhaps we ought to check with the Pakis who have shops in the area,’ the policeman said, sticking his little finger in his ear and revolving it.
‘Why them precisely?’ Harry asked.
The officer finally turned round and said with exaggerated stress on the last word: ‘Haven’t you read the crime statistics, Inspector?’
‘Indeed I have,’ Harry said. ‘And as far as I remember, shop owners are way down the list.’
The policeman studied his little finger.
‘I know a few things about Muslims that you also know, Inspector. For them, a woman who comes in wearing a bikini is begging to be raped. It’s almost a duty, you could say.’
‘Oh?’
‘That’s just the way their religion is.’
‘Now I think you’re confusing Islam with Christianity.’
‘Ivan and I have finished in here now,’ the dog handler said, coming down the stairs with his dog.
‘We found a couple of chops in the bin, that’s all. Have there been any other dogs here recently by the way?’
Harry looked at Wilhelm. He just shook his head. His facial expression suggested that his voice would not have carried.
‘In the entrance hall Ivan reacted as if there was another dog there, but it must have been something else. We’re ready for the loft and cellar now. Can someone come with us?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Wilhelm said, getting up onto his feet.
They went out the door, and the police officer from the patrol car asked Beate if he could leave.
‘You’ll have to ask the boss,’ she said.
‘He’s gone to sleep.’
He nodded scornfully in the direction of Harry who was testing out the Roman reclining chair.
‘Constable,’ Harry said in a low voice without opening his eyes. ‘Please come closer.’
The police officer stood in front of Harry with his legs apart and his thumbs tucked into his belt.
‘Yes, Inspector.’
Harry opened one eye.
‘If you allow Tom Waaler to talk you into handing in another report on me, I’ll make sure that you work on patrol cars for the rest of your career. Is that understood, Constable?’
The officer’s facial muscles twitched. When he opened his mouth Harry was expecting swearing and ill temper. Instead the officer spoke in a controlled, low voice:
‘First of all, I don’t know any Tom Waaler. Secondly, I see it as my duty to report police officials who put themselves and colleagues at risk by turning up for work intoxicated. And thirdly, I have no desire to work anywhere else except on patrol cars. Can I go now, Inspector?’
Harry stared at the officer with his cyclops eye. Then he closed it again, swallowed and said:
‘Please do.’
He heard the outer door slam shut and groaned. He needed a drink. And pronto.
‘Are you coming?’ Beate asked.
‘Just go,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll stay here and help Ivan to sniff around the streets as soon as they’ve finished with the loft and cellar.’
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Harry went up the stairs and out onto the terrace. He watched the swallows and listened to the sounds coming from the open windows in the yard. He lifted up the bottle of red wine from the table. There was just a drop left. He polished it off and waved to Ruth and the Trondheim Eagle, who had not had enough after all, and went inside again.
He felt it immediately he opened the bedroom door. He had often noticed it, but he had never discovered where the stillness of other people’s bedrooms came from.
There were still signs of someone’s decorating here.
One wardrobe door with a mirror on the inside was ajar and a toolbox lay open beside the neatly made double bed. Over the bed was a photo of Wilhelm and Lisbeth. Harry had not taken a close look at the photograph Wilhelm had given to the patrol car officers, but now he could see that Ruth was right. Lisbeth really was a babe. Blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a slim, agile body. She had to be at least ten years younger than Wilhelm. They
