heavy suitcase up on to the shore. For a while it lay there, soaking wet, glistening in the grass. It was an old suitcase of brown imitation leather with solid handles. Fastened to the suitcase was a brown folder of the same material. A nametag was attached to the handle, but water had erased the writing. He knelt on the grass and looked at the suitcase. He could not help but think of Jomann.
'How much water has got in?' Skarre said.
'Quite a lot. It's old and worn.'
Sejer lifted the suitcase. 'God, it's heavy. I don't see how she could've walked along the road with it.'
'If that was what she did. She sat in the cafe drinking tea. Einar Sunde is the only one who saw her leave.'
'But she was killed where she was found,' Sejer reminded him.
'But what if there were two? If there was a customer at the cafe when Poona arrived?'
'And they both tried it on and one of them drove after her to finish it off?'
'Yes. Something like that.'
Carefully Sejer lifted the suitcase into the car.
'Skarre. We'll check the contents of this. You go and talk to Goran Seter's girlfriend.'
'Yes, boss.' Sejer rolled his eyes. 'She works in the mall, sells perfume. It all fits, doesn't it? A beefcake and a painted doll, textbook stuff,' Skarre said.
'Just get out of here,' Sejer ordered him.
'Why the sudden hurry?'
'You said his face was scratched. Check his alibi.'
The suitcase was unlocked. It was secured with two broad straps pulled tight. Sejer slid the locks open. Two sharp clicks were heard. Then he opened the lid. Wet clothes and shoes. For a while he stood staring at the exotic colours. Turquoise, lemon, orange. And underwear. It looked brand new and was folded into clear plastic bags. Two pairs of shoes. A sponge bag with a floral pattern. A bag with different-coloured hair bands. A hairbrush. A dressing gown, rose-coloured and silky. The clothes were folded neat and tight. Her few possessions looked lost and strangely misplaced in the meeting room. The objects overwhelmed them. She would have placed her belongings in the drawers in Jomann's bedroom. The brush on the chest of drawers, the sponge bag in the bathroom. The shoes in the wardrobe. In her mind she had imagined unpacking with her husband helping her. She had 1,000 metres to go when she died.
They found Poona's papers in the brown folder. Travel insurance and passport. On the photograph she was very young and looked like a ten-year-old. She didn't smile in the photograph.
'These things belong to Jomann,' Sejer said. 'Take care of them. They're all he's got left.'
The men nodded. Sejer thought of Elise, his wife. Her hairbrush still lay on the shelf under the mirror; it had been there for thirteen years and would never be removed. Everything else had gone. Clothes and shoes. Jewellery and bags. But not the hairbrush. Perhaps Jomann, too, would put this hairbrush on the shelf under his mirror. How significant things could become.
He left the room and called the hospital. They told him that Jomann was at his sister's bedside.
The shopping centre was crowded. Surprising really that Gunwald was still in business, Skarre thought. He looked around for the perfumery and saw a counter between a wool shop and a key cutter. A girl was sitting behind the counter, reading. Skarre ran his eyes across bottles, jars, tubes and boxes. What did they use it all for, he wondered. A single shelf was set aside for men. He studied the bottles and looked at the young woman.
'What would you recommend for me,' he said, 'if I wanted to smell good?'
She turned towards him and gave him a professional once-over.
'Hugo Boss is good. And Henley. Depends if you want to be really noticed or not.'
'I'd like to be noticed,' Skarre said enthusiastically.
She picked a bottle from the shelf. Opened it and dabbed some on his wrist. He sniffed it obediently and smiled at her.
'Well, well,' he said, laughing. 'That's a bit frisky. How much is it?'
'390 kroner,' she said.
Skarre nearly choked.
'You must remember that there are years of scientific research behind a fragrance,' she said, businesslike. 'They experiment for ages before they finally get it right.'
'Mm,' Skarre said. 'You're Ulla, aren't you?'
She looked at him in surprise. 'Yes. That's me.'
'Police,' he said. 'You probably know why I'm here.' Ulla had broad shoulders and huge breasts. They looked real. Otherwise she was slim with long legs and was very skilfully made up.
'Then I'll have to disappoint you,' she said. 'I don't know anything about that business at Hvitemoen.'
'No, we didn't think so either,' Skarre smiled. 'But that's how we work. We turn every stone.'
'Nothing will crawl out from under my stone,' she said, pretending to be insulted. This caused Skarre to laugh with embarrassment.
'Of course not. I'm just trying to make an impression, but it doesn't work every time. Is there somewhere quiet we could talk?'
'I can't leave this place,' she said quickly.
'Isn't there anyone you can ask, just for a minute?'
She looked around the large hall. There were two girls at the bakery counter and they didn't seem to have much to do. She waved to one of them and she came running over.
'There's a bench over there. We can go and sit there.'
The cast-iron bench was terrible. Skarre solved the problem by sitting at the very edge and leaning forward.
'Just to make you aware. We're at the stage where we're eliminating people. Do you understand? We're trying to find out where people actually were on the evening of the 20th. And what they might've seen.'
'Precisely. But I didn't see anything at all.' She looked at him apprehensively.
'But I'll ask you anyway. Where were you on the evening of the 20th?'
Ulla thought back. 'First I went to Adonis to work out. With a guy I know.'
Skarre thought her choice of words for her boyfriend was strange, but he made no comment.
'We finished around 8 p.m. I took the bus from town out to my sister who lives a mile out o Elvestad. She is married and has a two-year-old boy. I babysat for her,' she said.
'I see. How long were you there?'
'Till about midnight.'
'And – this Goran. He was with you?'
'No,' she said abruptly. 'I don't need company to look after a two-year-old. I watched TV and caught the last bus home.'
'So your boyfriend didn't keep you company?'
She gave him a cutting look.
'Goran,' Skarre said.
'I don't have a boyfriend,' she said.
Skarre rested his chin in his hands and looked at her. On one hand she wore a pretty ring with a black stone.
'You're not with Goran Seter?' he said calmly.
'Used to be,' she said, and he heard the despondency in her voice.
'It's over?'
'Yes.'
'When was it over?'
'That very day,' she said. 'The 20th after the work-out. I'd had enough.'
Time passed while Skarre digested the news and slowly took on board the significance of it.
'Ulla,' he said quietly, 'forgive me for asking you what might seem to be personal questions. However, I need to know some of the details surrounding your break-up with Goran.'
'Why?' she said, fearful.
'I can't explain. Please tell me what you can. Exactly when and how did it happen?'
