you know . . .’
‘Reidun,’ Bregård interrupted with several nods. ‘I’ve understood as much.’
Frank smiled. Jotted down ‘ASSHOLE’ in capital letters on his notepad and went on to draw Kilroy behind a wooden fence.
‘Reidun Rosendal was employed as a saleswoman?’
Bregård nodded.
‘From what I’ve been told, you sell computer technology?’
‘Administrative systems, office solutions.’
The man pulled a drawer out of his desk and rummaged in it. ‘We’re about to embark on a fairly large expansion programme.’
The words tumbled out staccato as he searched through the drawer. Finally he lifted out a pile of brochures, passed it to the police officer and slammed the drawer shut. ‘Reidun was part of that, too. Finding distributors and interested parties for the expansion. And of course selling standard services,’ he added, folded his hands in a business-like fashion on the table in front of him.
Frank flicked aimlessly through the brochures. Colour bar graphs and fine words about profitability. The moustachioed face of the man before him smiled up at him from the glossy middle-page spread. Nice pic. The policeman compared the photograph with the man on the other side of the table. The ring in his ear was not visible in the photograph. And he was more formally dressed than in real life. The picture revealed a classic office worker in a white shirt, tie and grey jacket. The same glasses as now. The Finance Manager was giving a thumbs-up the way Allied pilots did during the Second World War. ‘Trust me’ the speech bubble above his head said.
‘Did anyone else work in the sales department other than Reidun?’
‘Svennebye, our Head of Marketing. And me.’
He opened his palms wide. ‘We’re a small enterprise, lots of overlapping. Engelsviken, the manager here, also does sales work if he has time.’
‘How many employees are there?’
‘In all, five; sorry, four. There were five of us with Reidun.’
The policeman picked up the brochures. ‘So the company is planning to grow?’
‘It will become very big,’ Bregård corrected immodestly. ‘We’re in the process of acquiring new distributors all over the country in fact.’
‘Anything home-grown?’
‘No, we have a foreign agency.’
He tilted back in the chair. Spread his fingers and lightly tapped tips against each other. ‘It’s all in the name. Software Partners. The company has been built on that concept and will grow by linking up with joint venture collaborators.’
Frank nodded. ‘With regard to Reidun . . .’
Bregård waited, composed.
‘Do you know a restaurant called Scarlet?’
Bregård’s eyes went walkabout. He leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk. Stroked his moustache.
‘Scarlet?’ Ran the name over his tongue. ‘Yes . . . indeed . . . in fact I’ve been there.’
‘Long time ago?’
‘Probably a few weeks back.’
‘You weren’t there last Saturday?’
‘No.’
‘Where were you on Saturday?’
‘At home.’
The detective allowed the silence to linger, then said:
‘Can anyone confirm that?’
‘In fact, I spent Saturday evening on my own!’
‘Watching TV?’
‘No.’
‘There’s just crap on the box, isn’t there,’ Frank posited, testing for a reaction. ‘I never watch TV, either. I tie flies.’
The Finance Manager stared across the desk, without making a comment.
‘When I tie flies I listen to the radio.’ The detective scribbled on his pad. ‘Lots of good music on a fair number of stations. Much better than tired TV family entertainment. Don’t you think?’
Indulgent smile from Bregård. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
‘You weren’t listening to the radio on Saturday by any chance, were you?’
The smile vanished. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Married?’
The man shook his head.
Frank stretched out his legs and slipped off his worn-out boots. A faint aroma of stale socks filled the room. Bregård’s face went stiff. Frank
‘Reidun,’ Bregård interrupted with several nods. ‘I’ve understood as much.’
Frank smiled. Jotted down ‘ASSHOLE’ in capital letters on his notepad and went on to draw Kilroy behind a wooden fence.
‘Reidun Rosendal was employed as a saleswoman?’
Bregård nodded.
‘From what I’ve been told, you sell computer technology?’
‘Administrative systems, office solutions.’
The man pulled a drawer out of his desk and rummaged in it. ‘We’re about to embark on a fairly large expansion programme.’
The words tumbled out staccato as he searched through the drawer. Finally he lifted out a pile of brochures, passed it to the police officer and slammed the drawer shut. ‘Reidun was part of that, too. Finding distributors and interested parties for the expansion. And of course selling standard services,’ he added, folded his hands in a business-like fashion on the table in front of him.
Frank flicked aimlessly through the brochures. Colour bar graphs and fine words about profitability. The moustachioed face of the man before him smiled up at him from the glossy middle-page spread. Nice pic. The policeman compared the photograph with the man on the other side of the table. The ring in his ear was not visible in the photograph. And he was more formally dressed than in real life. The picture revealed a classic office worker in a white shirt, tie and grey jacket. The same glasses as now. The Finance Manager was giving a thumbs-up the way Allied pilots did during the Second World War. ‘Trust me’ the speech bubble above his head said.
‘Did anyone else work in the sales department other than Reidun?’
‘Svennebye, our Head of Marketing. And me.’
He opened his palms wide. ‘We’re a small enterprise, lots of overlapping. Engelsviken, the manager here, also does sales work if he has time.’
‘How many employees are there?’
‘In all, five; sorry, four. There were five of us with Reidun.’
The policeman picked up the brochures. ‘So the company is planning to grow?’
‘It will become very big,’ Bregård corrected immodestly. ‘We’re in the process of acquiring new distributors all over the country in fact.’
‘Anything home-grown?’
‘No, we have a foreign agency.’
He tilted back in the chair. Spread his fingers and lightly tapped tips against each other. ‘It’s all in the name. Software Partners. The company has been built on that concept and will grow by linking up with joint venture collaborators.’
Frank nodded. ‘With regard to Reidun . . .’
Bregård waited, composed.
‘Do you know a restaurant called Scarlet?’
Bregård’s eyes went walkabout. He leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk. Stroked his moustache.
‘Scarlet?’ Ran the name over his tongue. ‘Yes . . . indeed . . . in fact I’ve been there.’
‘Long time ago?’
‘Probably a few weeks back.’
‘You weren’t there last Saturday?’
‘No.’
‘Where were you on Saturday?’
‘At home.’
The detective allowed the silence to linger, then said:
‘Can anyone confirm that?’
‘In fact, I spent Saturday evening on my own!’
‘Watching TV?’
‘No.’
‘There’s just crap on the box, isn’t there,’ Frank posited, testing for a reaction. ‘I never watch TV, either. I tie flies.’
The Finance Manager stared across the desk, without making a comment.
‘When I tie flies I listen to the radio.’ The detective scribbled on his pad. ‘Lots of good music on a fair number of stations. Much better than tired TV family entertainment. Don’t you think?’
Indulgent smile from Bregård. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’
‘You weren’t listening to the radio on Saturday by any chance, were you?’
The smile vanished. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
‘Married?’
The man shook his head.
Frank stretched out his legs and slipped off his worn-out boots. A faint aroma of stale socks filled the room. Bregård’s face went stiff. Frank
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