sunshades from a case he kept in his inside pocket. They clipped
on to his glasses. 'Trouble in paradise,' he muttered. Through the glass doors
they could see Annabeth s and the man with the goatee in lively discussion. The
latter was gesticulating. Both stopped the moment they discovered they were
being observed. The policemen exchanged looks and ambled back the way they had
come.
'What
did you do in the end?' Gunnarstranda asked standing by the parked car.
'Eh?'
'What
did you do with the kittens?'
'Oh,
them…' Frølich said, lost in thought. He was searching through his
jacket pockets for a pair of designer reflector sunglasses. He put them on,
checked the reflection in the side window of the car and pulled a face. 'The
kittens? They're dead. Eva-Britt got fed up with them, so I shot them.'
Gunnarstranda
had time to light the old roll-up and take five long drags before Annabeth came
walking between the trees. There was something rustic about the way she walked,
the long dress and the flat shoes, plus the way she stepped out, with such
energy. Even her short hair bounced in rhythm. On her back she was carrying a
small, green rucksack. She shouted to the youths by the tractor and waved her
arms. She was wearing a shawl over her shoulders, tartan too; she gave the impression
of being the arts and crafts type. Gunnarstranda held the rear door of the car
open for her.
'My
God,' she said. 'The back seat. Like a criminal.' But she got in, a little more
reserved, and waved to the tomato-thrower who was back by the greenhouse door
now.
'She
just hit me in the face with a tomato,' Frølich conversed cheerfully as
he turned out of the car park.
'I
beg your pardon?' Annabeth said with deliberate hauteur. 'My dear man, I hope
you weren't hurt.'
Frølich
observed her in the rear-view mirror and looked across at Gunnarstranda, who
had half-turned in his seat to say: 'There was something else I was wondering
about. This young man in the office, is he a patient or an employee?'
'He's
doing social work for his military service, so in a way he's an employee.'
'What's
his name?'
'Henning
Kramer.'
'And
the missing girl. Why do you think her parents have not reported her missing?'
'Our
patients very often do not have much contact with their parents. Or they come
from other parts of the country.'
'And?'
Annabeth
wound her arms round her rucksack. 'Isn't that answer good enough?'
'I
mean in this case. What happened in this case?'
'Gunnarstranda,'
said Annabeth, leaning forward. 'We in social welfare are very well versed in
matters concerning professional oaths of client confidentiality.'
Frølich
searched the rear-view mirror for her face. His sunglasses straddled his nose
like a hair slide. You could see he disapproved of the woman's answer by the
way he examined the mirror. 'This is a murder investigation,' he emphasized.
Annabeth
s cleared her throat. 'And I am entitled to exercise my discretion,' she said
coldly. She cleared her throat again. 'What's going to happen now?'
'We
would like you to come with us to the Institute of Forensic Medicine,'
Gunnarstranda said. 'There we would like you to answer yes or no to one
question.'
'And
what is the question?'
'Is
the body you see in front of you that of the girl you reported missing, Katrine
Bratterud?'
'Yes,'
said Annabeth s. She looked away as Gunnarstranda pulled the cloth up over the
face of the dead girl. 'That's her. The air in here's making me feel sick. Can
we go out?'
Outside
on the grass they found a bench, one of the solid kind, a combination of a seat
and a table that you find in lay-bys in Norway. Annabeth slumped down without
removing her rucksack. She breathed in and stared into space, her eyes
glistening. 'That was that,' she said. 'Almost
on to his glasses. 'Trouble in paradise,' he muttered. Through the glass doors
they could see Annabeth s and the man with the goatee in lively discussion. The
latter was gesticulating. Both stopped the moment they discovered they were
being observed. The policemen exchanged looks and ambled back the way they had
come.
'What
did you do in the end?' Gunnarstranda asked standing by the parked car.
'Eh?'
'What
did you do with the kittens?'
'Oh,
them…' Frølich said, lost in thought. He was searching through his
jacket pockets for a pair of designer reflector sunglasses. He put them on,
checked the reflection in the side window of the car and pulled a face. 'The
kittens? They're dead. Eva-Britt got fed up with them, so I shot them.'
Gunnarstranda
had time to light the old roll-up and take five long drags before Annabeth came
walking between the trees. There was something rustic about the way she walked,
the long dress and the flat shoes, plus the way she stepped out, with such
energy. Even her short hair bounced in rhythm. On her back she was carrying a
small, green rucksack. She shouted to the youths by the tractor and waved her
arms. She was wearing a shawl over her shoulders, tartan too; she gave the impression
of being the arts and crafts type. Gunnarstranda held the rear door of the car
open for her.
'My
God,' she said. 'The back seat. Like a criminal.' But she got in, a little more
reserved, and waved to the tomato-thrower who was back by the greenhouse door
now.
'She
just hit me in the face with a tomato,' Frølich conversed cheerfully as
he turned out of the car park.
'I
beg your pardon?' Annabeth said with deliberate hauteur. 'My dear man, I hope
you weren't hurt.'
Frølich
observed her in the rear-view mirror and looked across at Gunnarstranda, who
had half-turned in his seat to say: 'There was something else I was wondering
about. This young man in the office, is he a patient or an employee?'
'He's
doing social work for his military service, so in a way he's an employee.'
'What's
his name?'
'Henning
Kramer.'
'And
the missing girl. Why do you think her parents have not reported her missing?'
'Our
patients very often do not have much contact with their parents. Or they come
from other parts of the country.'
'And?'
Annabeth
wound her arms round her rucksack. 'Isn't that answer good enough?'
'I
mean in this case. What happened in this case?'
'Gunnarstranda,'
said Annabeth, leaning forward. 'We in social welfare are very well versed in
matters concerning professional oaths of client confidentiality.'
Frølich
searched the rear-view mirror for her face. His sunglasses straddled his nose
like a hair slide. You could see he disapproved of the woman's answer by the
way he examined the mirror. 'This is a murder investigation,' he emphasized.
Annabeth
s cleared her throat. 'And I am entitled to exercise my discretion,' she said
coldly. She cleared her throat again. 'What's going to happen now?'
'We
would like you to come with us to the Institute of Forensic Medicine,'
Gunnarstranda said. 'There we would like you to answer yes or no to one
question.'
'And
what is the question?'
'Is
the body you see in front of you that of the girl you reported missing, Katrine
Bratterud?'
'Yes,'
said Annabeth s. She looked away as Gunnarstranda pulled the cloth up over the
face of the dead girl. 'That's her. The air in here's making me feel sick. Can
we go out?'
Outside
on the grass they found a bench, one of the solid kind, a combination of a seat
and a table that you find in lay-bys in Norway. Annabeth slumped down without
removing her rucksack. She breathed in and stared into space, her eyes
glistening. 'That was that,' she said. 'Almost
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