'If you say so.'
'If you still have the film from last Friday I would like to see it.'
'Ring tomorrow. Tobben's here.'
'Tobben?'
'Shop manager.'
'I suggest you ring Tobben now and get permission to give me the tape, then I won't detain you any longer.'
'You have a look for it,' he said and the spots went redder. 'I haven't got time to start searching for some video now.'
'Oh,' Harry said without making a move. 'What about after closing time?'
'We're open twenty-four hours,' the boy said, rolling his eyes.
'That was a joke,' Harry said.
'Right. Ha ha,' said the boy with the somnambulant voice. 'You going to buy sumfin or what?'
Harry shook his head and the boy looked past him: 'Till's free.'
Harry sighed and turned to the queue crowding towards the counter. 'The till is not free. I am from Oslo Police.' He held up his ID. 'And this person is arrested for being unable to pronounce th.'
Harry could be small-minded on certain matters. At this particular moment, though, he was extremely pleased with the response. He appreciated being smiled at.
* * *
But he didn't like the smile which appeared to be part of the professional training of preachers, politicians and undertakers. They smile with their eyes while speaking and it gave herr Sandemann of Sandemann Funeral Directors a sincerity which together with the temperature in the coffin storeroom under Majorstuen church made Harry shudder. He surveyed the locale. Two coffins, a chair, a wreath, a funeral director, a black suit and a comb-over.
'She looks wonderful,' Sandemann said. 'Peaceful. Restful. Dignified. Are you a member of the family?'
'Not exactly.' Harry showed his police card in the hope that sincerity was reserved for closest family. It wasn't.
'Tragic that such a young life should pass on in this way.' Sandemann smiled, pressing his palms together. The funeral director's fingers were unusually thin and crooked.
'I would like to have a look at the clothes the deceased was wearing when she was found,' Harry said. 'At the office they said you had brought them here.'
Sandemann nodded, fetched a white plastic bag and explained that he had done this in case parents or siblings turned up, and he could dispose of them. Harry searched in vain for pockets in the black dress.
'Was there anything specific you were after?' Sandemann asked in an innocent tone of voice as he peered over Harry's shoulder.
'A house key,' Harry said. 'You didn't find anything when you…' He stared at Sandemann's crooked fingers. '…undressed her?'
Sandemann closed his eyes and shook his head. 'The only thing under the skirt was herself. Apart from the picture in the shoe, of course.'
'The picture?'
'Yes. Curious, isn't it? What customs they have. It's still in her shoe.'
Harry lifted a black, high-heeled shoe out of the bag and caught a flash of her in the doorway when he arrived: black dress, black shoes, red mouth.
The picture was a dog-eared photograph of a woman and three children on a beach. It looked like a holiday snap from somewhere in Norway with large, smooth rocks in the water and tall pine trees on the hills in the background.
'Has anyone from her family been here?' Harry asked.
'Only her uncle. Together with one of your colleagues, naturally.'
'Naturally?'
'Yes, I understood he was serving a sentence.'
Harry didn't answer. Sandemann leaned forward and bent his back in such a way that the little head withdrew between his shoulders making him resemble a vulture: 'I wondered what for.' The whisper sounded like a hoarse birdcall: 'Since he won't even be allowed to attend the funeral, I mean.'
Harry cleared his throat. 'May I see her?'
Sandemann seemed disappointed, but gestured civilly with his hand to one of the coffins.
As usual, it struck Harry how a professional job could enhance a corpse. Anna really did seem at peace. He touched her forehead. It was like touching marble.
'What is the necklace?' Harry asked.
'Gold coins,' Sandemann said. 'Her uncle brought it.'
'And what's this?' Harry lifted up a wad of paper held together by a thick, brown elastic band. It was a stack of hundred-kroner notes.
'A custom they have,' Sandemann said.
'Who are these they you keep talking about?'
'Didn't you know?' Sandemann formed his thin, wet lips into a smile. 'She was a gypsy.'
* * *
All the tables in the canteen at Police HQ were occupied by colleagues in animated conversation. Except for one. Harry walked over to it.
'You'll get to know people by and by,' he said. Beate looked up at him with incomprehension, and he realised they might have more in common than he had thought. He sat down and placed a video cassette in front of him. 'This is taken from the 7-Eleven shop diagonally opposite the bank on the day of the robbery. Plus a recording of the Thursday before. Could you check it for anything interesting?'