The Redbreast(134)

they?’

‘Yes . . .’

‘They don’t use names for opinion polls. Did you

hear any noise in the background?’

‘What do you mean?’ ‘They usually work from

those open plan offices with lots of other people.’

‘There was something,’ she said, ‘but . . .’

‘But?’

‘Not the kind of noise you’re thinking of. It was . .

. different.’

‘When did you receive this call?’

‘At about midday, I think. I said he was coming

home in the afternoon. I had forgotten Bernt had to

go to Larvik for a meal with the Exports Council.’

‘Since Bernt’s name is not in the telephone

directory, did it occur to you that it might have

been someone calling everyone called Brandhaug

to find out where Bernt lived? And to find out

when he was coming home?’

‘I don’t follow you . . .’

‘Opinion pollsters don’t phone a man of working

age at home in the middle of the working day.’

Harry turned to Halvorsen.

‘Check with Telenor to see if you can get hold of

the number they rang from.’

‘Excuse me, fru Brandhaug,’ Halvorsen said. ‘I

noticed that you have a new Ascom ISDN

telephone out in the hallway. I’ve got the same

setup myself. The last ten calls are stored in the

memory with number and time. May I . . . ?’

Harry sent Halvorsen an approving look before

he got to his feet. Fru Brandhaug’s sister

accompanied him into the hallway.

‘Bernt was old-fashioned in some ways,’ fru

Brandhaug told Harry with a crooked smile. ‘But

he liked buying modern things when they came out.

Telephones and that sort of thing.’

‘How old-fashioned was he with regard to

fidelity, fru Brandhaug?’

Her head shot up.

‘I thought we could deal with this one while we

were alone,’ Harry said. ‘Kripos checked out what

you told them earlier today. Your husband wasn’t

at any meeting with the Exports Council in Larvik

yesterday. Did you know that the Foreign Office

has a room at the Continental at its disposal?’

‘No.’

‘My boss in the Secret Service tipped me off

about it this morning. It turns out that your husband

checked in there yesterday afternoon. We don’t

know whether he was alone, but of course you

begin to get certain ideas when a husband lies to

his wife and goes to a hotel.’

Harry studied her face as it went through a

metamorphosis from fury to despair to resignation

to . . . laughter. It sounded like low weeping.

‘I really shouldn’t be surprised,’ she said. ‘If you

absolutely have to know, he was . . . very modern

in that area too. Though I fail to see what it has to

do with the case.’

‘It might have given a jealous husband a motive

for killing him,’ Harry said.

‘It gives me a motive too, herr Hole. Have you

considered that? When we lived in Nigeria a

contract killing cost two hundred Norwegian

kroner.’ She laughed the same wounded laugh. ‘I

thought you said the motive was the statement that

appeared in Dagbladet.’

‘We’re covering all the options.’

‘As a rule they were women he met through

work,’ she said. ‘Of course, I don’t know

everything that went on, but I caught him red-

handed once. And then I saw the pattern and how

he had been doing it. But murder?’ She shook her

head. ‘You don’t shoot anyone for that sort of thing

nowadays, do you?’

She looked at Harry, who didn’t know how to

respond. Through the glass door to the entrance

hall he could hear Halvorsen’s deep voice. Harry

cleared his throat:

‘Do you know if he was conducting a relationship

with any particular woman recently?’

She shook her head. ‘Ask around in the Foreign

Office. It’s a strange environment, you know.

Bound to be someone there who would be more

than willing to give you a pointer.’

She said this without rancour, purely as a matter

of information.

They both looked up when Halvorsen came into

the room.

‘Odd,’ he said. ‘You did receive a telephone call

at 12.24, fru Brandhaug, but not yesterday. The day

before.’

‘Oh dear, perhaps I mixed up the days,’ she said.

‘Yes, well, so it has nothing to do with the case,

then.’

‘Maybe not,’ Halvorsen said. ‘I checked the

number with enquiries anyway. The call came from

a pay phone. At Schrøder’s café.’

‘Café?’ she said. ‘Yes, that would probably

explain the noises in the background. Do you think