The caretaker’s wife smiled sadly when I said that as a matter of procedure, I would have to see all the residents’ bank books, including hers. She got up heavily and pulled a worn red post-office savings book out from a drawer and handed it to me.
‘There is not much to brag about there for a lifetime’s savings, but it is more than I had when Anton was still at home,’ she said, with a tired, tight smile.
I had to agree with her after a quick check. According to her post-office savings book, the caretaker’s wife from the basement had forty-eight kroner in her account, and that really was not a lot to boast about for a hard-working life. All the same, she had managed to save what little she could over the past few months. Five months previously, her balance had been four kroner. Wherever the 250,000 kroner that had disappeared from Harald Olesen’s account in the past year had gone, it certainly was not concealed in this savings account.
I had thought of going up to the Lunds to ask a few questions and then on to Sara Sundqvist, but the caretaker’s wife had noted that Kristian Lund had driven to work around nine, after ringing his secretary and asking her to meet him there, even though it was Sunday. On his way out, he had commented that he was behind with the stocktake and needed some time to himself to think. After a hasty consultation with myself, I decided that Kristian Lund was the next person I should speak to. So I asked the caretaker’s wife to phone him at work. I told him in brief that I had to talk to him as soon as possible, and it would perhaps be just as easy if I came to see him at the sports shop. There was silence on the other end of the line before he took the hint and replied that that would be fine. I told him I would be there in about a quarter of an hour, and he assured me that his secretary would keep an eye out for me and open the door.
The sports shop where Kristian Lund was manager was airy and modern, with double doors and a large display window facing onto a well-frequented street. It crossed my mind that a position as manager here was no doubt well paid and a good springboard for furthering a career in business, but I did not have time to reflect on this. Kristian Lund’s secretary turned out to be a petite blonde of about twenty-five and appeared at the door within seconds. Her body was slim and firm, as was the hand that she held out when she told me brightly that her name was Elise Remmen and that ‘our darling shop manager’ was waiting for me in his office. I followed her shapely back through the shop and down a long corridor of office doors. Elise Remmen enthused that the sports business was on the offensive and that this chain was leading the competition, so several other shops had recently moved their administration here.