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By Kjell Ola Dahl

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But the smile vanished. She was serious again. ’ she answered. ‘Now that she has been killed downstairs. ’ Gunnarstranda essayed a little smile with the boy as well. ’ She smiled. ‘Joachim is my husband. ’ She patted the boy on the head. Joachim Junior, Gunnarstranda repeated to himself. Took a deep breath. ’ Met her eyes. ’ She hesitated for a moment, considering the question. ’ She took her time. ‘I said hello to her quite a few times, of course.  .  . quite nice.  . ’ She hesitated again. ‘I don’t think he knew her any better than I did.

Was taken by surprise, as always, at the beauty of the cornices and sculptures on these old apartment buildings. One was newer than the others. Square window panes with no ornamentation. ‘There,’ Gunnarstranda pointed. ‘That block has the right view. ’ Upon reaching the top floor at last, they were both panting. On the landing outside the front doors the light had gone, so the name plates were barely legible. Two flats, but only one was occupied. The second door was partially concealed by cardboard boxes and rubbish piled up against the wall.

Without stopping a few hundred metres further up, in Valdresgata, where the blocks were newer and there were still enough journalists and union bosses for high society not to feel comfortable. He leaned his forehead against the window pane and stared down on to the street, patiently waiting until she was finished and had returned from the kitchen. ‘You’ve been lucky with this flat,’ he exclaimed with his back to her. ‘And you’ve done the place up nicely. Imagine, when I was growing up, there wasn’t even a toilet in the corridor.

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