The green door had a window with wired glass. A curtain had been pushed to the side and a head was peering out. Even though the wire distorted the facial features on the other side it was clear that the face did not belong to a man. Gunnarstranda signalled to the group on the stairs to retreat. Then he moved his hand towards the door bell and rang again. The person inside fiddled around with the lock and a very young woman opened up. She could have been fifteen, sixteen, seventeen or eighteen years old. Gunnarstranda wondered whether she wasn't fourteen. But he concluded that it was unlikely. She had to be over fifteen. However, she was wearing a lot of make-up; her skin was so stiff it was like cardboard. She had painted her lips dark red and was scantily clad. It was the minimal clothing that gave away how old she was: thin thighs with no flesh - she hadn't finished developing.

    'Is Raymond at home?' the policeman asked with a beaming smile.

    'No,' she said with a return smile.

    'Who are you?'

    'I'm his girl.'

    Gunnarstranda nodded. 'Good morning, good morning,' he said.

    'Hi,' she said.

    Gunnarstranda turned to look up at the armed policeman who had positioned himself higher up the staircase, out of the young woman's field of vision. The man withdrew without a sound and left. Gunnarstranda turned back to the young woman and asked in hushed tones: 'Will he be long'

    'He should be here any minute. I thought you were him now.'

    'I'll wait indoors then,' Gunnarstranda said, stepping inside. The hall had been painted in dark colours; it was long and narrow as halls often are in old blocks of flats. He stopped in front of the bathroom door and opened it wide. He peered in. The bathroom seemed unusually modern and very clean. He also opened the next door wide.

    'Bedroom,' the girl behind him said.

    Gunnarstranda glanced at the dresser drawers scattered across the floor. On the broad, unmade bed were thrown socks, underpants and other things that must have come from the drawers. Gunnarstranda closed the door again and continued through the flat with the young woman at his heels. It was clear that she wasn't a hundred per cent sure of him. Gunnarstranda went into the sitting room, which was tidy. Raymond Skau collected old LP records. Three of the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelf after shelf of vinyl. There had to be thousands of records. Only two of the shelves were reserved for CDs. Several years of listening, thought Gunnarstranda, looking at the fourth wall, which had two high windows looking out on to the street. Beneath the windows and between them the wall was adorned with a huge hi-fi system. The speakers were two large, man-sized columns. He walked to the end of the room and glanced around the kitchen, which was just as messy as the bedroom. Several days' washing up, including encrusted plates, formed small edifices beside the sink alongside piles of cups lined with black coagulated coffee. The smell was testimony to the fact that it had been a long time since anyone had bothered to empty the waste bin.

    The young woman stood in the middle of the floor wringing her hands. 'Who are you then?' she forced herself to ask.

    Gunnarstranda walked back to the sitting room window, signalled to the officers below, shook his head and took out his mobile phone.

    'I'm a friend of Raymond's,' he confided, wasting no words.

    'My name's Linda,' the girl said, smiling the way that well-brought up girls do when they are uncertain of themselves, but are willing to take a chance that everything will turn out fine.

    Gunnarstranda's mobile phone rang. 'Yes,' he said, walking to the window. 'No, Skau isn't here, but he's expected, so I'll wait here until he shows up.' He switched off the phone and pointed to the sofa with an air of authority. 'Sit down,' he said to the young woman.

    She sat down. Gunnarstranda seated himself on a chair opposite her. 'Have you known Raymond long?' he asked.

    'We've been together for two months.'

    Gunnarstranda nodded.

    'Tomorrow,' she said, 'is our anniversary.'

    'Two months is an awfully long time,' Gunnarstranda said with a hint of irony.

    'I can hardly believe it,' she said in her naivety, and smiled as though she couldn't believe it.

    'Did you meet Katrine?' Gunnarstranda asked.

    'No, I don't think so.'

    'Blonde hair, quite good-looking, but a bit older than you.'

    The girl called Linda shook her head.

    'Works at a travel agency,' Gunnarstranda said.

    The young girl rolled her shoulders.

    'But I suppose you go to school?'

    'Project week.' She giggled.

    'So you don't need to go to school?'

    'We do but…' She giggled again.

    'How old are you?' the policeman enquired.

    'Fourteen.'

    Gunnarstranda's lips extended into a satisfied smile.

    'What are you laughing at?' The young girl blushed, as if she thought the policeman was laughing at her.

    'I'm laughing at Raymond.'

    'Raymond's cool, isn't he.'

    'Cool,' Gunnarstranda nodded. 'Dead cool,' he mumbled, revealing that hip yoof talk was not something he practised on a daily basis. 'Where is he in fact?'

    'With the oinkers,' she answered.

    'Oinkers,' Gunnarstranda repeated, mystified.

    'With the cops,' she said. 'He rang me from the cop shop. He should have been back ages ago.'

    'Do you live here?' Gunnarstranda asked in a friendly voice. 'Do you live with Raymond?' 'Are you crazy?' the girl said. 'I would never have been allowed to do that.'

    'But you have keys?'

    'Yes. I collect the post and that sort of thing.'

    'That sort of thing?'

    'Yes, cook and…'

    'And?'

    She came to a halt with a grin. 'Housewifely things.'

    Gunnarstranda nodded in an eloquent way- 'Housewifely things,' he repeated and winked at her.

    The girl blushed again. At that moment the policeman's mobile phone rang. He put it to his ear, listened to the message and smiled at the girl on the opposite side of the table. 'Great,' he said: 'Go to it'.

    Soon afterwards there was a ring at the door and the young woman jumped up. 'That's Raymond,' she said, excited.

    'Of course,' Gunnarstranda said without moving from his chair.

    Then there was the sound of running feet followed by a thud and someone cursing in a gruff voice.

    The girl called Linda glanced up in fear at Gunnarstranda, who staggered to his feet and went to the door. 'Pack your things together,' he said to the young girl. 'I'll arrange for someone to drive you home.' He opened the door and watched the scuffle on the floor of the staircase. A silent man was wriggling and twisting under the weight of two uniformed policemen. The man's arms were forced up behind his back and handcuffed together. As he swung round to see what was going on, his greasy hair hung like a thick curtain in front of his face.

    Gunnarstranda smiled to the girl. 'But before going home you'll have to talk to some nice people about your boyfriend.'