Chapter VII: You can take it to the bank
Gjertsen always wished that he was a smoker too when he entered the morgue. Somehow the smell got to him. The coroner, Fjeldstad, greeted him enthusiastically.
“Cigarette, detective?”
“No thanks. I don’t smoke… wish I did, though…”
“Well, this one was easy. He was suffocated. Since he was also terminally ill, and already had difficulties with his windpipe, it didn’t take much strength to kill him either. A woman could’ve done it. But it’s all in my report. Where’s Mold?”
“Inspector Mold is out investigating certain leads, Fjeldstad”, Gjertsen said in his most authoritarian tone.
“Yes… yes… well, good luck in catching whoever did this. The perpetrator wouldn’t even have had to use much force…”
“Thanks, Fjeldstad!”, Gjertsen said, and said his goodbyes and left.
He hurried back to his office to meet up with Mold in Mold’s office. They both arrived at almost the same time.
“I dropped by the baker’s on the way”, Mold said, putting a paper bag with buns on the desk. “Help yourself… so what did you find out?”
“The day nurse couldn’t really give a good description of a man that had come to visit Mathiesen…”
“Someone visited him?”
“Yes, apparently the same day and just before he was murdered. It wouldn’t be a far shot assuming this is the likely killer”
“Certainly looks like it”, Mold agreed. “But no description?”
“No. She’s… a lesbian. And she didn’t look at him. He was wearing a coat, that was all she noticed”
“Right…”. Mold drank his now lukewarm coffee. It reminded him of endless visits to his mother-in-law. Not quite the image he’d expected from what Gjertsen told him. “What about the coroner?”
“The victim was killed by suffocation. His fragile health made it an easy task as well”, Gjertsen said, munching a bun. He pointed to the report. Mold picked it up and leafed through it. Another reporting saying anything bringing them closer to Niels Mathiesen’s killer.
They had no choice but to travel to Drøbak again. It had started snowing, and Gjertsen made no attempt at concealing his displeasure for having to drive again. Mold was scribbling down keywords and drawing lines between them on his notepad, his forehead in deep thoughtful furrows.
“If there’s nothing new now, I don’t see how we’ll continue the investigation”, he said.
Gjertsen kept his eyes on the road, and tried to look sour.
“I suppose not”, he replied. “Thankfully, we have no other cases…”
“That’s the spirit!”, Mold said, mockingly.
“I meant, that means we can concentrate on this one!”
They remained silent until Gjertsen drove up before the bank in Drøbak. They got out, and Mold checked whether he had brought any identification. Thankfully, his ID rested peacefully in his wallet.
The clerk behind the counter was a young lady, wearing, in Mold’s opinion, too much make-up.
“May I see the manager, please?”, Mold inquired. Apparently, even in rural Drøbak, not everyone was allowed to see the bank manager.
“What is this in relation to, may I ask?”. Mold sighed and picked up his ID.
“Police. I am Inspector Jon Mold of the Homicide Division…”
The sign of authority roused the young woman into action. Who knows, Mold and Gjertsen could have been farmers dressing up to ask for a mortgage.
The bank manager would have fitted nicely into a Communist cartoon from the twenties about capitalists. He was short, stocky, red-faced and wore a black suit. He greeted Mold and Gjertsen over-enthusiastically, and asked them into his office.
“Now, what can I help you two with?”
Jon Mold picked up the small silvery key they’d discovered at Mathiesen’s Drøbak hide-out.
“Recognise this?”
“Hmm… it might be a key to our deposit boxes…”
“Did you have a customer named Niels Mathiesen?”, Mold asked.
“Let me check that in our records. Just a moment!”
“Is it okay if I smoke?”, Jon Mold inquired.
“Certainly!”. The manager hurried off to check his records. Mold looked around the office, while absent-mindedly lighting his cigarette. Gjertsen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and became increasingly pre-occupied with fiddling with his tie.
The manager returned.
“Indeed I have a customer called Niels Mathiesen, born in 1905. He rents one of the safety deposit boxes we have in our vault downstairs. He’s only been here twice, though…”
“You might want to know that he’s in fact deceased now”, Mold said sombrely.
The bank manager looked at him, then shrugged.
“May I see his record and could we see the box in question, please?”. Although phrased like a question, Mold’s request had every sign of a direct order.
The fat man nodded, and they all left to enter the vault.
Mold then dismissed the bank manager, and went to box 94.
“If this is empty, I swear I’ll walk back home….”, he whispered to himself. He put the key in the lock and turned it.