The Lion's Mouth Read Online Free PDF

that had clearly been cobbled together at the last minute; it was obvious that, since Birgitte Volter had taken office only six months previously, the material had not yet been sitting ready-prepared in the editorial offices. By the following day, the situation would probably have improved.
    The darkened windows might also mean that the Supreme Court judge was out. At a party, perhaps, or “in company”, as they said in this part of the city. However, it might also indicate something else.
    She looked around before crossing the street. Cars were parked close together along the sidewalk, and there was hardly space for her between a Volvo and BMW whose bumpers were almostkissing. She huffed and puffed and finally had to turn away to try to locate a larger gap elsewhere.
    Something was wrong with the lock on the entrance door at Odins gate number 3. Actually, something was wrong with the door itself; it did not close properly, and looked as though the timber had become warped. Odd, but she was spared having to use the intercom. Warily, she opened the massive wooden door and stepped into the hallway.
    A smell of plaster and detergent assailed her in the unexpectedly large foyer, and she saw a bicycle secured to the railings of the staircase adjacent to the door leading to the basement. The stairway was attractive and well maintained, with yellow walls and green decorative moldings, and the original stained glass windows on each landing were in exceptionally good condition.
    Halfway up the second flight of stairs, she came to a halt.
    Voices. Quiet voices in conversation. A whinny of laughter.
    She pulled back against the wall surprisingly quickly, and blessed fate for having equipped her with soundless Ecco shoes. She continued her ascent, keeping as close to the wall as possible.
    Two men were sitting on the steps. Two uniformed police officers, sitting directly outside Benjamin Grinde’s apartment.
    She had been right.
    Just as carefully as she had gone up, she padded down again. Once she was well outside the damaged front door, she produced a cell phone from her voluminous coat and keyed in the code for a number that was one of the most valuable in her collection, the number for Chief Inspector Konrad Storskog, a thoroughly unpleasant social climber, aged thirty-five. No one but her knew that at the age of twenty-two he had crashed his parents’ car while in a state of intoxication that was never measured but that must have been around three per mille. Shehappened to have been driving the vehicle behind him; it was dark and there was no one else around. She had contacted his parents, who had, quite remarkably, extricated him from this awkward situation without the young, newly qualified police officer receiving so much as a scratch on his record. Little Lettvik had tucked away the information for future use, and had never regretted that she had neglected to fulfill her duties as a citizen thirteen years earlier.
    “Storskog,” was the harsh response at the other end, also a cell phone.
    “Hi there, Konrad, old pal.” Little Lettvik smirked. “Plenty to do tonight?”
    Silence fell.
    “Hello? Can you hear me?”
    There was no crackling sound, so she knew that he was still on the line.
    “Konrad, Konrad,” she said indulgently. “Don’t be difficult now.”
    “What do you want?”
    “Just an answer to one tiny question.”
    “What is it? I’m extremely busy.”
    “Is Supreme Court Judge Benjamin Grinde at the station? Right now, I mean?”
    Total silence again.
    “I’ve no idea,” he said suddenly, after a lengthy pause.
    “Nonsense. Obviously you know. Just say yes or no, Konrad. Just yes or no.”
    “Why would he be here?”
    “If he isn’t, then there’s a question of gross dereliction of duty.”
    She smiled to herself as she continued. “Because he must be about the very last person to have seen the lady alive. Volter, I mean. He was at her office late yesterday afternoon. Of course you have to