‘When were they arrested?’
‘Ballo and Faremo were picked up at the Faremo flat just before five in the morning. Rognstad was collared outside the Hell’s Angels clubhouse in Alnabru. In their statement they said all three of them had been playing poker in Jonny and Elisabeth Faremo’s flat, accompanied by Elisabeth from two o‘clock onwards until they were arrested. And the clincher for the judge was that Elisabeth Faremo was in the flat when the police arrived.’
‘What about Rognstad?’
‘His explanation was that he left the flat ten minutes before the arrests. He went on his motorbike to Alnabru and that matches witnesses’ testimonies in Alnabru.’
‘No one saw them arrive during the night?’
Gunnarstranda shook his head.
‘What about the car, the BMW?’
‘A stolen BMW, which might have been the car used in the robbery, was found in Sæther the day after. There had been an attempt to set it alight.’
‘What’s your take on this then?’
‘The only thing connecting these three men to the murder of Arnfinn Haga is Merethe Sandmo’s tip-off. If Sandmo and Ballo are lovers, the chances are she’ll withdraw her statement and then we’ll have nothing.’
‘But what do you think? Did these three kill the guard?’
Gunnarstranda stood up. ‘Right now I don’t believe anything.’ He went towards the door. ‘What bothers me is another mystery,’ he mumbled.
‘What’s that?’
‘If four men broke into the container that night, why did Merethe Sandmo only mention three names?’
Frank Frølich shrugged his shoulders.
‘You agree it’s a little odd?’
‘Yes.’
‘There are three possibilities. Either she didn’t know about the fourth man or she’s keeping stumm about him or the tip-off was a fabrication.’
‘Maybe Astrup is pulling a fast one? And there were only three men?’
‘Doubt it. His statement clarifies the course of events, gives a motive for the murder and the explanation fits in with the burned rubber on the road outside the fence.’
‘So there were four men.’
Gunnarstranda nodded. ‘If you succeed in finding her – Elisabeth Faremo – try to coax a couple of relevant names out of her.’
‘Belonging to whom?’
‘The fourth robber.’
Inspector Gunnarstranda drove along Drammensveien and turned off at Lysaker. He was going to see Reidun Vestli and wasn’t happy about it.
Why was he going?
he wondered. Was it to do Frølich a favour? No. Even though he was aware of the value of Frølich’s instincts. The problem was that initiatives to do with Reidun Vestli didn’t fall within the jurisdiction of his investigation.
That was why he had decided to justify this initiative by telling himself it was important to establish Elisabeth Faremo’s trustworthiness. Reidun Vestli might be able to give them more information so that they could assess the defence’s main witness. He parked alongside a red picket fence and strolled up the drive to her house. It was cold. The sun, almost colourless and cold, shimmered between two roofs covered with hoar frost. He stopped in front of the brown teak door with the lion’s-head door knocker and reflected for a moment before he rang. Nothing happened. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. He grabbed the handle in the lion’s jaws, brought it down hard and discovered that the front door was unlocked and ajar. He listened. There was a small bang, like something, an object, falling onto the floor. He looked around him. Everywhere lifeless windows reflected back at him. The light breeze caused the front door to close with a clunk against the bolt. He knocked again. Again there was that thud.
Gunnarstranda made up his mind, pushed the door half open and shouted: ‘Hello!’
But then he hesitated. Tomatoes lay strewn across the floor. He stared. There was a bunch of grapes in a transparent plastic bag in front of the tomatoes. A banana had been trodden flat in the doorway to the next room; in front of the door a shattered bottle lying in a large pool of wine – some still in the carrier bag.
Should he go in?
‘Hey you. Man.’
Gunnarstranda turned round. A small boy in a ski suit with snot running from his nose peered up at him.
‘Are you looking for the old dear?’
‘The lady who lives here, yes.’
‘She’th gone in an ambulanth.’
Frølich had got into his car and was on his way down the Ryenberg slopes towards the city centre when Gunnarstranda rang.
‘I shouldn’t contact you like this – it might give the wrong signals,’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘Didn’t know you were a moralist,’ Frølich said, his eyes peeled for a place to stop.
‘It’s my job to moralize. What kind of cop would I be if I weren’t sceptical about people’s morality? Our profession, Frølich, is based on the same authority as speed cameras at the side of the road: if we don’t see people doing something wrong we think they’re doing something wrong anyway.’
It occurred to Frølich that the man was being unusually garrulous. He pulled into the first bus lay-by and stopped so that he could speak. He didn’t know where this corny line about speed cameras was going, so he replied: ‘I don’t agree. It’s unethical to pre-suppose as yet uncommitted breaches of the law. Speed cameras are an entirely different matter. After all, they prevent traffic accidents.’
‘Brilliant, Frølich. You’ve seen through the state’s legal rhetoric. They call installing speed cameras a precautionary measure. As long as it’s done under this label, it doesn’t make any difference if the photograph is used as evidence in the consequent prosecution. You and I and the rest of the civil servants are paid for doubting the nation’s morality. But that isn’t my main purpose in ringing.’
‘That’s what I suspected.’
‘I’m wondering about the real reason why you wanted me to contact Reidun Vestli.’
‘I told you.’
‘But I don’t exactly buy it.’
‘Better tell me what’s happened,’ Frølich said wearily.
‘The lady may not survive.’
A couple of hours later he found somewhere to park in Skovveien. He crossed Bygdøy allé and continued towards the Norsk Hydro buildings and the Hydro Park. When Frank Frølich had been small, he had visited his uncle here; he had worked in the purchasing department of Norsk Hydro.
The security men in reception seemed to be bored. They were throwing playful punches at each other until he knocked on the plastic window. He asked to see Langås. The older of the two men picked up the telephone and called. The younger man hid behind a tabloid,
Verdens Gang.
The guard on the telephone cupped the receiver with his hand and asked who he should say was there. Frank Frølich introduced himself. The man held his hand over the receiver again. ‘Langås says he isn’t familiar with the name.’
Frank Frølich said: ‘Tell him I want to meet now. I’d much rather discuss things with him personally than with you.’
Shortly afterwards the entrance gate flashed green. Frølich went in and crossed to the lift. The lift door opened and he looked straight into the face of a man in his fifties. He had a central parting in long grey hair tied into a ponytail at the back. His beard was clipped short, and a conspicuous crown in his top row of teeth lent charm to a crooked smile. The man’s ex-hippie image combined with an expensive suit. Frølich, who could feel his prejudices rising, immediately took against him.
‘You wanted to talk to me?’
Frank Frølich introduced himself.
‘So what’s this about? I have a tough agenda and not very much time to spare.’
‘It’s about your ex-wife, Reidun Vestli.’
‘And who are you?’
‘I’m a policeman, on leave.’
They faced each other for a few seconds without speaking. ‘All right,’ Langås said finally. ‘I’ll look for a free room.’
Frølich trailed Langås down the corridor, passing office doors and a room with a flashing photocopier. A man and a woman were talking in a glass cage, both fidgeting with their paper cups.
Langås showed the way to a small room where they sat down on either side of a neglected, withered potted plant in the middle of a table.
Frølich went straight to the point. ‘She’s in hospital,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘She was attacked in her own house.’
‘I know that too.’
‘I have reason to believe the attack is connected with a case I’m working on.’
‘While you’re on leave?’
Frølich didn’t answer. They sat weighing each other up. Langås tilted his head. Not in any ironic way, more an appraisal.
Frank Frølich broke the silence: ‘The attack is being investigated by others. I have reason to believe that …’
‘Actually, I have nothing to say,’ Langås interrupted. ‘The policeman who rang me about Reidun indicated that there had been a break-in. I can tell you what I told him: Reidun and I’ve been divorced for years. I know as much about her daily routine as I know about our TUC chairman’s next-door neighbour.’
‘Although she’s named you as her closest relative.’
‘The word relative is a technical term on this occasion. And I didn’t ask for this role. It is Reidun’s choice, which I respect but fail to understand.’
‘So you and Reidun do talk now and then?’
‘Now and then sounds more frequent than is the case with us. But listen, Reidun and I …’
‘Has she ever mentioned the name Elisabeth Faremo?’ Frølich broke in.
‘Not that I can remember. But listen to me. I don’t want to be involved in your private matters, especially not via my ex-wife.’
‘Have you seen this woman?’
Frølich pushed a photograph of Elisabeth Faremo across the table.
Langås craned his head to look, wordless.
‘I take your silence to mean that you’ve seen this woman before.’
Langås nodded.
‘Where and when?’
‘At Easter. She went to the weekend chalet with Reidun.’
‘Where’s the chalet?’
‘In Valdres, Vestre Slidre.’
Frølich held back in the hope that he would be more forthcoming. Langås leaned forwards and said: ‘Is this your woman? Did she leave you for Reidun? Are you jealous? How am I to know it wasn’t you who broke in and beat her up?’
‘It wasn’t me. But yes, I have occasionally been jealous of your ex-wife. She was having a relationship with Elisabeth at the same time as I was. That isn’t why I came here though. The fact is I’m fond of this woman and have reason to believe she’s in serious trouble. For that reason she has gone to ground. I think the serious trouble has something to do with your ex-wife being taken to Ullevål hospital.’
Langås rolled his wrist and squinted at his watch – a macho job: classic diver watch meets James Bond.
Frølich pointed to the photograph. ‘My motive for talking to you is to find this woman, and help her out of her predicament. I’ve tried to talk to your ex-wife. Other policemen have also tried. She refuses to answer any questions. That means that your ex may also have got caught up in the mess. I’m only asking you to …’
‘I have to go,’ Langås said. ‘Whatever Reidun is caught up in, it has nothing to do with me. I’m happily married, Frølich. And I’ll be quite open with you. In fact, one of the reasons we got divorced when we did was Reidun’s predilections. We married too young. We grew apart, intellectually and … well … in other areas. That meant that Reidun and I have almost nothing in common, not even children. And we were miles apart when we divided all our possessions. In fact, one of the things at the time that created bad blood between us was the chalet I was talking about. It’s been in my family for two generations and was built by my grandfather. But she was downright dishonest and grabbed it when we got divorced. I was very depressed at that point and incapable of standing up for myself. For sentimental reasons, I’ve bought another chalet not so far from the one she cheated me out of. This is where I most often meet her. We occasionally bump into each other when we go skiing at Easter.’ He tapped a finger on Elisabeth Faremo’s picture. ‘I saw this woman when I was out skiing. They were resting alongside the piste on a slope and I chatted to them for maybe three minutes perhaps, maybe five – to be polite. Not long enough to ask her name. I assumed she was having problems because she was young, probably half Reidun’s age. That’s all I know, all I can say. If you would excuse me now?’ He stood up, flipped open the clasp of his fancy watch and closed it again, like a secondary schoolteacher rattling his keys.
‘Thank you,’ Frølich said, realizing why Langås was fidgeting with his watch: he wanted to avoid shaking hands.
She was ensconced in a chair by the window. Staring out. Her back appeared narrow and lonely in the white dressing gown. Her brown hair was brushed. In the window Gunnarstranda saw his own reflection – and the profile of her face.
He stood like that without saying anything.
‘I know who you are,’ she said. The voice was quiet and concentrated.
He met her eyes in the transparent mirror. ‘May I buy you a cup of coffee?’ he asked and added: ‘If you’re strong enough to go down to the café.’
Finally, she turned round. ‘Do you think this face is fit for a café?’
He didn’t answer.
‘What do you want?’ She was forced to talk out of the corner of her mouth. The skin around her eyes was covered with red and blue contusions.
‘I wanted to know how you were. It looked pretty bad … in your house,’ he hastened to add. ‘Can you remember any of what happened?’
‘I remember the ambulance. Just a vague recollection.’
‘Have you any idea how much time passed between the ambulance coming and …?’
‘No.’
Gunnarstranda involuntarily put out a hand as she stood up. He wanted to support her, but she rejected his approach and hobbled off towards one of the low coffee tables by the wall. He sat down at the other side.
‘It looks worse than it is,’ she said.
‘Did you see him?’
The question disconcerted her for a second. She lowered her gaze.
He waited.
‘Who?’ she asked finally.
‘I won’t force you to answer. Instead, I’ll say how I interpret your silence and your attitude. Either you saw your attacker and you’re frightened of reprisals if you describe him to me or you saw him but you don’t wish to see him punished.’
She was silent.
A nurse in a white uniform appeared at the door. She came into the room and asked if everything was all right.
Gunnarstranda gestured towards Reidun Vestli. ‘You’ll have to ask her.’
Reidun Vestli regarded the nurse with a distant look. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Could I have something to drink, though?’
They sat in silence watching the nurse go to the unit in the corner, take out a bottle of mineral water, thoroughly rinse a glass in cold water and then return with light steps. She handed a glass with a straw to Reidun Vestli. They watched the nurse cross the room and leave.
‘How did he get in?’
‘Through the door. How else?’
‘He rang the doorbell?’
She was silent.
‘Or was he waiting for you when you came back from shopping?’
She was still silent.
‘Do you want to report him?’
She shook her head slowly.
‘Why not?’
No reaction.
Gunnarstranda leaned forwards. ‘Who hit you?’ he asked doggedly.
Reidun Vestli didn’t answer.
‘Can you describe the person?’
She put down her glass on the table. She made rings with the bottom of the glass. The silence persisted. A large clock on the wall clicked as the minute hand moved on.
‘I think,’ Gunnarstranda said finally, ‘that the person who did this to you is extremely desperate. If you don’t wish to say who he is, or describe him, I’d like you to tell me what he wanted – apart from causing you injury. It’s imperative that we have this man under lock and key, imperative for us, for you and particularly for Elisabeth Faremo.’
The name threw a switch in Reidun Vestli’s consciousness. She slowly raised her head; her eyes were focused on something far away. ‘I want you to go,’ she said.
Gunnarstranda produced a photograph of Vidar Ballo. ‘Was this the man who gave you the beating?’
Reidun Vestli looked at the picture without saying a word.
Gunnarstranda took out another picture. This time it was Jim Rognstad, a prison photograph, a front and a profile.
Reidun Vestli was quiet.
Gunnarstranda showed her a photograph of Frølich.
No discernible twitch on Reidun Vestli’s face.
The policeman pulled out a newspaper cutting about her ex-husband – Langås the investor.
No reaction this time, either.
‘Anyone else?’ the policeman asked softly.
Reidun Vestli peered up.
Gunnarstranda leaned back in the chair and said: ‘Was it someone you didn’t see a photo of?’
Reidun shouted in a hoarse voice: ‘Nurse, sister, hello! I can’t take any more.’
Gunnarstranda stood up. ‘Just one minor thing before I go,’ he said before putting back the pictures in his inside jacket pocket. ‘You and your husband both had an interest in a chalet in Valdres, but who is actually the owner?’
The door opened. A nurse came in. ‘I’m going now,’ Gunnarstranda said to reassure her.
‘Wait!’ Reidun Vestli looked at him with a troubled expression on her face.
The nurse left, closing the door behind her.
Reidun Vestli was breathing heavily. ‘Why do you want to know?’
Gunnarstranda thought this over. Eventually he said: ‘For several reasons actually, but let’s start with the insurance premium. I’m wondering who gets the payout if anything should happen – something unforeseen.’
‘What are you trying to say?’ she whispered.
‘You’re going to be discharged today, aren’t you?’ Gunnarstranda asked. ‘Shall I drive you home so we can talk about it?’
She nodded slowly.
‘We can call the nurse then,’ Gunnarstranda said.