by K. O. Dahl
‘Why do Norwegians go walking in general?’
‘To get some exercise, fight the flab …’
‘There’s one reason you haven’t mentioned.’
‘What?’
‘When my wife was alive and we went on walks, it was always to talk about things.’
‘Clearing the air – a dialogue, face to face, ending in a row and
‘That would be a hypothesis.’
‘Who did Faremo need to have a chat with – if it wasn’t the woman, Merethe Sandmo?’
‘Vidar Ballo. He’s the one occupying Merethe Sandmo’s bed now. But there’s one thing that suggests it wasn’t Ballo.’
‘What’s that?’
‘These three, Faremo, Rognstad and Ballo, are best friends and partners. They’ve done several jobs together and shared the loot without falling out. It’s nigh-on inconceivable that Jim Rognstad or Vidar Ballo would have any motive whatsoever to kill Faremo. The only thing we have is that Merethe Sandmo possibly swapped beds and bed-pals – from Jonny Faremo to Vidar Ballo.’
‘Possibly?’
‘Looks like that. But we don’t know for certain. On the other hand, these boys have swapped women before – without any spats. So, Merethe Sandmo’s pussy is not necessarily a motive here.’
‘Are you positive Merethe Sandmo and Vidar Ballo are a couple?’
‘If they aren’t, they certainly give the impression they are.’ Gunnarstranda took a swig of his beer.
‘Nevertheless. Merethe Sandmo – she’s the one who tipped us off about the Loenga murder, isn’t she? If Jonny Faremo was murdered, he was – statistically speaking – murdered by someone close to him. Here we have a woman who swaps beds. Next she rings the police. Finally, the first bed-pal is found dead.’
‘Of course you’ve got a point,’ Gunnarstranda said, putting down his glass.
‘At least it’s more likely than an accident.’
Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘We’re dealing with a gang under pressure. There’s a lot of evidence to suggest the gang was going separate ways. However, one of the mysteries remains: why did Merethe turn snitch?’
They sit looking at each other.
Gunnarstranda pulled out his tobacco and his roll-up machine: ‘Vidar Ballo and Merethe Sandmo have flown.’
‘How do you know?’
Gunnarstranda picked at the superfluous flakes of tobacco on his roll-up. ‘I’ve had men out to bring them in. You see, I bumped into Ballo and Merethe Sandmo yesterday and instructed them to come in for questioning today. They didn’t show up.’
‘But could it be so obvious? Faremo on his own against Ballo and the ex?’
‘Maybe.’
‘It’s happened all the way through history. The French have their own term for it: cherchez la femme …’
Gunnarstranda pulled a sceptical face. ‘I would go for that hypothesis if I knew of other conflicts between Ballo and Faremo. With both of them in a fix, thanks to her tip-off, I don’t understand how the woman was intending to play them off against each other.’
‘Assuming she isn’t the object of attraction they’re both competing for. That’s more than enough material for conflict.’
Gunnarstranda reflected for a moment, then said: ‘Then there’s your role in all this. Someone will ask you if you were walking by the Glomma with Faremo.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
They looked each other in the eye.
‘Someone will ask you what you were doing during these hours. You’ve already admitted you were trying to tail Faremo – a few hours before the witness’s sighting.’
‘But I was driving my car to Blindern. I was searching for Reidun Vestli when this happened.’
‘Lystad told Kripos that was what you said, but he also said the timing was blurred. You might have been in Askim during daylight, then you drove like fuck to Blindern to give yourself an alibi.’
Frank Frølich sighed heavily. ‘That’s ridiculous of course.’
Gunnarstranda lit his roll-up. ‘Have you got an ashtray?’
Frank Frølich motioned with his head towards an empty peanut bowl on the table. ‘Use that.’ He straightened up and looked at the map again. He cleared his throat and said: ‘What make was the car parked in Skjoldenveien?’
‘We don’t know. Lystad says it was a saloon, silver-grey. Could be anything from a Saab to any Japanese car. But we know that Faremo had a silver-grey Saab.’
‘And I have a silver-grey Toyota Avensis – saloon.’
‘Exactly,’ Gunnarstranda said laconically. ‘And when we were up at Kykkelsrud power station you talked all the time about this road here.’ He tapped the map with his finger.
‘And, naturally, you said that to Lystad?’
‘Naturally.’
Frank Frølich gave a wry smile and said: ‘This Vrangfoss place is quite special. There’s a spit protruding into the river so the water has to flow around it in an extremely narrow channel.’
‘You seem to know the place well.’
‘I went there after we’d talked by the dam.’
‘OK.’
‘What’s the real reason you came here?’ Frølich suddenly asked.
Gunnarstranda raised his head, a crooked smile playing around his lips. He coughed. ‘A witness has turned up in the Loenga case.’
Frank Frølich raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
‘He didn’t come forward willingly. He’s one of the bums in the square by the station and was brought in because two undercover men had heard rumours that he knew something about the murder in Loenga,’ Gunnarstranda went on. ‘The man’s name is Steinar Astrup. On the night in question he was sleeping in cardboard boxes. What he says is very interesting. He says he was awoken by the sounds of someone breaking into the container nearby. There were three men.’
‘Very promising. Any results with the rogues’ gallery?’
‘They were all wearing balaclavas. Outside the wire fence there was a car, a BMW estate. The three men had started to cram the loot into black plastic sacks. Then they ran to the fence and threw over the sacks. And now get this: the witness maintains a fourth person was sitting behind the wheel of the car. This person had left the driver’s seat and lifted the sacks into the boot of the car twice. That means the men ran over to the fence twice. But suddenly the three inside the perimeter hid behind a pile of pallets. Because the security man, Arnfinn Haga, drew up in his little Ford. He slowed down as he passed the BMW even though the two cars were on opposite sides of the fence. The Ford stopped, then reversed. The guard got out of the car with a powerful torch and shone it through the fence at the person sitting in the BMW on the other side. But then something even stranger happened.’ Gunnarstranda paused for effect before continuing.
‘The person behind the steering wheel in the BMW got out – hands in the air.’
‘Hands in the air? These guards aren’t armed, are they? The car was on the other side of the fence and the man could have just driven off.’
‘I haven’t finished. Though you’ve got a point. According to Astrup, the guard asked the person what they were doing. Then there was a bang.’
‘Bang?’
‘Yes, one of the men wearing a balaclava had charged out and smacked the guard over the head with a baseball bat.’
‘And then?’
‘What he says about the baseball bat is important. It means the witness is telling the truth. No one knows about the murder weapon – except for trusted members of the force.’
‘And he talks about four people. That suggests we might be barking up the wrong tree.’
Gunnarstranda shook his head. ‘Then the three of them climbed over the fence and jumped into the BMW, which shot off,’ he concluded.
‘Four people?’
Silence settled over the room. Frølich could hear ticking. It was Gunnarstranda’s Swatch. He coughed. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘Not sure,’ Gunnarstranda murmured. ‘Either it was those four
: Faremo, Rognstad and Ballo plus an unknown fourth man who committed the robbery and murder – or the whole line of enquiry involving Faremo, Rognstad and Ballo is simply a wild goose chase.’
‘What about if the three were using a driver for this particular job?’
‘A container at the harbour? There’s no reason for the three of them to recruit a fourth man for this job. The trio are well known for sticking together, for not taking on anyone else.’
‘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.’
17
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.’