He rang again. The skin on his forefinger went white as he pressed the bell.
He stamped his feet to keep warm, went to the side to find a window to look through.
‘Are you looking for someone?’
An elderly man with a stoop, stick and beret was standing on the staircase landing staring at him.
‘Faremo,’ Frølich said.
The man took out a bunch of keys and tried to find the correct one. ‘Him or the lady?’
‘Both actually.’
The man put the key in the lock of the neighbouring flat. ‘She went off about half an hour ago. Probably going on holiday. Had a rucksack and suitcase with her. I haven’t seen Jonny for several days.’ The man opened the door.
‘Did she take a taxi?’
‘No, she just went down there.’ The man pointed with his stick. ‘Took the bus, I suppose.’
‘Did you see her get on the bus?’
‘No. Why are you so interested?’
Frølich was about to show his ID, but refrained. ‘We were meant to meet,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘Pretty important. That was half an hour ago.’
‘Oh yes,’ the man said, moving to go indoors.
Frølich waited.
The man kept mumbling, ‘Oh yes, oh yes,’ then finally closed the door.
Frølich plodded slowly back up the stairs to his car. As he was about to get in, a silver-grey Saab 95 rolled up and parked in one of the reserved spaces. He put the key in his pocket and observed the other car. The driver was taking his time. Finally the door opened. A man got out: white, about 1 metre 90 tall, strong – either from intensive training or anabolic steroids – wearing green military trousers, Gore-Tex mountain climbing boots, a short leather jacket, brown leather gloves, sunglasses and a black cap. Frølich had never seen him in real life, but he knew instantly who he was and walked over towards him.
They were the same height, but Frølich probably couldn’t lift as much in the bench press as this action-hero clone. Nevertheless, when Faremo took off his sunglasses he immediately recognized Elisabeth’s features: the nose, the forehead and the eyes.
He said: ‘I’m looking for your sister.’ He thought: Big mistake. I should have introduced myself, been coldly courteous, not brazen like a little kid.
The man took off his gloves with an effort and stretched out his hand. ‘Jonny.’
‘Frank.’
‘So you’re a friend of Elisabeth’s?’
‘Yes. Earlier today you were in court and got off because your sister talked about a man called Frank. You may remember?’
Faremo grinned. ‘Elisabeth and I have occasionally discussed the fact that you were a policeman.’
Frølich could feel the words sinking in: Elisabeth and I have occasionally discussed…
Faremo went on: ‘She has always maintained that you weren’t an asshole, that you were…’ Jonny Faremo gave a cool, ironic smile as he prepared for the sarcasm: ‘… that you were different.’
Frølich controlled himself and refrained from giving a riposte. ‘Do you know where she is now?’
‘No.’
‘A neighbour claims she left half an hour ago with a rucksack and another bag.’
‘Then she must have done.’
‘But you must know if she was going anywhere.’
‘Why’s that?’
Frølich thought: Because she’s your alibi, asshole! He said: ‘So you don’t know?’
‘You should drop the Gestapo style when talking to members of her family.’
‘I apologize if I’ve been offensive, but it’s important for me to get into contact with her.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. Is that so strange?’
‘A little.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘From what I have understood from my sister, she was the one who had to take the initiative in your relationship.’ Faremo smacked a glove against his palm. ‘But now I’m in trouble, you’ve turned into a bloodhound and come running round here.’
Frølich said: ‘If you see her, please ask her to ring me.’ He turned to go. The packed snow on the concrete roof was slippery. He almost fell, but he didn’t look back. She has told her brother everything. That was the only thing he thought. Jonny Faremo knew God-knows-what all the time he had been asking her about her brother. She had been sitting and shielding her cards like a child caught cheating.
When he joined the main road Faremo was still standing in the same place, watching him closely.
Frølich glanced at his watch. It was lunchtime, but he couldn’t swallow a bite. He pulled into the verge and stopped before he had driven fifty metres. What would be the best course of action? Find out where Elisabeth had gone or focus on the brother? How would he find out where she had gone? He hardly knew anything about her.
He wove his hands round the wheel. Perhaps do nothing? Go home and sleep maybe? After all, he was off work.
He didn’t have long to think. Faremo’s Saab drove past. Frølich switched on the ignition and followed him.
9
It was late afternoon when he parked alongside a picket fence near the tram stop at Forskningsparken. From here he made his way to the part of the university complex housing the history and philosophy faculty. The thought of this visit was distasteful. The thought of searching for the Elisabeth he didn’t know was distasteful. However, the distaste he felt for this side of her seemed less important as long as he was unable to get in touch with her, to find her. He wanted to hear what she said about the poker game, the alibi – all the things he couldn’t grasp. So he ignored the beast gnawing at his stomach, went into the Niels Treschow building and took the lift up the tall structure. He haphazardly roamed the corridors, took the stairs and wandered further afield as he read the names on the doors. The door to Reidun Vestli’s office was ajar. He knocked and pushed the door open. A young woman with blonde hair and an unusually powerful jaw looked up from the computer. ‘Sorry,’ Frank Frølich said. ‘I’m looking for Reidun Vestli.’
‘She’s gone home.’ The young woman looked at her wristwatch. ‘A couple of hours ago.’
‘Home?’
‘She wasn’t well. So she went home.’ The powerful jaw split into a big white smile. ‘On the Master’s course we’re allowed to use her office. She’s great like that.’
‘Was it serious?’
‘Haven’t a clue. No, I don’t think so. Reidun is rarely ill.’
Reidun Vestli had packed up and gone off a couple of hours ago. Elisabeth packed up and went off a couple of hours ago.
Frølich said: ‘I really need to talk to her. We had an appointment.’
Reidun Vestli’s office was tidy; the only object to disturb the impression of meticulous order was the quilted anorak the student had slung over the table in the corner. The woman behind the computer looked as if she belonged to the office.
‘You can try her home phone number, if it’s important.’
‘Yes, of course. You don’t have the number by any chance?’
The student had a ponder. ‘Reidun is one of the few professors who has a business card,’ she said, pulling out a drawer in the desk. ‘I know she usually has a few lying around. Here we are.’ The powerful chin broke into another smile as she passed him the card.
He studied the business card on the way down in the lift. Reidun Vestli lived in Lysejordet.
He called her home number as soon as he was back in his car. It rang five times. No one answered. Then the little pause which indicated that you were being transferred. So she wasn’t at home. It rang twice more before she answered.
‘This is Reidun.’ The voice was clear; in the background, a low whistle. Frølich knew what that meant. It meant that she was in a car.