‘Yes.’
‘Others, apart from me, are going to ask you, Frølich. I’m just giving you a little head start.’
He didn’t feel nauseous any more, just thirsty. Lethargically, he got onto his feet and staggered into the kitchen. Nothing in the fridge apart from two cans of lager. No. He closed the door and drank water straight from the tap.
He lurched towards the bathroom. In the shower, he soaped himself down thinking about Elisabeth and how she had testified on behalf of her brother and two others. He could see her in front of him as she strode out of the court towards Grensen without a look to either side. Why didn’t I stop her? Why didn’t I talk to her?
He scalded his body with hot water while conjuring up the sight of her hurrying home as fast as her legs could carry her. That delicate frame of hers nervously rushing around her flat, opening drawers, slamming them shut, throwing clothes and other things into a rucksack and bag. A phone to her ear. She had done a runner, but where – and why?
His brain churned slowly, all too slowly. When he got to her flat, she had already disappeared. Then her brother came. Had she done a runner from her brother? And if so, why? She had already given him an alibi for the murder.
He remembered his own trembling fingers as he tapped in Reidun Vestli’s phone number: the clear sound of being transferred, the muffled sound of a mobile phone. The conversation that was broken off as soon as he introduced himself.
Suddenly it became important to ring Elisabeth. Everything that has happened is the result of a silly misunderstanding. If I ring now, she will pick up the phone and give me a convincing explanation of the whole thing. He turned off the water and walked into the living room without drying himself. His feet left big damp patches on the lino. Found his mobile phone and rang Elisabeth. But her phone was switched off. He rang Reidun Vestli. No answer. He stood naked, looking at his reflection. Never seen anything so pathetic.
At that moment the doorbell rang.
He staggered into the bedroom, found a clean pair of trousers and a T-shirt and went to open the door.
A man stood on the mat. Frølich had never seen him before: lean, 1 metre 80, light brown hair and brown eyes.
The man said: ‘Frank Frølich?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Sten Inge Lystad, Kripos.’
The man’s face was dominated by a crooked mouth which lent it a twisted appearance. The slanting smile divided his face into two in a peculiar, but engaging, way. Lystad’s face was one you remembered. Frølich ransacked his memory. Lystad… the name was familiar, but not the face.
‘It’s about Jonny Faremo.’
Frank Frølich nodded. ‘Tragic.’
‘So you know about it already?’
Another nod.
‘Who told you?’
‘As I’m sure you know, I work for the police. We’re colleagues.’
‘But who told you?’
‘Gunnarstranda.’
Lystad smiled coyly.
Frank Frølich thought: He doesn’t like this turn of events. The conversation hasn’t taken the direction he anticipated.
The ensuing silence was a clear sign that Lystad wanted to be invited in. But Frank Frølich didn’t want anyone in and so observed Lystad in silence.
‘Have you been to Faremo’s house recently?’
On the positive side: no beating about the bush. Negative: his method is to keep a distance, be cool.
‘You mean Jonny Faremo?’
‘Yes, I mean Jonny Faremo.’
‘I’ve been there, that is to say, outside. I rang the doorbell, a couple of days ago, the same day he was released from custody. I was supposed to meet his sister, Elisabeth. I don’t know if you know the background here?’
‘I’d prefer to know as little as possible, apart from what happened between you and Jonny Faremo when you saw him last.’
‘OK,’ Frank Frølich said, thinking: high arsehole factor.
‘Was his sister at home when you rang?’
‘Elisabeth? Does the question mean that your interest goes beyond my dealings with her brother after all?’
A shadow crossed Lystad’s face.
He doesn’t like the direction the conversation is taking – positive.
‘Frølich, listen.’
‘No, you listen. I’ve been a policeman for many years. I can see you’re aware you’re making a mess of this. I’m also the first person to understand that you don’t like the job, but you don’t need to kick people in the balls even if they’re standing conveniently close by. You say the background doesn’t concern you. Well, it concerns me to a very considerable extent. I’ve taken a load of time off because of the background. That’s what has led to this conversation between you and me. Well, if the background doesn’t concern you, don’t ask about it. Either you don’t care or you do.’
Lystad didn’t say anything and Frølich continued.
‘My version is that I started a relationship with a lady who has the wrong connections. The same lady’s brother is dead now. But be absolutely clear about one thing: I’ve never ever been interested in Jonny Faremo, neither when I met him two days ago, nor at any other time. When I showed up at his place – after Faremo was released from custody – that was the first time I’d ever met the guy. I’d never seen him before. But I went there to meet her, to talk to her, and I did that because a situation had arisen in our relationship: she had used my name in her testimony to give her brother an alibi at the hearing.’
Lystad nodded gravely. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘When I got there, I parked in the visitors’ car park. There are stairs leading from there to the flats. I went down and rang the doorbell. I assume your witness is an elderly man – the neighbour with whom I spoke when no one answered the door. I exchanged a few words with the man. Then I went back to the car and was about to drive off when Jonny Faremo appeared. He was driving a silver Saab. I’d never seen the man before, but I realized who he was and I approached him to ask where his sister was. He didn’t know. At least he claimed he didn’t know. Then I got back into my car and left.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Two hundred metres further down Ekebergveien.’
‘Why did you stop there?’
‘To think.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Jonny Faremo came down the hill in his car.’
Lystad stared at him with interest.
Frølich made him wait.
‘What happened?’
‘I followed him in my car.’
Lystad had to wait again.
‘It was lunchtime. It was half past one.’
‘But what happened?’
‘He must have spotted me. I lost him ten minutes later. Somewhere between Gamlebyen and the main station. The whole idea was stupid, so I wasn’t particularly bothered when he disappeared.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I drove home and had a bite to eat.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I drove to Blindern University where I tried to meet a lady who works there. Reidun Vestli.’
‘Why was that?’
‘She has a close relationship with Elisabeth.’ Frølich searched for words before continuing: ‘They have, or have had, a relationship. I assumed this woman might be able to tell me where Elisabeth is.’
‘And could she?’
‘I didn’t meet her. She’s off sick.’
‘What did you do then?’
‘I tried to ring the lady at home, but only got the answer machine. Then I drove home.’
They stood looking at each other. Lystad cleared his throat. ‘Anyone able to confirm you were at Blindern?’
‘I would presume so.’
‘Presume?’
‘There was a student. I was trying to find Reidun Vestli’s office. She was an MA student, borrowing Reidun Vestli’s office, and it was she who told me Vestli was off sick.’
‘And what did you do when you got home?’