He could positively feel the force of the water pressing against the wall as he stared at the course of the river a few hundred metres lower down. At that moment the sweet smell of a freshly lit Petterøe prickled his nose. Without turning his head, he said, ‘Gunnarstranda, are you still smoking?’
‘I’ve smoked for over forty years,’ Gunnarstranda said and went over to him. Gunnarstranda had his hands in his pockets as his cheeks greedily sucked the smoke into his mouth and down into his lungs.
‘But you really should give it up. You’re ill.’
‘I had thought about stopping, but then the doctor wanted me to chew gum with nicotine in. But that’s still nicotine, isn’t it? What’s the difference then? May as well continue smoking.’
Frølich smiled to himself.
‘What are you laughing at?’ Gunnarstranda asked grumpily.
‘I heard this joke about a man who was intent on giving up smoking. He met a friend who had succeeded. “How did you manage to stop smoking?” the man asked. “Well,” said the other man. “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. You buy a packet of cigarettes as usual, but whenever you want to light up, you first of all stick a cigarette up your arse.”
‘“Up your arse?” asked his friend. “Yes, up your arse. There’s no better way to tell yourself smoking is shit. You would never dream of putting the cigarette you had up your arse in your mouth afterwards,” the man said.
‘Well, the two men met a couple of months later. “Hi,” his friend shouts. “How did it go? Did you manage to stop smoking?”
‘“Of course,” the first man says. “Giving up smoking was easy. But actually it didn’t help very much.”
‘“It didn’t help very much?”
‘“The problem now is I can’t stop sticking cigarettes up my arse!”’ Frølich slapped his thighs and gasped with laughter.
Gunnarstranda glowered at him just as grumpily as before. ‘And there was me thinking the rumours about you were just bollocks,’ he said.
Frølich assumed a serious face again. ‘I was looking for you after I saw your car,’ he said.
‘You’re beginning to get on my nerves,’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘Oh?’
‘Just the fact that you come out here when you’re off work. At some point, if you continue to get under my feet, I’ll be forced to report you.’
‘And?’
‘Perhaps you can’t see your own stupidity, but everyone else can.’
‘Relax,’ Frølich said. ‘You won’t have to report me. Do you reckon Faremo was thrown in here?’
‘No, there isn’t enough water in the river.’ Gunnarstranda nodded in the direction of the exposed rocks in the river bed beneath them. ‘The waterfall is almost dry. It must have happened further down.’ He pointed. ‘On the promontory down there, perhaps. Perfect place for a crime. There’s a gravel path down to the river from it. Unfortunately, however, there’s a barrier closing it off. Padlocked.’
‘Has anyone got a spare key?’
‘Hardly. A man I met in there.’ Gunnarstranda tossed his head towards the turbine building. ‘He told me he lives in one of the houses on the slope. Reckons he would have noticed if anyone had passed through the barrier.’
They looked across the wide river valley in silence.
‘This station is not being used,’ Gunnarstranda said finally. ‘I was given a long introduction into energy and its history over there. Vamma, further down, and Solbergfoss, higher up, are the ones which produce the energy. This power station is only used when the water level in the Glomma is particularly high.’
‘But what do you think happened to Faremo? Was he pushed in? Or did he lose his footing on a slippery rock?’
‘Hard to say.’
‘They may not have driven down to the river. It could have been one person, or two, going for a walk.’
‘Could have been. And if there have been any sightings, I’ll soon find out.’
Frølich interpreted Gunnarstranda’s answer as an indication that this topic of conversation was not taboo. He said: ‘It’s absolutely crazy that Faremo should have died right now, isn’t it?’
‘Not everyone is permitted to choose the time of their death, Frølich.’
‘I’ve had a look at the map. There’s a road nearer to Askim looping down towards the river. From a logical point of view, a murderer could have driven along the road, got as close as possible to the river and found somewhere to offload Faremo. And he doesn’t need to be familiar with the locality.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, if he had been local he would have known about Vamma power station; he would have known that the river is closed off with a net which sifts the water and picks up debris. If he had driven a bit further and thrown Faremo in the river under Vamma, the body could have drifted several kilometres before it turned up in Sarpsborg – it’s quite a distance from Vamma to the net before Sarp waterfall.
‘Sounds logical – apart from one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re talking as if Faremo was killed first. But he had water in his lungs. He drowned. If it was murder, and the murder was not premeditated, Faremo may have ended up in the river as a result of a row, a fight, and that is the most likely scenario. So most of the investigation will be taken up with searching for someone with a score to settle with Faremo.’
Frank Frølich pretended he hadn’t heard the veiled reference to himself and said: ‘There’s a lot of footwork in a case like this. Are you going to go around asking questions?’
‘I told you the Jonny Faremo case is in the hands of Kripos. Didn’ t I?’
‘I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to them. A young lad – Lystad.’
‘He’s good.’
‘What conclusion did he come to – murder or accident?’
‘No idea.’ Gunnarstranda took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at it grimly. ‘Do you know that this mess between you and the Faremo woman has made me smoke more than I should?’
‘So, what are you doing here?’
‘It’s Sunday,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘I’m free.’
Frølich grinned. ‘And you can stand there and threaten to report me? It’s not in your jurisdiction.’
‘Anyway, it’s not a good idea for you to wander around asking people questions. It’s better if you ring me. I’m always kept up to date.’
‘The area of interest is a stretch of river about a kilometre in length,’ Frølich said, unruffled. ‘And Faremo is certain to have come here by car. If he didn’t fall off the promontory over there, Faremo or the murderer must have taken the right-hand turning just before Askim. On my map there are two narrow gravelled paths or cart tracks leading to the river. And I’ll give you odds of nine to one that there are witnesses. At any rate, someone must have noticed the car.’
They ambled slowly back. Gunnarstranda cleared his throat and said: ‘As a matter of form, Frølich…’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you putting in a report, perhaps? Describing the last few days, what you’ve done and who can confirm it, etc?’
‘So I haven’t been cleared of suspicion of murder?’
‘Which murder?’