Gunnarstranda pulled over, half onto the pavement. He sat watching them. They crossed Hausmannsgate and headed for Ankerbrua. Walking side by side. There was a peaceful quality about the couple: the suspect and the woman who had betrayed him. Gunnarstranda mused on the significance of Merethe Sandmo and Vidar Ballo looking like a pair of lovers on a shopping trip.
He got out of his car and followed them at a brisk pace towards Ankerbrua. They heard his rapid footsteps and stopped. Ballo put down the large travelling bag he had been carrying over his shoulder.
‘Going somewhere?’ the policeman asked, out of breath.
‘What do you want?’ Vidar Ballo said.
Gunnarstranda observed Merethe Sandmo. She was slightly taller than Ballo, slim, almost skinny, with unusually beautiful chestnut-brown hair reaching down to the middle of her back. Gunnarstranda had always wondered what made unappealing louts among the criminal fraternity attractive to a certain type of bimbo. Merethe Sandmo was a woman who tried to enhance her sensuality through her choice of clothes, heels and meticulously applied make-up – probably, he thought, to draw attention away from the frown lines around her mouth. The last time they had spoken he had promised her complete anonymity. He decided to keep his promise. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met,’ he said and offered his hand to the attractive woman. They held eye contact until she understood the pretence and took his hand.
‘Merethe,’ she said and curtseyed like a little girl.
‘What do you want?’ Ballo repeated brusquely.
‘To find out what you were doing last night and the night before that,’ Gunnarstranda said without taking his eyes off the woman. ‘What’s your other name, Merethe?’ he asked in a friendly tone.
‘Sandmo.’
‘Then we already know each other.’
Something died in Merethe Sandmo’s eyes.
Ballo sensed it immediately. ‘You two know each other?’
Gunnarstranda turned to Ballo and said: ‘Perhaps you were forgetting you were at the court hearing?’
‘Are you still going on about that business?’
‘A twenty-two-year-old student, doing part-time security work at the harbour to earn a bit on the side, was murdered. He’s sorely missed by his parents, a sister, a girlfriend and others. He was beaten to death with a baseball bat. Something tells me you have something to do with it. Perhaps you should take it easy?’
‘You seem to be the one who has forgotten what happened,’ Ballo answered with a measured tone. ‘The judge ruled that you were mistaken.’
He took the woman’s hand and said: ‘Shall we go?’
Gunnarstranda said: ‘You don’t know, then?’
Ballo straightened up. The woman let go of his hand and cast concerned glances at both of them.
Ballo, expectant: ‘Know what?’
‘Jonny Faremo is no longer with us.’
Merethe Sandmo blanched. She supported herself on the wall. Ballo stared at Gunnarstranda through blurred eyes. The silence lingered. Merethe Sandmo fidgeted until she found something to hold onto. She ended up playing with a lock of her long hair.
‘I said Jonny…’
‘We heard what you said!’
Gunnarstranda caught Merethe Sandmo’s hand and prevented her from falling. ‘May I offer my condolences?’ he said and when he saw how pale she was, went on: ‘Shall we find somewhere you can sit down for a few moments?’
Ballo gave him the sort of look he would have given a maggot. ‘You reckon you’re invulnerable working for the bloody police, don’t you?’ he mumbled.
Gunnarstranda turned away from the woman and focused on Ballo again. ‘And you aren’t curious enough to ask me how he died?’
‘You could do me the favour and tell me.’
‘There are a couple of formalities first. What were you doing the night before last?’
‘He was with me!’ It was the woman who answered. Ballo hadn’t changed expression or moved a muscle.
‘Have I misunderstood?’ Gunnarstranda asked hesitantly. ‘A little bird told me you and Jonny were an item?’
‘That was a long time ago,’ she stammered.
‘Who finished it?’ Gunnarstranda asked gently.
Merethe Sandmo started crying.
‘You’re a fucking gent, you are,’ Ballo muttered.
‘Answer the question,’ Gunnarstranda said to her before turning to face Ballo: ‘Where were you the night before last?’
‘You heard. I was with her.’
‘When?’
‘Night before last and last night.’
‘When did you go there and when did you leave?’
‘Merethe lives in Etterstad and I haven’t the faintest what time it was. I don’t look at my watch when I visit people.’
Gunnarstranda glanced over at the woman, who was nodding. ‘Do you remember when he arrived?’
‘Four o‘clock in the morning. He picked me up from work and then we drove back to my place.’ She added: ‘I finished with Jonny.’
‘Where do you work?’
The policeman already knew the answer. Nevertheless, the question was still worth asking so that the woman would realize he wouldn’t tell anyone it was her who had tipped them off about the murder of the security man. Merethe Sandmo did realize. She lowered her eyes as if embarrassed at playing this little comedy in front of her boyfriend. She said:
‘Bliss.’
‘The club, Bliss?’
She nodded again.
He looked across to Ballo. ‘Funny you couldn’t remember that.’
‘Lots of funny things in the world.’
‘But you drove there? Drove your own car when you picked… Merethe, you said your name was?’
The woman nodded, reassured.
Ballo said: ‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember where you’d been before picking Merethe up at this club?’
‘I was at home. I had stayed up and watched a couple of films.’
‘Anyone able to confirm that?’
‘No one comes to mind off the top of my head.’
‘But I’m sure you wouldn’t object to us asking the neighbours?’
‘I don’t. They might. The police have been around asking quite a lot of questions already.’
Gunnarstranda smiled. ‘Then they’ll be used to us. And you’ll be dealing with other people.’
‘Thank Old Nick for that.’
‘You’ll have to wait to thank him,’ Gunnarstranda said jovially. ‘At least until you know what you’re thanking him for.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘There’s bound to be another round in court. I’m still investigating the murder of Arnfinn Haga, in case you’ve forgotten. The death of your good friend Jonny is thought to be suspicious at best and the Follo police will be investigating it with help from Kripos. We’ll be all over you, Ballo. The devil’s little messengers. Best wait for a while before you send us a thank-you letter.’
Ballo was keen to go.
‘You wanted to know how Jonny died, didn’t you?’
He had their attention.
‘I‘ll expect to see you tomorrow at the police station,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘You’re required to be there at nine sharp to confirm your statements. Then we’ll talk a bit more about Jonny.’
‘Come on,’ Vidar Ballo said to the woman and dragged her away.
Gunnarstranda stood watching them. Eventually, he turned and walked back to his car.
As he was getting in, his mobile phone rang.
It was Yttergjerde.
‘Jonny Faremo had a woman friend, didn’t he?’ Gunnarstranda asked.
‘Merethe Sandmo,’ Yttergjerde said.
‘That’s what I thought. Just checking,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Now she’s Ballo’s woman friend.’
‘What?’
‘The king is dead; long live the king,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Why did you ring?’
Yttergjerde said: ‘We’ve got a witness.’
‘To what?’
‘The murder of the security man – Arnfinn Haga.’