‘To what?’
‘The murder of the security man – Arnfinn Haga.’
16
He was sitting in his armchair, staring apathetically at the chaos in his flat when there was a ring at the door. Frølich got up with some difficulty and shuffled into the hall. He pulled open the door with surprising energy.
Who had he been expecting? Elisabeth?
The person on the doormat was as far from this fantasy as you could imagine. Police Inspector Gunnarstranda was standing there with both hands in his coat pockets, regarding him with a look he had only seen his boss give suspected criminals.
‘You’ve never been here before,’ Frølich said and felt silly saying it.
Gunnarstranda shook his head.
‘And we’ve worked together for over ten years.’
‘Shall we chat inside or should I invite you out for a beer down town?’
‘Come in.’ For some unknown reason Frølich was embarrassed. He kicked a pair of worn shoes to the side and started tidying the table on their way in.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Don’t do anything, and you don’t need to offer me anything either.’
‘I’ve only got beer.’
‘Then I’ll have a beer.’
Frølich hurried off into the kitchen. Damn. No clean glasses. He took a couple of tumblers from the dishwasher and rinsed them in tap water. ‘Why have you come?’ he shouted through the living-room door.
‘Because work has finished for today.’
Frølich carried in two bottles and two glasses.
‘And because those I have to work with are not very talkative.’ Gunnarstranda cleared the table, produced a map and spread it out. Large scale. The Glomma snaked its way across the map like a twist of blue wool. ‘I’ve had meetings with Kripos, amongst others, and I thought I could share some of the information with you – off the record.’
Frølich, who was filling the glasses, glanced up.
‘You can’t go too far wrong, then.’
‘That was a generous thought.’
The response and the intonation, both were ignored.
‘Faremo was found here – in Lake Vamma.’ The blue line on the map expanded into a bubble: the water behind the dam was called Lake Vamma. Gunnarstranda ran his finger tip across until it indicated a small square beside the river. ‘This is Oraug farm.’ His index finger stopped at the square beside it. ‘And this is Skjolden farm. Kripos have a witness who says there was a car parked right next to this farm. A car stops on the gravel road. Two people – in all probability the same two as were sitting in the car – had strolled down a tractor track to the river.’ Gunnarstranda’s finger moved to a red line on the map. ‘This tractor track. The two of them had been walking, no signs of an argument. It was afternoon, the sun was low – the witness was out taking photographs. You know, autumn afternoon, good time for colours. Red maple leaves, yellow-brown birch leaves, all that sort of thing. The man claims the air was almost orange and perfect for photos – so the sun must have been very low. Kripos reckons it must have been three in the afternoon, maybe half past. I remember the day myself. It was a beautiful sky with hazy clouds gleaning colour from the sunset.’
‘Two people – what gender?’
Gunnarstranda nodded. ‘Not clear. But we assume they were men.’
‘Did he take any pictures of them?’
‘No. But he says they didn’t seem like the usual walkers.’
‘What did he mean by that?’
‘No idea. He says they seemed rather too urban.’
‘And Jonny Faremo was one of the two?’
‘It might have been Faremo. One of them had been wearing a black cap. Faremo wore a black cap to the hearing.’
‘And he was wearing one when I met him in the car park a little later.’
‘And that’s the only sighting we have. The tractor track leads down to the river between Kykkelsrud and Vamma power stations. And the time could be about right. This is most probably the last time anyone, apart from the murderer, saw Jonny Faremo alive.’
‘When was this?’
‘The same afternoon Faremo walked out of court a free man.’
‘Two people walking, no arguing or fighting?’
‘Right.’
‘Did anyone see the car start up again and leave?’
‘No one, as yet.’
‘But the car?’
‘Gone.’
‘Why would two people go for a stroll in such a godforsaken place down by the Glomma on a frosty November day?’
‘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.’