Gunnarstranda made up his mind, pushed the door half open and shouted: ‘Hello!’
But then he hesitated. Tomatoes lay strewn across the floor. He stared. There was a bunch of grapes in a transparent plastic bag in front of the tomatoes. A banana had been trodden flat in the doorway to the next room; in front of the door a shattered bottle lying in a large pool of wine – some still in the carrier bag.
Should he go in?
‘Hey you. Man.’
Gunnarstranda turned round. A small boy in a ski suit with snot running from his nose peered up at him.
‘Are you looking for the old dear?’
‘The lady who lives here, yes.’
‘She’th gone in an ambulanth.’
Frølich had got into his car and was on his way down the Ryenberg slopes towards the city centre when Gunnarstranda rang.
‘I shouldn’t contact you like this – it might give the wrong signals,’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘Didn’t know you were a moralist,’ Frølich said, his eyes peeled for a place to stop.
‘It’s my job to moralize. What kind of cop would I be if I weren’t sceptical about people’s morality? Our profession, Frølich, is based on the same authority as speed cameras at the side of the road: if we don’t see people doing something wrong we think they’re doing something wrong anyway.’
It occurred to Frølich that the man was being unusually garrulous. He pulled into the first bus lay-by and stopped so that he could speak. He didn’t know where this corny line about speed cameras was going, so he replied: ‘I don’t agree. It’s unethical to pre-suppose as yet uncommitted breaches of the law. Speed cameras are an entirely different matter. After all, they prevent traffic accidents.’
‘Brilliant, Frølich. You’ve seen through the state’s legal rhetoric. They call installing speed cameras a precautionary measure. As long as it’s done under this label, it doesn’t make any difference if the photograph is used as evidence in the consequent prosecution. You and I and the rest of the civil servants are paid for doubting the nation’s morality. But that isn’t my main purpose in ringing.’
‘That’s what I suspected.’
‘I’m wondering about the real reason why you wanted me to contact Reidun Vestli.’
‘I told you.’
‘But I don’t exactly buy it.’
‘Better tell me what’s happened,’ Frølich said wearily.
‘The lady may not survive.’
A couple of hours later he found somewhere to park in Skovveien. He crossed Bygdøy allé and continued towards the Norsk Hydro buildings and the Hydro Park. When Frank Frølich had been small, he had visited his uncle here; he had worked in the purchasing department of Norsk Hydro.
The security men in reception seemed to be bored. They were throwing playful punches at each other until he knocked on the plastic window. He asked to see Langås. The older of the two men picked up the telephone and called. The younger man hid behind a tabloid, Verdens Gang. The guard on the telephone cupped the receiver with his hand and asked who he should say was there. Frank Frølich introduced himself. The man held his hand over the receiver again. ‘Langås says he isn’t familiar with the name.’
Frank Frølich said: ‘Tell him I want to meet now. I’d much rather discuss things with him personally than with you.’
Shortly afterwards the entrance gate flashed green. Frølich went in and crossed to the lift. The lift door opened and he looked straight into the face of a man in his fifties. He had a central parting in long grey hair tied into a ponytail at the back. His beard was clipped short, and a conspicuous crown in his top row of teeth lent charm to a crooked smile. The man’s ex-hippie image combined with an expensive suit. Frølich, who could feel his prejudices rising, immediately took against him.
‘You wanted to talk to me?’
Frank Frølich introduced himself.
‘So what’s this about? I have a tough agenda and not very much time to spare.’
‘It’s about your ex-wife, Reidun Vestli.’
‘And who are you?’
‘I’m a policeman, on leave.’
They faced each other for a few seconds without speaking. ‘All right,’ Langås said finally. ‘I’ll look for a free room.’
Frølich trailed Langås down the corridor, passing office doors and a room with a flashing photocopier. A man and a woman were talking in a glass cage, both fidgeting with their paper cups.
Langås showed the way to a small room where they sat down on either side of a neglected, withered potted plant in the middle of a table.
Frølich went straight to the point. ‘She’s in hospital,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘She was attacked in her own house.’
‘I know that too.’
‘I have reason to believe the attack is connected with a case I’m working on.’
‘While you’re on leave?’
Frølich didn’t answer. They sat weighing each other up. Langås tilted his head. Not in any ironic way, more an appraisal.
Frank Frølich broke the silence: ‘The attack is being investigated by others. I have reason to believe that…’
‘Actually, I have nothing to say,’ Langås interrupted. ‘The policeman who rang me about Reidun indicated that there had been a break-in. I can tell you what I told him: Reidun and I’ve been divorced for years. I know as much about her daily routine as I know about our TUC chairman’s next-door neighbour.’
‘Although she’s named you as her closest relative.’
‘The word relative is a technical term on this occasion. And I didn’t ask for this role. It is Reidun’s choice, which I respect but fail to understand.’
‘So you and Reidun do talk now and then?’
‘Now and then sounds more frequent than is the case with us. But listen, Reidun and I…’
‘Has she ever mentioned the name Elisabeth Faremo?’ Frølich broke in.
‘Not that I can remember. But listen to me. I don’t want to be involved in your private matters, especially not via my ex-wife.’
‘Have you seen this woman?’
Frølich pushed a photograph of Elisabeth Faremo across the table.
Langås craned his head to look, wordless.
‘I take your silence to mean that you’ve seen this woman before.’
Langås nodded.
‘Where and when?’
‘At Easter. She went to the weekend chalet with Reidun.’
‘Where’s the chalet?’
‘In Valdres, Vestre Slidre.’
Frølich held back in the hope that he would be more forthcoming. Langås leaned forwards and said: ‘Is this your woman? Did she leave you for Reidun? Are you jealous? How am I to know it wasn’t you who broke in and beat her up?’
‘It wasn’t me. But yes, I have occasionally been jealous of your ex-wife. She was having a relationship with Elisabeth at the same time as I was. That isn’t why I came here though. The fact is I’m fond of this woman and have reason to believe she’s in serious trouble. For that reason she has gone to ground. I think the serious trouble has something to do with your ex-wife being taken to Ullevål hospital.’
Langås rolled his wrist and squinted at his watch – a macho job: classic diver watch meets James Bond.
Frølich pointed to the photograph. ‘My motive for talking to you is to find this woman, and help her out of her predicament. I’ve tried to talk to your ex-wife. Other policemen have also tried. She refuses to answer any questions. That means that your ex may also have got caught up in the mess. I’m only asking you to…’