‘Could it have been Ballo or Merethe Sandmo?’
‘What do they gain by snuffing me out? You’re still investigating the Arnfinn Haga murder anyway.’
‘You saw your attacker on the motorbike. Maybe someone is trying to silence you for good.’
‘But that was Rognstad on the motorbike and he’s behind bars as a result of another case. One that’s cut and dried. On top of that, if the motorbike had been meant to expedite me into the beyond, they could have done the job there and then. I can’t get over the bloody unprofessional nature of it: rotten boards, bits of insulation and damp roofing felt soaked in paraffin…’
‘Yes, but who else is there?’
‘I know someone who is pretty upset by my activities.’
‘Who?’
‘Inge Narvesen.’
The two of them sat opposite each other without saying a word. Gunnarstranda’s face wore a sceptical expression.
‘The unprofessional technique would fit in then,’ Frølich said.
‘It has been on my mind to have a word with Narvesen anyway,’ Gunnarstranda said pensively. ‘And you might as well come along.’
35
Frølich sat behind the wheel. He waited until Gunnarstranda had settled in before starting the car. ‘Something familiar about this situation, it strikes me,’ he said, shoving the car into gear.
‘Look straight ahead, you,’ Gunnarstranda said drily. ‘’The only positive thing you can say about the past is that it has gone. Hope you can learn that this is also true of women.’
They drove past the bus depot on Ibsenringen and turned towards the Palace Gardens and Frederiksgate as they came out of the tunnel.
‘On my way to work today,’ Frølich said, ‘the Metro had to stop in the tunnel. A man was standing on the rails.’
Gunnarstranda glanced over at him. ‘It is a long time,’ he said. ‘You’ve forgotten that we don’t necessarily have to talk.’
Frølich smiled faintly. ‘The man on the rails was an Indian, an elderly man, just wearing cotton clothes and early this morning it was bloody cold. It must have been several degrees below.’
‘So he was freezing?’
‘He didn’t move a muscle. The man was really old, white beard and white hair. He was just babbling. Couldn’t speak a word of Norwegian. There was someone in my carriage who could speak the language and interpreted. Turned out the man was on his way back home – to Calcutta. He was unhappy in Norway, always cold and had no friends.’
‘Yes, well, he’s not the only one.’
‘But this old man had decided to walk home, walk to Calcutta. He wasn’t sure which direction to go, but he knew it was possible to get to India by train. And he had thought that if he just followed the rails, in the end he would come to Calcutta. But it turned out the rails he was walking on didn’t belong to the railway, they belonged to the Metro. So he could have followed the rails for the rest of his days and never have got any further than Stovner.’ Frølich grinned.
‘Vestli,’ said Gunnarstranda.
‘Hm?’
‘The terminus on the Grorud line is Vestli, not Stovner.’
Frølich turned into Munkedamsveien. ‘It’s really good to be back,’ he mumbled, swinging in to park behind Vestbane station.
They got out and made their way to Vika Atrium.
Gunnarstranda showed his ID in reception. Shortly afterwards they were received by a dark-haired woman in her early twenties. She was wearing glasses with a thick, black designer frame. The impression you were left with was that the glasses had put her on and not vice versa. She marched in front of them into what must have been Narvesen’s section. The contrast was palpable. The smooth glass partitions with the pure steel decor suddenly found their counterbalance in dark paintings and extravagantly decorated gold picture frames. Frank Frølich paused for a few seconds and looked around. It was like being in a museum.
The young woman opened a door. She showed them into a small meeting room and bowed before disappearing.
‘I think Narvesen is going to play hard ball,’ Frølich said.
‘You mean we’ll have to wait?’
‘Isn’t that the classic control mechanism? Think I’ve used it myself a few times. I think I even learned it from you.’
‘We’ll have to see how long we’re willing to wait,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘Those of us who have worked with such techniques know a few effective counterploys.’
On the table there was an empty paper cup with a dried-up tea bag inside. Gunnarstranda grabbed the cup. ‘First offensive,’ he mumbled. ‘The inspector goes looking for coffee.’
With that, Gunnarstranda left the meeting room and walked cheerfully into an office – without knocking. Frølich saw the woman recoil in surprise. He shook his head, went out into the hall and studied the paintings hanging there. It was old art, full of madonnas and cherubs – the motifs reminded him of his childhood scrapbook.
Suddenly Gunnarstranda was by his side, holding a steaming paper cup.
‘Can you see what I can see?’ Gunnarstranda asked.
‘Eh?’
‘Inge Narvesen is sitting over there pretending you and I don’t exist.’
Frølich followed his line of vision. Correct. Narvesen was behind a glass door apparently unaware of their presence. ‘You got yourself some coffee, then?’
‘Last night I dreamed about a devil,’ Gunnarstranda said as he raised his cup. ‘It was a sweet little devil with short curly hair, bashful, sucking its thumb. I remember thinking it couldn’t be a good devil. He didn’t inspire confidence.’
‘I’m not telling you what I dreamed,’ said Frølich.
At that moment Narvesen caught sight of them. Initially, he was startled; he then paused for a few seconds before getting up and going over to the glass door.
‘Someone back in out of the cold?’ Inge Narvesen said frostily. He was staring at Frank Frølich.
‘I have some questions to ask you,’ Gunnarstranda said and put down the coffee cup.
‘I’m busy.’
‘It won’t take long.’
‘I’m still busy.’
‘The alternative would be to obtain a court order and summon you to Police HQ for questioning. It would mean we leave here after a fruitless visit and you appear in my office when it suits me and stay for as long as it suits me. The choice is yours.’
Narvesen cast an annoyed, impatient look at the clock. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘The money you had transferred after we arrested Jim Rognstad, does that correspond to the sum you were missing subsequent to the burglary in 1998?
‘Yes. The amount is correct.’
‘There were no other items in the safe removed from your bedroom in 1998?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Would you be willing to sign a statement?’
‘I already have done so and would happily do so again. The case has been cleared up and I am extremely pleased.’
‘Name Jim Rognstad mean anything to you?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘The reason Rognstad was targeted is that a few days ago we were given a tip-off linking him with a container break-in at Oslo Docks and the murder of a guard.’
‘Really?’
‘As a consequence it would be interesting to see whether other suspects can be connected with Rognstad.’
Narvesen nodded impatiently.
‘Does the name Vidar Ballo mean anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘Merethe Sandmo?’
‘No.’
‘Jonny Faremo?’
‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Positive. Was there anything else?’
‘One question?’
‘Fire away.’
‘Physically removing the safe from your house while touching nothing else – that seems remarkably focused. Have you ever wondered about that?’
‘No.’
‘You were out of the country, on holiday, when the burglary took place. That suggests those responsible probably knew your house was unoccupied. Did it occur to you that a third party may have informed them?’