‘You know very well which painting I’m talking about.’
‘If you mean the study of the mother and child which disappeared from an Italian church in 1993, the painting has disappeared, just as it did in 1993. No one has seen it since. If anyone claims they have seen it in Norway, they must be having delusions. The painting is not there, you see. Sorry, Elisabeth. What is important in this case is the human remains in the ashes of the chalet. Back home in Norway, the police have proof that the woman received five million kroner in cash from Inge Narvesen. He has finished making a statement about this. At first he tried to make Kripos believe that Merethe was selling him sex. But five million for sex is a bit on the steep side, so they didn’t believe him. In the end, he admitted that Merethe Sandmo had told him some cock-and-bull story about a Renaissance painting he could have for five million. He was foolish enough to believe her and stumped up. The painting never showed up. He paid her and received nothing. He was swindled. And attractive women who dupe idiots with pots of money are the sort of thing to make Norwegian judges yawn. Unless the painting turns up, that part of the story is of no interest. What will interest judges are the cleverly worked-out plans behind your new life down here. You used Reidun Vestli to underpin the enactment of your own death. You used Merethe Sandmo as a go-between to barter for the money. It is proved that you took the money from Merethe – since you’ve been spending it every day – and killed her – since you have assumed her identity and escaped using her name.’
When he finished she was standing as before with her gaze directed towards the sea.
He gestured with his head towards the hotel. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Are you in such a hurry?’ Different intonation yet again. Almost cheerful.
They looked into each other’s eyes. He attempted to see inside and interpret what was going on in the black wells surrounded by the blue lustre, but he gave up.
‘Surely you won’t deny me a last wish,’ she continued with a mocking smile.
‘It will have to be a modest wish then.’
‘I said I was going to go swimming. If you like, you can join me.’
He stared at the water and hesitated.
She began to undress. Soon she stood in front of him wearing a bikini. The wind caressed her black hair. Once again she brushed her lips against his cheek. ‘Do you dare to be so decent?’
He sat on the sand as she walked to the water’s edge. He watched her attractive form wading in, her bronzed legs ploughing through the foaming sea, her swaying hips. The water must have been cold – no one else had ventured out. Yet she went on undeterred. When she started swimming, he stood up to see her better. He scanned the sea for her dark hair which was hidden by the waves until it bobbed up again. Disappeared. Bobbed up. Disappeared.
He thought about what she had said.
He scanned the sea in vain.
He felt a paralysis spreading across his body.
When he finally managed to turn away and ran to the hotel the two policemen were already on their way across the sand.
43
‘And that was fine with you? Her going into the sea?’
Frølich didn’t answer.
‘Go on,’ Gunnarstranda said in a monotone.
‘She undressed…’
‘Concentrate on the essentials.’
Frølich scratched his cheek. ‘She waded into the sea without looking back.’
‘And?’
‘When the water was up to her waist she started swimming into the open sea.’
‘Was anyone else swimming?’
‘No one.’
Gunnarstranda gave him a stern look.
‘There was nothing to hide behind, no mountain, no rock, no boat, not even a beach ball, nothing but sand and sea.’
‘You could have refused.’
‘Perhaps I could have said it was not permitted, but what then? I didn’t have the authority to arrest her. That was up to the Croatian police.’
‘But you shouldn’t have been on your own with her.’
‘Listen…’
‘No,’ Gunnarstranda interrupted him angrily. ‘It’s you who should listen. You were entrusted with bringing her back to Norway. But she’s gone. Disappeared! Your ex-lover goes swimming and disappears.’
‘The local police explained about the currents in the sea. She drowned.’
‘And you accept that? That she simply disappeared?’
‘We’ve got the money, her things, passport, bank card, all her personal items. Believe me, Elisabeth Faremo is dead.’
‘That woman has been dead once before, Frølich!’ Gunnarstranda stood up and went to the door. He turned before leaving. They faced each other. ‘The case is closed,’ Gunnarstranda announced. ‘Are you happy?’
Frank Frølich didn’t answer. He absentmindedly watched the door closing. In his mind he had one single image: the figure of a sun-tanned woman in a blue bikini leisurely wading further and further out into the sea without looking back. He raised his hand to scratch his cheek again. It wouldn’t stop itching. He continued scratching. It began to smart. He put his hand on his thigh. His cheek still smarted. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head. It smarted and burned precisely where she had touched his cheek with her lips before turning to wade into the sea.
Kjell Ola Dahl
The highly acclaimed and award winning crime writer K.O. Dahl's popular crime series is now rapidly becoming an international success and critics around the world have labeled him as Norway's answer to Henning Mankell. Dahl has been awarded with the Riverton Prize and nominated for Glasnyckeln (The Glass Key), Brage Literary Prize and the Martin Beck Award. His books include The Fourth Man, The Man in the Window, The Last Fix, and Lethal Investments.
