The Man In The Window [Mannen i vinduet - no]

Gunnarstrandastared at Frølich, then at Karsten Jespersen.

'Fireaway,' Jespersen said in a low whisper of a voice.

TheInspector turned, made a show of stepping over Frølich's denim-clad legs andmarched out through the door and back to the dining room from where he shouted:'Has the family lived here long?'

'Aslong as I can remember,' Jespersen answered, getting up with alacrity and goingto the door. 'Since some time in the fifties.' He eyed the detective nervously:'Don't you want to come in here?'

'No,'Gunnarstranda answered. He stood contemplating the large painting with themotifs of fjord and milkmaid. The picture frame was broad and gilt withcarvings. He turned and took a chair from the table. 'I'll sit here; you sit inthere – so that we can shout to each other.'

Jespersenstood in the doorway. His face had taken on a sad expression. The continuousnervous twitches around his jaw made his chin tremble.

'Whatdo you do?' the policeman asked.

'Irun the shop – downstairs.'

'Andyour father?'

'Hetakes – took care of the administrative side.'

'Andthat means?'

'Accounts,budget – we have a warehouse…'

'Goon,' Gunnarstranda said, composed, as the other man fell into a reverie.

'Yes,we have the shop here and, in Ensjo, a warehouse and an office.'

'I'dlike to take a look at the warehouse.'

'Noproblem. It's in Bertrand Narvesens vei.'

Gunnarstrandanodded slowly. 'But I could do with a key,' he thought out loud.

Jespersengave a start. 'Now?'

'Haveyou any objection to me searching the place?'

'Ofcourse not.' Jespersen let go of the door frame, shrugged his shoulders andcrossed the floor. He sat down on one of the chairs by the table, with his backto the painting and opposite the policeman. He rummaged through his pockets,pulled out the bunch of keys and found a short Yale key, which he took off thering. 'You just have to unlock…'

Gunnarstrandaaccepted the key and put it in his pocket. 'And you sell antiques, second-handgoods?'

Jespersengave a deep sigh, rested his temples on both hands and sat with his head bowedand his eyes fixed firmly on the table. 'This is just so awful,' he said atlength. 'I seem to be wading through cotton wool. I ought to have checked ifanything had been stolen downstairs…'

'Youcan do that when we've done…'

Jespersen,bewildered, stared back. His head quivered until he lowered his gaze, discovereda stain on the polished table and rubbed it with his forefinger. 'The one thingI know for sure is that he's dead,' he murmured.

'Hewas killed,' Gunnarstranda said. 'It's our job to determine the facts of thecase,' he added after reflection, and cleared his throat. 'But you and yourfamily will of course be kept fully informed.' He straightened his back andcrossed his legs.

FrankFrølich had managed to struggle out of the cramped boy's room and joined themnow. He settled carefully into a seat at the table, wriggled out of hisenormous jacket and took out his notebook.

Gunnarstrandainclined his head and said: 'It makes everything much harder for the bereavedwhen sad news has to be followed by a criminal investigation. But I hope youand your family will have some understanding of our role in this.'

Karsten,faraway, nodded.

Gunnarstrandacleared his throat. 'What branch are you in?'

'Howdo you mean?'

'Whatkind of antiques do you sell?'

'Exclusiveitems for the most part.'

'Andthat means?'

'Theydon't have to be a special style or design. It's all about the object as such,whether it's in good condition, whether it has appeal. It might be a Remingtontypewriter from the 1920s or a well-preserved tea table from Victorian times.We judge each case on its merits…'

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'What about books?'

'No.'

'Isaw Thackeray on one of the shelves we were passing.'

Jespersenindulged himself in a little gesture. 'You saw them? That was observant. Yes,indeed,' he nodded. 'But the books in this house are Ingrid's. She's fond ofreading. In general, though, we do not deal with books… there is no money inthem – for us at least. We're not running an antiquarian bookshop.'

'Howdo you acquire your objects?'

'Buyingjob lots, auctions… importing… well… brokering might be a more precise term.We're in the upmarket sector.'

'Andthat is?'

'What?'Jespersen said, puzzled.

'Whatis the upmarket sector?'

'Couldbe anything, in fact. We are just as likely to stock goods from England orGermany as from

Gudbrandsdalen.'

'Whatabout exports?'

'Nothing.'

'Howold was your father?'

'Seventy-nine.He would have been eighty in March.'

'Andhe enjoyed rude health?'

'Ohyes – like a man of fifty, working every day.'

'Fitman.'

KarstenJespersen pursed his lips in a sardonic grimace. 'You could say that.'

'Hadhe any plans for slowing down?'

'No.'

Theanswer was forthright. Without qualification. The two policemen exchangedglances.

'Afamily business?'

'Youcould say that.'

'Ishis death a loss to the operation?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Whobuys the goods for the shop? You? Your father?'

'Ido.'

'Youalone?'

KarstenJespersen inclined his head and added: 'It goes without saying that he wasinvolved in the buying, but he always consulted me. By and large, I get on wellwith customers. That was more or less how we divided the work.'

'Whatsort of man was your father?'

Jespersenraised his head and sent him a quizzical look.

Gunnarstrandagestured with his hands: 'Was he a kind man? A firm man? Someone with enemies?''Of course not.'

'Didhe have any enemies?'

'Nonethat I can think of, offhand.'

'Anyoneat loggerheads with your father?'

'Severalpeople – even I was at loggerheads with him in a way.'

'How?'

'Itwas his nature. You know, the type who always wanted the last word.'

'Inprivate too?'

'Inprivate and in business.'

'What'syour position now? Will you take over?'

'Iwould assume so – the shop is a limited company, and so from an administrativepoint of view the settlement of a deceased's estate has less significance.' Hecoughed. 'But I'm the only person who can run the shop – who can run it,' hemumbled, repeating himself and gazing into the air, lost in thought.

'Whatdid you think about your father not wanting to retire?'

'You'rewondering if he didn't have full confidence in me?' Karsten forced a wry grin.

Gunnarstrandadid not answer.

'Youcould look at it like that,' the other man said. 'Part of the picture has to dowith me. I'm tied to the business – but I also have a sideline to take careof…' He coughed with embarrassment. 'I'm trying to do a bit of writing -freelance – and that takes time.'

'Freelance?'

'Iwrite small articles for weeklies… now and then I try my hand at short stories,too. That sort of thing requires time and dedication.'

'Doyou write under your own name?'

'Yes,I do.'

'Soyou were happy that your father was still going strong and didn't retire?'

Jespersensighed. 'What can I say? Of course he made a valuable contribution, but Isuppose he should have done something else.' He hesitated. 'People in theirlatter years should – rest, enjoy life in other ways – but not him; I think hewas happy, I mean… he enjoyed rude health, as you put it.'

Gunnarstrandanodded his head slowly.

'Noone would have dreamt of asking him to retire,' Jespersen added. 'He lovedworking.'

'Canyou put a name to anyone who was at loggerheads with your father?'

'Itwould be easier to put a name to those who weren't. My father was determinedand… stubborn.' Jespersen found the word he was searching for.

'So yourfather was difficult, quarrelsome?'

'Iwould prefer to say he was a resolute person. A strong person. Forgive me, butit feels odd to talk about him in this way.'