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

'Helived in this flat, together with your mother?'

Jespersennodded and scowled with embarrassment. 'She isn't my mother; she's my father'swife.'

'Yourmother? Is she alive?'

'No…She died when I was small,' he added when the police officers said nothing.'Dad married Ingrid more than twenty years ago, and, in fact, she is only sevenyears older than me. I'm sure you will understand that your mention of Ingridas my mother sounds odd.'

'Haveyou any brothers or sisters?'

Jespersenshook his head.

'Soyou're the sole heir?'

'Ingridwill inherit as well, of course, and the beneficiaries in the will, if thereare any.'

'Butyou don't know anything about that?'

'Aboutwhat?'

'Aboutwhether he wrote a will.'

'Idon't think he did. At any rate, I haven't heard anything about a will. But I cangive you the telephone number of the solicitor he used. She should know.'

'Wasyour father a wealthy man?'

'Whatdo you mean by wealthy?'

'Wasit well known that he had money?'

Jespersen'sface quivered. 'I can't believe that. He had a pension – he didn't get much ofa wage. He split the profit with my two uncles – Arvid and Emmanuel. There werethree owners, three brothers… and then there must be a bit of money in hisaccount, this flat…'

'Lotsof valuable objects?'

'Hmm,'Jespersen smiled, the dealer's lop-sided smile: 'Must be the odd bijou there…'

'Theassets, or the inheritance, are basically the chattels in the flat and the shopthen?'

'Ihaven't given it a lot of thought…'

'Butdon't you have some idea of your father's assets?'

'Well…I would assume the assets are the flat and the chattels, as you call them, abit of art and, well – money in various bank accounts.'

Thepoliceman changed the subject: 'We understood that the first thing IngridJespersen did, after confirming the dead man's identity, was to ring you?'

'Yes.I came here as soon as I could.'

Gunnarstrandanodded slowly.

'Sherang us earlier in the night as well.' Jespersen put on an apologetic smile.'Ingrid wanted to get hold of me – in fact. She woke up when she realized Dadwas not in his bed. Her first thought was that there was a break-in downstairs,in the shop, that is. But Susanne, my wife, calmed her down. Then she went backto sleep.'

Gunnarstrandaobserved him and summarized what the man had just said: 'She woke up on her ownlast night, rang to speak to you, but talked to your wife, who sent her back tobed. What time was it when she rang?'

'Halfpast two.'

Gunnarstrandastared into space. 'We're going to talk to fru Jespersen about these eventstoo, but why did she ring you in the middle of the night?'

'There'sbeen a spate of burglaries around here. In fact we have…' Jespersen heaved adeep sigh '… been waiting for something like this.'

Gunnarstrandacoughed. 'For what?'

'Break-ins.'

Thetwo policemen eyed him.

KarstenJespersen tentatively cleared his throat.

Gunnarstrandawaited a bit longer before asking: 'Have you put any specific measures in placein the shop to prevent burglaries?'

'Wehave the obligatory security shutters in the windows facing the street, and ofcourse we have an alarm. I suppose what was new was Dad doing his occasionalround of inspection.'

'Noalarm went off last night.'

'No,'Jespersen said after some hesitation.

'Wheredo you think your father was when Ingrid woke up alone?'

'That'spretty obvious, isn't it? He was downstairs.' Jespersen tapped the tip of his forefingeron the table. 'Downstairs, in the shop.'

'Inthe middle of the night?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Butwouldn't it be unusual for your father to be rushing around downstairs in themiddle of the night. After all, he was almost eighty.'

'Myfather was an unusual person.'

Gunnarstrandanodded, deep in thought. At length he looked over at Karsten Jespersen, who wasstaring blankly into the air. 'Where were you?' the policeman enquired.

'Hm?'

'Wherewere you when Ingrid phoned last night?'

Jespersenwas still staring blankly into the air. 'It's quite odd,' he said in a softvoice. 'My father's dead in the room beneath us. Not easy to disentangle, myfeelings I mean, grief and bereavement…' He went quiet, took a deep breath,then heaved a sigh and continued: 'Ingrid, my father's wife, here with apriest. Me, sitting here with the police – round the table where we had dinneryesterday, having a nice time, and now sitting here and trying – not just torecall the image of my father, but to pass this image on to you.'

Hefolded his hands on the table. 'I can feel an atmosphere here now – a feelingof… perhaps it's not hostility as such, perhaps it's more a business-likeefficiency. But what is dawning on me now is that while I have been trying todetermine what it is I feel deep down, in the chaos I have within me, what Ihave been dreading, as long as we have been talking is precisely that question:Where were you? Where was I? All of a sudden the answer to that questionhas taken on a sort of meaning, a significance, the impact of which I had neverimagined.'

Hewent quiet. The policemen exchanged glances. Jespersen sat chewing his lowerlip and thinking. He didn't give the impression that he was going to continue.

Gunnarstrandabroke the silence. He coughed, which caused the other man to raise his head.'Where were you?' the policeman repeated, looking him straight in the eye.

'Iwas at home. It wasn't the first time we had received calls of this kind.Susanne knew that Ingrid would have nagged and nagged to haul me out of bed andcome here. Ingrid is a little highly strung and besides she has a morbid fearof something happening to my father.'

'Didyou hear the phone?'

'No.I was asleep.'

'Soyou didn't discuss Ingrid's call then – afterwards?'

'No,that is, we talked about it early this morning.'

'But,your wife, she wasn't alarmed by Ingrid's fears when she called last night. Didshe dismiss them as nonsense?'

'Ofcourse not, but Ingrid was… Ingrid is… she's a little hysterical at times.'

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'Do you know if your father had been receiving threats from anyone oflate?'

'No,that is…'

'Yes?'

Jespersenlaid both hands flat on the table. 'It's a somewhat delicate matter,' hestarted.

Gunnarstrandanodded politely.

'Wehad a man in Ensja – who worked at the warehouse. A man who was with us for aslong as I can remember – Jonny.'

'Jonny- what?'

'Hisname is Jonny Stokmo. Something happened a few weeks ago. I don't know what itwas. Something happened which led to my father dismissing him on the spot.'

'Hewas given the boot?'

'Jonnyhad to leave that day, after being employed, well, for years.'

'Sothis antagonism is quite recent?'

'I'veno idea. Neither of them would talk about it. But I assume it must have beenvery serious and very private. Otherwise, I would have known what happened.'

'DidStokmo come to you about this?'

'No.'

Therewas a long silence until Jespersen continued: 'That was why I thought thisstate of affairs – the row – was a private matter, between them. Otherwise Iwould have known what it was about.'

'Doyou know if Stokmo threatened your father?'

'No.All I know is that Jonny was standing outside the front door last night.'

'When?''Half an hour before my father came home at seven.'

Gunnarstrandanodded slowly to himself.

'Sevenp.m.?' Frølich asked with raised pen.

'Bitlater, about a quarter past.'

'Whatis Stokmo living off now?' Gunnarstranda asked.

'Idon't know… he has a son who runs a kind of workshop in Torshov. He might beworking there.'

Silencefell again. Frank Frølich cleared his throat. He flicked through his notebook.'You say…' he mumbled. 'You say your father had guests here yesterday. Who werethey?'

'Itwasn't a party. It was dinner. We were invited, I mean, me, my wife and thechildren.'