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

'Howlong were you here?'

'Well,it began just after seven. My father arrived late, at about a quarter past. Wewent home at around eleven.'

'Wherehad he been until seven in the evening?'

'InEnsjo, at the office.'

'Areyou sure?'

'Yes,he was seldom anywhere else.'

'Didhe usually work late?'

'Hewas always working.'

'Soit wasn't unusual for him to work late?' Gunnarstranda asked.

'Itwas neither usual nor unusual. He did work late on occasion. But Ingrid cantell you more about this sort of thing than I can.'

Gunnarstrandasat staring, in silence. 'Do you stock a lot of weapons in this shop?'

'Afew. And that's one of the most important reasons for having security shutters.Antique weapons are sought-after collectors' items.'

'Whatsort of weapons?'

'Amusket, a halberd, a few front-loading revolvers, a variety of edged weapons…'

'Abayonet?'

'Two.Why?'

They wereinterrupted as a door was thrust open and a patter of feet followed. A smallboy came running in. He must have been three or four years old, wearing bluedungarees and a jumper with stains down the front. He came to a sudden halt atthe sight of the people around the table, but after a few moments' hesitationmarched up to Karsten Jespersen, who stared at him in bewilderment. The boy hadblond curls and a round, open face with a runny nose. He stuffed severalfingers from his left hand in his mouth as he pressed against his father'sknee. 'Grandad's dead,' he told Gunnarstranda.

'Lookslike Susanne has come, too,' Jespersen said in apology and turned to the boy:'Where's Mummy?'

Thelittle boy ignored him. He lifted his right arm to shake hands withGunnarstranda. 'Min,' said the little boy.

'Benjamin,'Jespersen said, winking at the policeman.

'JustMin,' the boy called Benjamin said, wafting his hand in front of Gunnarstrandaagain.

'Showme,' the father said. 'Have you got a coin?' Jespersen's smile was stiff,strained, and he held out an authoritative hand. 'Are you going to give Daddythe coin?' 'Grandad's dead,' the boy repeated, turning to his father with greatbig, round eyes. 'All dead.'

'Yes,'Jespersen said, winking conspiratorially at the two policemen. 'Are you goingto let Daddy see your coin?'

Theboy shook his head.

'Areyou going to show Daddy?'

'No,'said the boy.

'Ithink we've finished for the time being,' Gunnarstranda said, addressing FrankFrølich.

'Areyou going to give Daddy the coin?'

'No!'the boy screamed with a voice that cut through the air like the whine of a saw.

Thelook in Jespersen's eyes was ominous. 'Are you going to give Daddy the coin?'He made another grab at the little boy's hand.

'No!'the boy cried with the same piercing scream. 'Daddy's stupid.'

'Thecoin!' his father repeated sharply, grabbing the little boy's hand and forcinghis fingers open, one by one. The boy struggled. His fingers were white and hewas crying. His hand lurched. Something like a brooch or a hatpin shot out ofhis hand onto the floor.

'Shhhnow,' Jespersen said and was all smiles again. 'It wasn't a coin, was it! Itwasn't money!'

KarstenJespersen took the badge and held it up in front of Benjamin. It was made ofdark metal with an elaborate motif. The boy had stopped crying. He rubbed hiseyes.

Thetwo policemen looked at each other.

'Giveme,' said the boy and made a grab for the badge. The father withdrew his handas quick as lightning and laughed aloud, making his chin twitch.

Theboy let out another squeal.

'Takeit then,' the father yelled in irritation, giving him the badge.

Theboy burst into a low whine and took it.

'Shallwe go?' Karsten Jespersen said and stood up.

Onthe way out Gunnarstranda stopped in front of a large glass cabinet displayingthe spines of blue and brown leather-bound books. Jespersen was courteous enoughto stop and wait. The little boy ran out through the nearest door.

Frølichalso stood and gazed at a number of small, white figures in a glass case on thewall. At first he thought it was the usual ornaments, but he had a shock whenhe saw what the figures were doing. It was Chinese and pornographic: men andwomen embroiled in sexual games, carved with infinite care. But it did not stopthere: a woman was enthusiastically copulating with a zebra; another woman washaving sex with a turtle. One of the carvings was of two grinning men coiled upand posing as they masturbated each other. The figures left nothing to theimagination and were carved with an intricacy of detail that Frølich had neverseen before.

'MyGod,' he mumbled.

KarstenJespersen sent him a condescending look. 'Collectors' items,' he sighed andadded: 'Ivory. One, by the way, is made of rhino horn.'

'Arethey antiques?'

'Ofcourse.' Jespersen went to the cabinet and pointed to the woman and the turtle.'That one is a thousand years old.'

Frankielooked at him. Jespersen was standing with his arms folded on his chest and hadan impatient expression on his quivering face.

'Whatdo these things symbolize?' the policeman asked.

'Ibeg your pardon?'

'Thesymbolism,' Frank Frølich enquired.

Jespersensplayed his palms. 'It's art. They don't have any significance.'

'Butthese motifs,' Frølich insisted, pointing to the woman and the turtle. 'Theymust symbolize something.'

Jespersen,irritated: 'They don't have any significance. Either you think they'rebeautiful, or you don't.'

Frankstudied the figurines again. There was no doubting that they were beautiful.The sexuality was portrayed in a humorous way, emphasizing the aesthetics ofthe human body – however fanciful the sexual act. The ornament that Jespersenhad indicated was carved from rhino horn and portrayed athletes performinggroup sex. A number of very happy-looking people were intertwined in sexualgymnastics that, from a physiological perspective, scarcely seemed feasible.This means, he thought, I know next to nothing about China.

'Arethey yours?' he asked Jespersen.

'No,they belong here, to the house.'

'Arethey worth much?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Howmuch would you say?' He straightened up as a middle-aged woman opened a doorand entered.

'Thereyou are,' she said to Jespersen. 'You'll have to look after your children, Ican't…' She stopped in mid- flow when she saw the two police officers.

Gunnarstrandaproffered his hand. 'Inspector Gunnarstranda. Murder Squad.'

Thewoman shook his hand. Frølich could see that she had been attractive once, andthat she still looked good, even though her face was marked with tiny wrinklesand age lines. For a few seconds Frølich was unsure what it was that made herso appealing – the clean-cut face under the fashionable haircut or the figureand the terrific legs. It was the latter, he decided, her body – her back wasarched like a schoolgirl's – and the dress, which was tight in the rightplaces.

Jespersenwas about to say something. But Gunnarstranda got in first: 'Ingrid FolkeJespersen?'

Shenodded.

'MayI offer my condolences?'

Shenodded again and stared calmly into the eyes of her contemporary. Frank noticedthat he did not release her hand.

Frølichstepped forward and proffered his hand: 'Frank Frølich.'

'Wewere just on our way out,' Inspector Gunnarstranda said by way of reassurance. Butshe didn't hear what he was saying. The two policemen followed her eyes. Shewas staring at Karsten Jespersen and her eyes were filling. 'Karsten,' shewhispered in a quiet, sorrow- filled voice. There was despair in her almostinaudible outburst. She was staring at her husband's son, who stiffly returnedher gaze. He was struggling to control his feelings. She let hers flow. KarstenJespersen was at the centre of everyone's attention: the woman and the men hungon his lips as if he were going to say a timely word.

'He'sjealous of your Thackeray books,' Jespersen stuttered, pointing toGunnarstranda.

Threeheads turned to the Inspector, who contemplated the widow and her stepson for along time before he took it upon himself to bring the silence to an end.'Right,' said Gunnarstranda, without any elaboration, angling his head towardsthe glass cabinet: 'I couldn't find Barry Lyndon.'