'Ialways thought the film was better,' the woman in the doorway said in response.
Thedramatic silence still hung in the air. No one said anything. Everyone waslooking at her. 'Well, you're right,' she said at length. 'Barry Lyndonis missing. To Reidar's great annoyance. He was a perfectionist, you know, andcould never understand that I wanted a series of books that was incomplete.'
'Haveyou got a couple of minutes?' the Police Inspector asked.
'Reidarhad very little time for reading,' she added, seemingly lost in thought.
Thesilence had changed. The unspoken words and the tension between her and herstepson were no longer there.
'Idon't feel like talking very much now,' Ingrid whispered. 'I'm worn out. Ihardly slept last night.'
'Wecan come back tomorrow,' Gunnarstranda replied. 'Just a couple of things,though. Did your husband go to bed last night?'
Sheshook her head. 'I woke up when I became aware that he wasn't there… I think. Ihad taken a sleeping tablet.'
'Whendid you go to bed?'
'Betweeneleven and half past.'
'Yourang…' Gunnarstranda tossed his head towards Jespersen.
'Yes,'she said. 'Last night, when I woke up. But. Karsten was not at home.'
Ingridand Karsten Jespersen stood eyeing each other.
'Iwas asleep,' Karsten said at length. |
'Irealized,' she said. Her eyes were shiny and her lips quivered. She wanted tosay more, but hesitated.
Gunnarstrandabroke the silence: 'Why did you ring?'
'Ipanicked. Reidar wasn't here.'
Thepoliceman studied her. 'Did you hear any noises from the shop?'
'Idon't know,' she said.
Gunnarstrandalet her answer hang in the air. He interlaced his fingers behind his back, butshe didn't expand.
'Youthink you heard something?' the Inspector asked finally. 'I don't know,' sherepeated, and started to concentrate on cleaning her fingernails. She had smallhands; they were pale, with chunky rings on two of the fingers. The nails hadonce been rust-red, but now the varnish was flaking off. 'I panicked,' sheadded in a distant voice. 'Can't understand what got into me.'
'Whydid you panic?'
'BecauseReidar was nowhere around.' Her lips began to tremble again – and tears were inher dark eyes. She wiped her face with her hand.
Jespersenstepped forward and cleared his throat with authority. However, the Inspectorraised his palm to restrain him.
'Afteryou rang Karsten Jespersen did you go back to sleep?'
'No,'she said quickly. Something had happened to her. The police officer's questionsabout her deceased husband seemed to have caused her to lose composure. Theapparent calm façade that commanded her face when she strode into the room hadbeen translucent, like the shiny surface of a calm forest lake. Now, with thesurface ruffled, you could discern the vulnerability which lay hidden beneath.'I lay awake until the traffic started moving in the streets,' she said. 'Thismorning… early, very early, while it was still dark.' She paused and eyed herstepson, who returned her look. Frølich did not quite know how to interpretthese signals between them.
'Andthen?' Gunnarstranda interrupted.
IngridJespersen turned to him. 'Then I decided that I had just been havingnightmares, that I had imagined all the sounds and everything. So then…'
She closedher eyes.
'Yes?'
Shepointed downstairs. 'I was on the point of falling asleep when…'
'Hewas seen by a passer-by,' Gunnarstranda said. 'I was given to understand thatyou joined our colleague
Yttergjerdein the shop and identified your late husband.'
'Yes.'
Allthree of them stared at her. She was staring at a point in the distant cornerof the room and scratching the varnish off her nails.
'Theshop door was open,' Gunnarstranda said.
Shenodded.
'Whohad the keys to the shop?'
'Myfather and I,' Jespersen interrupted.
'Ialso have keys,' she said in a tired voice.
Gunnarstrandaturned to the son. 'Any others?'
Hereflected.
'MaybeArvid and Emmanuel,' Ingrid Jespersen said.
Karstenreflected. 'It's possible,' he said at length. 'Yes, indeed,' he concluded.'They definitely have keys, both of them.'
'Andthey are?' Gunnarstranda asked the widow.
'Reidar'stwo brothers,' she answered.
'Did yourhusband have a habit of leaving the door unlocked when he was in the shop inthe evening?'
'Noidea,' she said.
'Whenthe police arrived, the shop was dark,' the policeman said. 'Did he usuallyswitch off the lights when he was in the shop after opening hours?'
'Ifhe had had a light on, it would have been in the office, at the back of theshop,' interjected Karsten Jespersen.
Ingridhurried over to the armchair beside the bookcase. She sat down and vigorouslyadjusted the hem of her skirt which had ridden up so far that her knees werevisible as she took a seat. 'The strange thing is that I knew what had happenedstraightaway. Since the phone calls were from the police.'
Frølichwatched Jespersen. He was observing Ingrid with a fixed expression in his eyes.
'Iknow I'm pathetic,' she went on. 'But it was so terrible…' She wiped her eyeswith her fingers once again and sniffed.
Jespersen'sface was red – from anger, Frølich surmised, as the man asked Gunnarstranda:'Had enough yet?'
Theshort policeman sent him a blank look. 'Not quite,' he said.
'Isaw that he was dead,' she said. 'I don't know what I was thinking. I justwanted to get away.'
Gunnarstrandaobserved her. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I have to instruct you to keep anythingyou saw in the shop to yourself,' he said, calmly bringing things to a close.
'Thesame constraint of silence applies to you,' he said to Karsten Jespersen. 'Itis regrettable,' the policeman said formally, 'but those are the rules. I'mafraid we will have to…' He paused, then said: 'We will do whatever we can notto intrude and I hope you will bear with us.'
Chapter 10
Inthe autopsy room Frank Frølich was, as always, almost overpowered by the poorlyventilated air. He breathed through his mouth as he searched for a chair. Inthe end he gave up and joined the others scrutinizing the body of Reidar FolkeJespersen. The white corpse lay stretched out on a metal table beneath thesurgical lamp. Frølich fixed his gaze on the other two, Dr Schwenke andInspector Gunnarstranda.
'Andthe material around his neck?' Gunnarstranda enquired.
'Sewingthread,' Schwenke said. 'Cotton. Looks like it anyway.' In the light he held upthe snipped thread with a pair of scissors and added: 'Description: red, tiedin a reef knot.'
Gunnarstrandahad clasped his hands behind his back and appeared transfixed, as thoughreading a letter from a divorce lawyer. The lab assistant took out a scalpeland sent an expectant look from the dead man to Dr Schwenke, who was putting onplastic gloves. Schwenke winked at Frølich. 'Rembrandt, isn't it? Men in blackaround the corpse. Just wait and in a moment I'll be pulling red tubes out ofhis arms.' Schwenke parted the wrinkled skin on the corpse's stomach and pokedhis fingers in the relatively clean cut under the right nipple. 'A single stabwound,' he muttered and ran his fingers across the other injuries. 'Otherwise,there are superficial scratches.' The wound gaped open. In the middle of theman's chest, numbers and letters had been written with a blue pen. Blood andscratches made it difficult to read the writing.
TheProfessor carefully scraped away the blood covering the writing. 'They looklike numbers, don't they?' Schwenke said, running his fingers over one of theinscriptions. 'This squiggle is a number one. But the first symbol is a letter,J for Jorgen.'
'Jone-nine-five,' Frølich read out.
'Indeed.'Schwenke was in agreement.