'Youdon't believe that yourself, Gunnarstranda.'
'Allthe taxi drivers in town do.'
'Butwe believe the two murders are connected, don't we?'
'Ifthere's a connection between the murders of Folke Jespersen and Ekholt,' thePolice Inspector said, getting up to pack his papers away, 'it has to bebecause Ekholt knew something about the first murder. But we have no proof thatthere is a link. Anyway, Frølich and I cannot investigate the murder ofEkholt.'
Frølichcoughed and said: 'I bet Richard Ekholt was killed because he saw the firstmurder!'
'Ifthat bet is accepted, the odds will be poor,' Gunnarstranda said with a grin.
Fristadlooked up: 'So you agree there's a link.'
'Ididn't say that. But this murder must be investigated on its own terms. A wholeprofession in this town is demanding it.'
Fristad,dejected, watched Gunnarstranda packing his papers. 'What's your next move onthis case?'
'I'llkeep at it,' Gunnarstranda said brightly. 'I'm working my way back throughFolke Jespersen's life.'
'Howfar have you got?'
'Iexpect to finish 1944 in a couple of hours,' Gunnarstranda answered, foldinghis glasses and putting them in his inside pocket.
Chapter 40
FrankFrølich looked at his wristwatch. It showed a quarter past three. He glancedover at the front door of Reidar Folke Jespersen's warehouse in BertrandNarvesens vei. He switched off the engine, pulled the handbrake and steppedout. The door was not locked and the light was on in the huge storage area.'Hello,' the policeman shouted as the door slammed behind him. 'Hello,' heshouted again, moving down the corridor between all the objects.
'Overhere,' answered a familiar voice. Anna was standing between two stacks ofchairs. She was holding a large writing pad in her hands.
'Didyou make it then?' he asked.
'What?'she asked, confused.
'Yourvisit. To Aker Hospital.'
'Oh,that.' She nodded. 'And you?'
'Idid what I had to do, yes.'
Theystood looking at each other in silence. A lock of black hair fell forwards. Shewound it behind her ear with two fingers.
'Andthat was good,' he said, feeling foolish and unimaginative.
'Andyou?' she said. 'I mean what are you doing here?' 'Have to go through thefiles, if there are any.'
'Thereare two filing cabinets.'
'Where?'
Shepointed to the staircase running up the wall to a door in the middle. 'Up there- on the first floor.' She assumed a sympathetic expression. 'The office isthere. But there's a lot of paper. Enough for a doctoral thesis.'
Frølichsighed and looked at his watch. 'The evening is still young,' he said withforced irony.
Shesmiled back. 'The evening hasn't begun,' she said.
Itwas cold in the warehouse. Icy breath came out of their mouths as they spoke.He noticed that her fingers round the biro were pink with cold. 'And you?' heasked shyly.
Shelifted the pad. 'I'm making an inventory.'
'Imean your back. How is your back?'
'Fine,'she said. 'Do you know what helps? Reflexology. Yesterday I sat in a chairwhile my feet were massaged for a whole hour. Wonderful. In the end I fellasleep.'
'Bloodycold in here,' he said.
Shenodded and blew on her fingers. 'It's warm up there. What are you looking for?'
Heshrugged. 'No idea.'
Sheblinked. 'You don't know what you're after?'
Heturned to the staircase and tried a witty riposte: 'I never know what I'mafter.'
'Attimes you do,' she protested through half-closed eyes.
Theyeyed each other again. He could feel his cheeks burning. 'Yes,' he sighed,moving towards the stairs. 'I'd better go and look.'
Hestopped on the top step. Anna closed a wardrobe door and wrote something down. Shemust have felt his gaze because she peered up. They stared at each other.
Hewent into Jespersen's office. It was boiling. He stood with his back to thedoor and cursed himself for being thick-headed and clumsy and incapable ofstriking up a conversation.
Hehad been intending to ring her. Now that they had bumped into each other hehadn't a clue what to say to her. He traipsed over to Folke Jespersen's filingcabinet and opened the top drawer. A packed row of hanging files stuffed fullwith yellowing papers fought for space. He automatically took out an armful offiles, carried them all to the desk, sat down and began to leaf through thepapers. It was difficult to concentrate. He was thinking about Anna downstairs.He was thinking about his deficient social skills. Half an hour later he hadtaken off his sweater and jacket. One pile had become two and he was halfwaythrough one drawer. He glanced at the door and wondered whether to go out andtalk to her. No, he told himself. You'll just make a fool of yourself.
Afteran hour he heard a door slam. He checked his watch. It was past four. She hadgone for the evening. He heaved a deep sigh and blamed himself yet again fornot taking the chance when he had it.
Hestood up, ambled through the kitchenette and onto the landing at the top of thestaircase. The large hall was in darkness. The outlines of cupboards, chairsand indefinable junk stood out in the dim light from the row of windows high upon the wall. For the first time in many years he envied people who smoked.
Byten minutes past eight he had studied the paperwork from six out of eightdrawers in total. So far the search had been futile. He was worn out and neededfresh air. He opened the window a fraction.
Fromthe open window he heard the outside door close with a bang. He stood up andstaggered through the kitchenette out onto the landing.
Itwas Anna. She was on her way up the staircase. With a six-pack of Frydenlunddraught beer under her arm. She peered up and dangled the beer. 'Hope you don'thave any other pressing engagements this evening?'
Theydivided the rest of the files between them and talked about seventies music,taking turns to suggest bands and songs which the other had to identify anddate. If you couldn't answer, you weren't allowed to ask for clues. Anna waskneeling on the floor, flicking through the papers and drinking beer. 'EdgarBroughton Band,' she said just as he found the piece of paper he was lookingfor.
'Whatdid you call that lot?'
Shelooked up, sure he hadn't a clue. 'The Edgar Broughton Band.'
Hewas reading the piece of paper he had just found. 'I went to the EdgarBroughton Band gig in Chateau Neuf in either '72 or '73. I was in the eighthclass.'
'Proof,'she demanded.
'InsideOut,' he said. 'LP from '72.' He waved the piece of paper. 'We're done,' hesaid.
Whenhe asked her if she wanted to go to his place and listen to records, she wasstanding, conveniently, with her back to him. She was looking out of thewindow, at the moon, and left the question unanswered. They locked the doorbehind them, and he left his car in the car park. They strolled towards themetro station. The quality of conversation was variable. At times it wasserious.
Shecommented that they were going to the wrong platform.
'Wrong?'Frølich asked.
'Ifwe're going to town, we need to be on the other side.'
'Ifwe're going to my place, we have to take the train coming,' he said, pointingto the Lambertseter train roaring out of the tunnel.
Whenthey alighted, both were in earnest mood and walking side by side, hardlyexchanging a word. It was only when they were alone in the lift that he got totaste her lips. She pulled his neck down to her with both hands. They stoodlost in dreams. They didn't let go until the lift started to descend again.
Theylistened to 'Heartattack and Vine' by Tom Waits while they made love.Afterwards he fell asleep but woke up when she pulled the duvet over them.Naked, they lay gazing at the sky through the large window in his bedroom.Visibility was sharp and clear. Red blotting paper covered almost the entiremoon.
'Crazy,'he said.
'Lunareclipse,' she said in a barely audible voice.
'Isit?' He drew her closer to him and pressed his chin into her rounded shoulder.