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

'Ataxi?'

Frølichnodded. 'And that's the only hot tip so far. A taxi – I asked whether the rooflight was on or not. It was. She said she thought it was strange that thetaxi's engine was running, or that it was there for so long.'

'Howlong?'

'Atleast an hour, she guessed. The problem is that this was early evening, beforeten – she said. Seems she had been working late – she had been to a meeting anddidn't get home until eight, half an hour after Jespersen arrived. She wasn'tsure whether the taxi was already there when she got in. But after taking ashower she looked through the window and saw it parked beneath her flat withthe engine running. At least three quarters of an hour later she looked againand the same car was still there.'

'Hadshe…?'

'I'mcoming to that,' Frølich interrupted. 'She looked out again later – beforegoing to bed. There was a Mercedes taxi parked in the road. She thought thetaxi with the engine running – the one she had seen before – had also been aMercedes. But the car she saw on her way to bed – its engine wasn't running.'

'Colour?'

'Dark.'

Thetwo detectives stared at each other.

'Itcould have been three different taxis,' Gunnarstranda said. 'Every second taxiin Oslo is a Mercedes – at least. And this is one of the most densely populatedareas of the city.'

'Twomen live in the top flat,' Frølich continued. 'One of them works in local radioand calls himself "Terje Telemonster". Perhaps you've heard of theguy? He rings people up and is a kind of telephone terrorist. If the victimworks in a hotel he rings and says he's on night duty and has been locked in abroom cupboard and he's starving, or he rings the emergency doctor and sayshe's on top of his wife and can't get his ding-a-ling out of her muff. Veryfunny guy.'

'Soundsextremely funny,' Gunnarstranda said, deadpan.

'It'spopular anyway. And he lives with a sort of drag artist, a guy who's intoEgyptian stuff. He does belly- dancing. And male belly dancers are a bitspecial.'

'Well?Had they seen anything?'

'Nothing.The taxi was all I managed to turn up,' Frølich summarized.

'Whatimpression did people have of our old man?'

'Anonymous,elderly. Those who knew who he was connected him with the shop. Only Holmgrenand his wife knew he was married to Ingrid. Several people recognize her -because she's kept herself in shape.' Frølich grinned and mimicked them: 'Oh,is that who you mean? The good-looking one, no spring chicken, but she keepsherself in good shape.'

'Great,'Gunnarstranda mumbled.

'Theman who lived alone, with a dog, asked if I knew anything about the personstealing his newspaper. He seemed a bit manic – had put a wide-angle lens inthe door to see who was stealing his newspaper every morning.'

'Observant?'

'Ithought that too, but the problem is that all his attention is focused on thedoor. He couldn't tell me anything about activity in the street. And thiscouple – the man working for TV Norge and the woman for Dagbladet - hadbeen out to a seafood evening and didn't come back until five o'clock in themorning.'

'Anddidn't see anything?'

'Zilch.They returned in a taxi, but neither of them noticed any parked cars when theycame home. I have the licence number of the taxi they came home in. The TVcameraman had kept the receipt, so I'll talk to the taxi driver – he may haveseen something. But the two of them had been pretty pissed and staggered intobed without noticing the shop window across the street or anything. By the way,they were able to confirm that the window was never lit at night.'

Gunnarstrandawiped his upper lip. 'I came across something the son – Karsten – has written,'he mumbled, wiping his lip again.

'Where?'

'Istumbled across an article in an old journal – amazing what you hang ontoreally,' Gunnarstranda said. 'A back-copy of Farmand.''

'Farmand?'

'Anold organ for reactionary intellectuals, a journal that died a death many yearsago.'

'Whatdid he write about?'

'Theprison system.'

'MyGod. Is he any good? At writing?'

Gunnarstrandaopened the top drawer of his desk and rummaged. 'There was quite an interestingbit about a man who went mental in solitary confinement, but the rest was…'Gunnarstranda shrugged, produced a pair of tweezers from the drawer, stood upand went to the mirror hanging on the wall beside the door and continued: '…banal reflections on the treatment of criminals, but strangely enough there wasnone of the usual harping on about custody and human rights.'

'Musthave been editorial guidelines,' Frølich said. 'If the journal was reactionary,as you say.'

Gunnarstrandatook a concentrated hold on the tweezers and pulled out a hair from hisnostril. He scrutinized his catch carefully. 'Must have been,' he conceded. 'Ithink you may well be right.'

Chapter 20

The Coat

'Where can I hangmy coat?' Susanne Jespersen asked, removing a dark, fur-lined garment which shepassed to Frank Frølich. She looked around. 'What have you done with thatimpudent boss of yours?'

Frølichstood for a few moments wondering what he should do with the heavy outdoorcoat. In the end he made up his mind, moved a few things off the little tablein front of the sofa and put it there.

'I'vebeen to see the solicitor,' Susanne Jespersen said. 'He's not allowed to treatus like this, so there will be repercussions. Mark my words!'

'Ofcourse,' Frølich mumbled. He knew he had put his notepad somewhere. He had hadit in his hands, used it when he was writing the report. But he didn't have aclue where it was now.

'I'vebeen finding out about your boss,' Susanne ranted on. 'And I happen to know heis not flavour of the month. I have contacts in high places. And I won't put upwith much more from him. You can tell him that from me!'

'Right,'Frølich said, scanning his own and his boss's desks. No notepad in sight.

Susannestudied herself in the mirror and straightened the belt she had put around herwaist. 'We'll go and collect our personal property. After all, Karsten is theshop in person. We'll take the property that belongs to us, we will. Don'tthink this despotic gnome will frighten us away! Got that'

'Absolutely,'Frølich said, rubbing his nose. 'I took her coat…'he muttered to himself.

'Andon top of that I have to take a day off work, postpone important meetings, butit won't happen again. I've been making enquiries, I have, and I know you needa court order!'

Frølichfound it under the coat. He lifted it up and there was his notepad.

'Yousee, I've got you there, haven't I!'

'Pleasetake a seat,' Frølich said, pointing to an uncluttered chair.

'As Ithought! But now that poor me has made the effort to come here, I may as wellstay,' Susanne Jespersen said. 'Get it over with,' she added, folding her armsabove the handbag resting on her lap.

'Exactly,'Frølich said. The telephone rang. 'Excuse me,' he said, walking over toGunnarstranda's desk and lifting the receiver. 'Gunnarstranda's phone.' Hewatched Susanne Jespersen with his mind elsewhere. She studied herself in themirror on the wall, adjusted her long hair, plunged into her handbag and pulledout a lipstick which she ran across her lips.

'Yes,she's arrived,' Frølich said. 'Yes, I'll remember that,' he said and cradledthe receiver.

Susannesat down. She pulled a face. Frølich thought at first she was havingconvulsions – until he recalled her putting on lipstick. For a moment he wonderedhow old she was. Thirty-five, he thought, between thirty-five and forty, but noolder than forty. She was a bit plump and round-shouldered, with thin lips. Nowthat she had painted them red, they looked like a smudged brushstroke on anotherwise grey painting.