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

Thedoor was opened by a chubby, young woman with curly hair and glasses. 'Oh,there you are,' she laughed, a little disorientated, as the cat slipped in.'Are you the man from the police?' she asked, holding the door open forGunnarstranda, who nodded. 'My grandfather's in the living room.'

Softviolin music resonated from somewhere inside as Gunnarstranda hung his coat onthe peg the woman showed him. 'I'll be off soon,' she assured him. 'I justpromised to lend a hand.'

Thepoliceman followed her down a narrow corridor.

Theypassed a staircase to the first floor and continued into a smallish roomfurnished with a piano and an English-style leather three piece suite. Theviolin music came from an old stereo cabinet positioned beneath the window – acomfortable arm's length away from Emmanuel Folke Jespersen, who struggled tohis feet and extended his hand in greeting.

Jespersenhad two squinting eyes set in a round face dominated by a heavy jaw. His hairwas completely white and shone like a Christmas tree decoration.

'I'llbe off then,' the young woman said to Folke Jespersen after pouring coffee forhim and the policeman.

'Right,'the man said, glancing across the table where a flower-patterned coffee flask,cups and a plate of biscuits had been placed. Jespersen pulled out a slimcigarillo from the breast pocket of his pink shirt. 'Mind if I smoke?'

'Notat all,' Gunnarstranda answered, pulling out his own roll-up tobacco andputting it on the table. Again he screwed up his eyes against the low wintersun bursting in through the window. 'I can't sit here,' he said and moved tothe opposite corner of the sofa.

Emmanuelturned and raised his arm in salute to the young woman closing the door behindher. 'Grandchild,' he said in explanation. 'Kristin. Great girl. Helpful.' Heflicked a lighter and puffed the cigarillo into life. Through the loudspeakersthe music swelled to a crescendo.

'Beautiful,'Gunnarstranda said.

'Oneof the new rising stars,' Jespersen explained, blowing a smoke ring, whichquivered, rose in the sunlight and slowly disintegrated. He picked up the CDsleeve lying on the table between them. 'She looks good, too – unbelievablybeautiful, these young lady violinists. They almost play more on their sexualitythan on their music.'

Gunnarstrandatook the sleeve. The photograph on the front was of a dark-haired beauty posingwith a violin against a sinister background – an urban night scene with darkshadows. Her clothes were provocative and her make-up voluptuous, and shestared at him with moist, parted lips. 'A few years ago I would have thoughtshe was a glamour model, but can you be sure?' he motioned towards thespeakers. 'Is it really her playing?'

EmmanuelFolke Jespersen nodded, amused, and rolled the cigarillo between his fingers.'Indeed, and not just that, apparently at concerts she stands in a swimmingcostume and plays. Imagine that. That's the way it is now. A gifted violinisthas to wear a bikini to make it!'

Gunnarstrandanodded: 'It reminds me of…' he began, but paused as Jespersen waved hiscigarillo to point out the violinist's virtuosity. Gunnarstranda listened outof courtesy until the orchestra came back in. He went on: 'When I was a youngpoliceman – that must have been in… I can't remember exactly when, but it's along time ago. I was up north. A lady moved up from Oslo and opened ahairdressing salon in her cellar, but she didn't get any customers until shebegan cutting people's hair in just her swimsuit.'

'Well,there you go… coffee?' Jespersen held up the flask.

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'There were single men and schoolboys and swingers, long queues of menwho went to have their hair cut, some of them had their hair cut several timesa week! No surprises there, she was a good-looking girl, but when the priestwent down for a haircut, the women in the district went into action.'

Jespersengave a deep guffaw. 'Did you have a haircut?'

'No,I was sent there because there were allegations that she had started doing bitsand bobs in the salon, and sometimes without even a swimsuit on.' Gunnarstrandapassed back the CD sleeve. 'So there's nothing new about swimsuits in the foodchain,' he concluded, stretching out his legs and making gestures ofappreciation as the music flowed out of the speakers: 'She can certainly play.'

'Schubert,'Jespersen said. 'He was Reidar's favourite composer, by the way.'

'Youdon't say?'

'Yes,he had a side he didn't show to everyone. How should I put it? His soft side -he reserved it for a small band of people.'

'Butyou were one of them?'

Jespersenanswered with a shrug and blew another, less successful, smoke ring towards theceiling.

Gunnarstrandaheld his coffee cup and raised it. 'You three had a chat the other day… I wastold you met at your brother's place, at Arvid's.' He took a sip of coffee andthen put down the cup.

'Yes,and it was sad. To part on such terms.'

'Whatterms?' 'We had a little dispute, and Reidar was upset. It was a shame – thatwe couldn't make up before he died.'

'Adispute?'

'Thiscouple, Iselin and Hermann, they want to buy the shop. Which I think iswonderful. I mean we're – all three of us – getting on and it would be nice tohave a lump sum and be finished with everything.'

'Youdidn't agree on the price?'

Jespersennodded his head gravely. 'Reidar did not want to sell.'

'Whynot?'

'Ihave no idea.'

'Hadhe had a sudden change of heart, or was he never involved in the sale?'

'Heknew about it. He hadn't been openly hostile until then, just undecided. Thatwas why we had the meeting.'

'Yousay you don't know why he turned down the offer. Could it have been to protecthis son? Karsten works there, doesn't he?'

Theman tilted his head, as though reflecting. 'Of course it's a possibility…' hemurmured. 'Although it doesn't seem altogether probable. Well, I don't knowwhy. Reidar was so unpredictable, you know. He…' Jespersen shook his headagain. 'To understand my hesitation you need to have known Reidar.' He pantedas he changed position in the chair, put out his arm and turned the volume downlow.

Thetwo of them exchanged looks. Jespersen bent forward in the chair. 'Reidardidn't give a shit about Karsten,' he stated. 'Reidar…' Jespersen leanedfurther forward, as though to create confidentiality.

Thepoliceman followed suit.

'Reidarwas old school,' Jespersen said. 'Do you understand?'

Gunnarstrandadidn't answer.

'Reidardid things during the war about which neither you nor I want to know. Reidarwas not a warm-hearted person. He was much too hard on Karsten. You can seethat. The boy's crushed. He shakes like a whelp in a thunderstorm. But Karstenis an adult now, with a good marriage, and Karsten and Susanne have enoughmoney. She makes good money, you know – chief accountant and all that. ButReidar – he's never bothered about Karsten's interests. And Karsten? He's neverbeen interested in the shop – not really. He's worked there all these yearsbecause he's scared of his father. What Karsten wants is to have a career, as awriter.'

Jespersenstraightened up and puffed on his cigarillo.

'Hashe had any success?'

'Doingwhat?'

'Journalism.'

'Well…he's written a few reports on things he knows about – a few very interestingarticles about Sotheby's in London and that sort of thing. I remember he had anarticle accepted about the Queen Mother's jewels. That must have been… I wonderif it wasn't in the Aftenposten magazine.'

'Youdon't say?'

'Yes,but it's a while ago. In the main he's translated cartoons.' Jespersen grinnedwith the cigarillo in the corner of his mouth: 'Drop the shooter, youcharlatan! Ugh! Argh!' The latter was too much for Jespersen. His face wentpuce and he had a severe coughing fit.

Gunnarstrandawaited politely. 'I get the same myself,' he said with sympathy when the otherman's breathing was back to normal. 'I suppose it has something to do withsmoking.'