Gunnarstrandasaid nothing and waited.
'ButI wasn't – against it, that is. I can open a shop in my living room if I want.My goodness, I have the contacts…'
Hesat and reflected.
'Soyou didn't object to the sale of the shop?'
'Notat all. But when my father went on the attack as he did. This was late atnight. We were sitting with a cognac, I was telling him about these engravedglasses, the uniform complete with medals and ribbons, and he just scowled andsaid – as if he were pouring a bucket of water over my head: I've torpedoedthe sale of the shop. Do you want to ring Arvid and console him? It wasalmost comical…' 'Were those the words he used?'
'Yes.He knew Arvid had been talking to me about these matters. He said those actualwords, and that he was angry with me. He must have thought I had gone behindhis back or something like that.'
'Butwhat did you say?'
'Notvery much. In fact, he was the one who should have informed me about thesenegotiations, not Arvid. My father had known about the process the whole time.Until then he hadn't objected. So I said that for me it didn't matter whetherthe shop was sold or not, which was the truth. If he and Emmanuel and Arvidsold up, I would manage anyway – and in the end I told him that Arvid hadsounded me out about any objections I might have had about the sale. And I saidthat I had told Arvid what I had just told him. Finally I said it was strangethat Arvid should be the person to inform me. After that we didn't talk aboutthe matter any more.'
'Youfinished your conversation?'
'No,we talked, but not a word about Arvid or Emmanuel or the sale.'
Gunnarstrandanodded.
'Howwas he that evening? Different in any way?'
'No,he was his usual grumpy self.' Karsten gave a faint smile. 'By and large hetended to be bad-tempered.'
'Whywas that?'
'Hm?'
'Hewasn't ill? I mean he may have been bad-tempered because he was ill.'
Jespersensmiled. 'My father was not often ill.'
Gunnarstrandanodded. 'In fact he was ill,' he said.
'Yourfather had tumours on the kidneys. The pathologist's verdict is that he hadmalignant cancer. The chances are he didn't know himself.' Gunnarstrandacoughed. 'So the question is whether he talked to you about any illness?'
'Never.'Jespersen stared into space. 'Cancer?' he echoed in a hollow voice.
Gunnarstrandacleared his throat. 'Well, back to the evening before he was killed. Did hetalk on the phone while you were there?'
'Hemight have received the odd call, but he didn't make any himself.'
'Doyou know who he talked to?'
'No,no idea. My mind was on other things. The children were beginning to get tired…Imagine him having cancer!'
Fromhis inside pocket Gunnarstranda took the old photograph he had found under the padon Reidar Jespersen's desk. 'Do you know her?' he asked.
Jespersenheld the picture, studied it and shrugged his shoulders. 'No idea,' he said andhanded back the photograph.
'Neverseen this person?'
'Never.'
'Ifound it in your father's papers. Thought it might be your mother.'
'Mymother?' Jespersen shook his head and smiled. 'No. My mother was blonde – quitedifferent from this woman.'
Jespersengot to his feet and wandered over to the wall between the loudspeakers. He tookdown a picture in a glass frame. He held the photograph in one hand and theframe in the other. 'See for yourself,' he said, passing both to the Inspector.
Jespersen'smother was a woman with short, blonde hair. He thought he could recognizeKarsten Jespersen's chin and eyes. The picture had been taken in Bygdøy. Shewas sitting on a chair in a café. The Fram museum building towered up behind.Gunnarstranda suddenly regretted not having shown the photograph around before.'I thought it would be your mother,' he reflected. 'It occurred to me that Ihadn't seen pictures of her – your mother.'
Jespersencoughed. 'It's not that strange that you haven't seen pictures of her. I don'tthink Ingrid would have approved of a picture of my mother on the wall. Ingridis great, but she drew the line there. There are lots of photos of my mother inthe flat, but in albums.'
KarstenJespersen put the photograph of his mother back on the wall.
Chapter 22
'Whathave you had in this? Tar?' Frølich was trying to rinse their cups in the sink beforeserving coffee from the machine. Gunnarstranda's china cup, purloined from acanteen a long time ago, was almost dark brown on the inside from coffeetannin. His own cup was a green, arty ceramics number which he had been givenfor Christmas by the same Anna who was recording all the objects at the crimescene. Frølich stood thinking about Anna and the night they had shared afterthe Christmas dinner almost four weeks ago. Frank Frølich had not often beenunfaithful to Eva-Britt. When it had happened on the odd occasion, he was fullof remorse and abject fear of sexual diseases or an unwanted pregnancy. But hedidn't have this feeling after the night with Anna. As the water from the tapswirled round Gunnarstranda's filthy cup, without making it any cleaner than ithad been five minutes earlier, he was thinking he might give her a call tochase up the inventory of items in Reidar Folke Jespersen's shop. He looked athis reflection. 'But why?' he asked himself. 'Why would you want to do that?'
'Eh?'Gunnarstranda said from his chair. He was leafing through the evening editionof Aftenposten.
'What?'Frølich asked.
'Youwere the one who spoke,' Gunnarstranda answered with his nose in the paper.
Frølichstraightened up and knew why he wanted to meet her. She had not hinted at theirjoint escapade one single time. Although there had been that little glint inher eyes when they had met in Jespersen's antiques shop. He poured coffee intoboth of their cups. 'I was saying Jonny Stokmo's telephone is dead,' he toldGunnarstranda and placed the full cup of coffee in front of him. 'Stokmo'sdisappeared, vanished off the face of the earth.'
'Allthe more reason to check him out.'
'Wecan start with his son – this scrapdealer in Torshov,' Frølich said, pulling aface as he sipped the black coffee. 'You or me?' he asked.
'Me,'Gunnarstranda said, looking up. 'What do you reckon about the brothers? Havethey got a motive?' He folded the newspaper.
Frølich,who was still thinking about Anna and how her hair had tickled his nose onenight four weeks ago, tried to repress the thought and instead put on aconcentrated expression for Gunnarstranda, who looked up at him from an angle.
'What'sup?'
'Reidarand Ingrid owned everything in joint names,' a composed Frølich reasoned. 'Noone has objected to that. The Marriage Settlement Office in Brannaysund has notregistered any separate property either for her or for her late husband. Thewill has been revoked. In practice, if Ingrid Jespersen can sit tight on theold boy's possessions…' He left the rest of his reasoning in the air.
'Shecan't. Karsten Jespersen has a right to his inheritance,' Gunnarstranda said.'He is not her child. He has a right to part of the settlement.'
'Butsuppose we imagine that Ingrid has free rein over the old boy's share of thebusiness,' Frølich said. 'She has actually admitted that she wants to get ridof it. In other words, now Reidar is dead the sale should go through without ahitch.'
'Doyou mean that gives the two brothers a motive?'
'Imean it would be stupid to overlook that motive,' Frølich said. 'The man whostood in the way of the sale is now off the scene. The two brothers each own athird. Furthermore, everyone insists that Karsten is not interested in theshop. However…' said Frølich, 'we don't know who will take over the shop.There's bound to be some discussion between Karsten and the widow – and the twoof them seem to get on like a house on fire. From an inheritance point of view,Karsten has a right to a percentage of the assets, and its size is calculatedon the basis of Reidar's half of the joint property. Inasmuch as Ingrid andReidar had joint ownership, it will be Ingrid rather than Karsten who benefitsfrom Reidar's death.'