Chapter 25
The carpark in Vestre cemetery was quite full and Gunnarstranda was late. The breatharound his mouth was frozen as he went to grab the large handle of the heavychapel door. But before he could pull it open, it was gently pushed open fromthe inside. An official from the firm of undertakers, dressed in black, let himin.
…a man who lived a long and eventful life,' the metallic voice of the priestechoed through the loudspeakers around the chapel. Gunnarstranda entered withas little noise as possible and sat on the chair closest to the aisle in thelast row. He noticed the gaze of another official and nodded courteously. Theman stared back. Reidar Folke Jespersen's coffin was white with decorated brasshandles, and it was placed on the catafalque in front of the altar. The littlecanopy over the coffin was decorated with wreaths and bouquets of flowers. Along ribbon from one of the wreaths was draped down the aisle. Gunnarstrandainched off his gloves. It was warm in the chapel, but most of those attendingwere still wearing their thick winter coats. His glasses steamed up. He tookthem off and wiped them with a handkerchief while gazing up and taking in thesight of the frescoes on the walls. He put his glasses back on and scanned theassembled mourners. In the front row he could see the back of KarstenJespersen's head and Ingrid, the widow. Three small children who couldn't sitstill kept jumping off their chairs and were being hauled back by a resoluteSusanne Jespersen. She sent frustrated looks to her husband, Karsten, whoappeared to be oblivious of her – his gaze was firmly directed towards theseasoned priest conducting the service.
'Asa very young man Reidar Folke Jespersen was no stranger to death and terror in thiswar-ravaged country of ours,' the voice intoned through the microphone. Thepriest was in his forties and spoke the dialect of southern Vestland. The firstthree rows were full while the other mourners were scattered around. He locatedthe heads of the other two Folke Jespersen brothers, and he continued to searchfor Jonny Stokmo, but could not see him. His gaze rested on the coffin and hewas reminded of how the dead man had looked – first displayed in his own shopwindow and then on Professor Schwenke's autopsy table.
Thedoor directly behind him opened and he swivelled round on his chair. It was awoman. She also took a seat in the back row, but on the other side of theaisle. Her chair scraped as she sat down. Gunnarstranda stole furtive glances.She was wearing a thick sheepskin jacket down to the middle of her thighs. Inher lap she was holding one red rose wrapped in transparent plastic. Her hairwas short, blonde, and her hairstyle underlined her young age and chiselledfeatures. Her hair stood up; it was brushed back and looked as though she hadbeen caught in a gale. She was a beauty – a ray of sunshine from a window highup in the wall cut through the room and fell on her, gently setting off thecontours of her face. She swallowed. The policeman realized that she sensed hewas staring at her and he looked down. The priest was talking about how FolkeJespersen enjoyed mountain walks and unsullied nature. Gunnarstranda stifled ayawn. The grandchildren in the front row were fed up with the whole thing andtheir spoilt, angry voices were beginning to become audible as they argued withtheir mother. Susanne's whispered, almost hissed, reprimands carried to theback row. Gunnarstranda became aware of an electric charge in the air andpeered to the left. The woman who had been staring at him looked down at once.
Whenthe priest had finished, Karsten Jespersen got up to speak. He fixed his eyeson a point in the ceiling, clasped his hands behind his back and talked aboutDad in a formal way, free of any pomposity. His chin trembleduncontrollably. He made a lot of his father's famous deeds during the war andhis own pride.
Therewere several speakers. An elderly man with a sharp profile stood to attentionbefore the coffin and paid tribute. When the priest looked to see if anyoneelse wanted to say something, Gunnarstranda decided to withdraw before the end.In a flash he noticed that the young beauty had risen to her feet. She stoodfor a few moments, expectant, then strode up the aisle with a light spring inher step and a red scarf flapping from her shoulder. She laid the rose onReidar Folke Jespersen's coffin, curtseyed and stood still. The official fromthe firm of undertakers gestured for her to move forward to the microphone. Butthe woman took no notice of him.
Shestood in the same place, silent, composed, with her back to the room and withbowed head, as though meditating. After standing in this position for sometime, she spun round and strode back with her eyes firmly fixed ahead of her.
Gunnarstrandaobserved her face. There was something familiar about that chin and those lips.
KarstenJespersen, the widow, Ingrid, and the forceful children's mother turned, all ofthem, and in amazement watched the woman walk out of the chapel. When the heavydoor slammed, they turned round. Gunnarstranda got to his feet and made for thedoor.
Thecold hit his cheeks as soon as he was outside. He was blinded by the light fromthe low sun. With his hand shielding his eyes, he looked for the woman, withoutany success. He put on his gloves and stalked down the steps, annoyed to havelost her. 'You don't have a phone on you by any chance, do you?' asked a voicefrom behind him. Gunnarstranda turned on his heels. 'Why's that?' he answeredin a soft voice.
Shehad been leaning against the wall beside the church door. The muffled sounds ofthe organ and the psalms carried out to them. She took a step forward, andtrembled as she lit a cigarette she was holding between long, white fingers. Afat, black ring graced her left thumb. 'I was thinking of calling a taxi,' sheanswered with a light shiver.
'Whereare you going?'
Shelooked up. 'Have you got a car?'
Thepoliceman nodded.
'Torshov.'
'Fine.Come with me,' Gunnarstranda said, leading the way to the car park.
When,soon afterwards, they were settled in the car, the cold had already managed toform a couple of frost flowers on the front windscreen. Gunnarstranda startedthe engine, put the de-froster on full, rubbed his hands and fumbled in hispockets for a cigarette. The woman sat stiffly beside him in the passengerseat, without saying a word. Gunnarstranda noticed she had thrown away hercigarette. For a brief moment he considered smoking, then decided to put hisroll-up back.
Bythe time the car had reached the intersection between Skoyenveien andSorkedalsveien, the warm air had cleared a half moon in the windscreen andimproved visibility. A tram passed. The red light was slow to change.
InspectorGunnarstranda used the wait to offer his hand. 'Gunnarstranda,' he said.
'Wyller,'she replied, looking with condescension at the hand the Inspector left hangingin the air for few seconds before she took it. 'Haven't you got a Christianname?' he asked.
'Haven'tyou?' She smiled at her own banter without evincing any pleasure from it andstared tight-lipped out of the window.
'I'ma policeman,' Gunnarstranda said as the lights changed to green.
She,to the side window: 'And I'm an actress.'
'Didyou know Folke Jespersen?'
'Pleaseshut up,' she said curtly.
Gunnarstrandasmiled to himself.
Theysat in silence. He bore right at Smestad and joined Ring 3. Not until they hadpassed the toll station by the research stations did she open her mouth: 'Youcan drop me by Ullevål stadium. Anywhere.'
'I'lldrive you home,' Gunnarstranda insisted.
'Why?'
'I'minvestigating the murder of Folke Jespersen.'
Shewent quiet.
'He knewmy father,' she said at length, in a reflective rather than a friendly way.
'Who?'
'Folke.He knew my father.'
'Whois your father?'
'He'sdead.'
Gunnarstrandanodded. 'Where do you live?'
'Hegermannsgate.'
'By thebull fountain?'
'Furtherdown. Towards Marcus Thranes gate, Ring 2…'
Gunnarstrandaslowed down for the lights at Ullevål stadium. He indicated right. The sun wasnow so low in the sky that you could only make out the outline of people in thestreet. The policeman flipped down the sun-shield and leaned back to seebetter.