'Howdid they come across each other?'
'Who?'
'Jespersenand your father?'
'Theywere friends.'
Gunnarstrandanodded. 'What's your Christian name?'
'I havetwo.'
'Me,too,' said the policeman.
'Whichone do you want?'
'Both.'
'Imean which of my two Christian names do you want?'
'Theone you like best.'
Hehad to brake again. She grabbed the dashboard and smiled as she said it: 'Hege.'
Gunnarstrandatasted the name: 'Hege Wyller,' he muttered. 'And your father?'
'HaraldWyller.'
Gunnarstrandashot her a sceptical glance. There was no time for more than a glance – he wasdoing 80 kilometres an hour.
Shestared ahead, smiling, as though she had thought of something amusing.
'Andyou're an actress?'
Shenodded.
Theydrove on in silence. As they approached Hegermanns gate, Gunnarstranda askedagain: 'How well did you know Folke Jespersen?'
'I didn'tknow him.'
'Butyou placed a rose on his coffin.'
'Don'tyou think he deserved it?'
Gunnarstrandadidn't answer.
'There,'she said, pointing. 'In front of the drive, behind the red Toyota.'
Gunnarstrandaslowed down. She immediately put her hand on the door handle.
'Whenwas the last time you saw Folke Jespersen alive?' Gunnarstranda wanted to know.
Shestiffened for an instant, but opened the door a little anyway.
'When?'the policeman repeated.
'Idon't remember.'
'Wasit a long time ago?'
'Yes.'
Sheopened the door wide and got out. Gunnarstranda also moved to get out. 'Bye,'she said and slammed the door. Gunnarstranda stood up; he had one foot on theground, the other on the sill. He followed her with his eyes. She headed forthe front door in the brick façade. As she unlocked the door she threw a lastlook at the policeman. They observed each other for two brief seconds beforeshe disappeared inside.
Gunnarstrandaleft the car and walked slowly to the same door. Next to one of the bells hefound her name engraved in white on a small, black nameplate: GROHEGE WYLLER.
Chapter 26
'One,two, cha-cha-cha, one, two, cha-cha-cha!' There were just two people practisingin the room which smelt strongly of stale gymnasium. The man pirouetting in theroom had his back arched like a bullfighter's. He was wearing a short, baggywoollen sweater over a yellow leotard. He was medium height with longish, curlyhair and a very athletic build. He was twirling round a young girl of maybeseventeen or eighteen who was trying to follow his movements. The music comingout of the speakers of a stereo-rack on the floor was easily drowned by theman's screaming voice. 'One, two, cha-cha-cha!' The man stamped his feet hardon the floor. 'Oh, come on!' he screamed, theatrically tossing his head andcreating a swirl of glamorous locks around his head. 'Don't be so sluggish andslow! Pick up your feet!' The girl was wearing a gym outfit and legwarmers. Herblonde hair, which she had tied up in a ponytail, was beginning to come awayfrom the elastic band. The man let go of her and demonstrated the dance stepsonce again. He studied his body in the mirror. The man's thigh and buttockmuscles stood out through the leotard. For a brief second he exchanged glanceswith Frank Frølich, who was checking his wristwatch. He had been sitting on abench in the large hall for twenty minutes. The young girl seemed so exhaustednow that he guessed the lesson would soon be over.
Fiveminutes later the two men were alone in the hall.
'EyolfStrømsted?' Frølich asked, reaching out his hand. 'This is about IngridJespersen,' he said after introducing himself.
'MyGod, what a situation,' Strømsted said, wiping the sweat from his face.
'Wehave reason to believe that you're on very good terms with Ingrid Jespersen,'Frølich said.
'That'sone way of putting it,' parried Strømsted with a fixed frontal gaze.
'I'mpart of a team investigating the murder of her husband,' Frølich said andnothing more.
Strømstedheld his rigid stare.
Frølichtook his time. He was looking for the right words.
'Weknow you and Ingrid Jespersen are on very intimate terms.'
'Andwhose claim is that?' Strømsted said in a measured voice. 'Is it hers?'
'Infact we have seen you together.' Frølich stood up and rummaged in his bag. 'Ihave a few photos which would support what I'm saying, but…' He abandoned thesearch. 'I don't seem to have them with me, but you and the widow have beenseen in somewhat intimate circumstances in a parked car the night after ReidarFolke Jespersen was found dead.'
Strømstedwas breathing hard.
'Whendid you last meet her?' Frølich asked gently.
'OnSunday. We drove to the car park outside the Munch museum.'
'Andbefore that?'
'The Friday…13th January.'
Frølichtook notes and peered up. 'Could you tell me what happened that Friday?'
'Shedropped by to see me between half past eleven and twelve – in the morning. Halfan hour later we went to bed. We had a cup of tea and chatted for a bit first.That's what we always do – every Friday.'
Frølichlooked up when the other man paused.
Strømstedhad a steely expression on his face. 'Perhaps half an hour later her husbandrang. He rang while we were fucking. How great is that!' the man grinned.
'Whatdid you say?'
'Whilewe were fucking.'
Frølichsent the man with the curls a stern look. The forehead under the curls wassweaty.
'Andwho rang?'
'Herold man. The murder victim. Reidar Folke Jespersen.'
'Whatdid he want?'
'Totalk to his wife.'
'Anddid he?'
'Yesindeed.'
Strømstedwas still staring ahead. Into the mirror on the opposite wall. They exchangedlooks in the mirror.
'Hasthis relationship been going on for a long time?'
'Muchtoo long!'
'Whatdo you mean by that?'
Strømstedran his fingers through his curly locks. 'I suppose it means I think thissituation is quite dreadful.'
'Whichsituation?'
'Tohave to stand here answering your embarrassing questions when a pupil can comein the door at any moment.'
'Howlong has this relationship been going on?'
'Aboutthree years.'
'Haveyou ever met Folke Jespersen?' Frølich enquired.
'Once.Many years ago when I was dancing with Ingrid.'
'Haveyou seen him since?'
'Never.'Strømsted wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and pulled at the frontof his sweater. He wafted it to let air in. 'What's the time?' he asked.
'Fivepast,' Frølich said.
'Anotherpupil will be here any minute.'
'That'sfine. Did you meet Folke Jespersen that Friday?'
Strømstedblenched. 'Meet her husband? No.' He dried his face with the towel again. As hetook it away, he grinned. His upper lip abutted a wide row of impeccable teeth.It was a winning, though also a much practised, smile. Frølich was clear thatthis man could easily make women go weak at the knees.
'Howlong was Ingrid with you?'
'Untiljust after three.'
'Whatdid you do after his call?'
Strømstedgrinned. 'What do you think?'
'Justanswer the question.' 'We carried on.' Strømsted sent him a provocative glower.'She was sucking me off,' he said with a fixed smile.
'Didyou talk about the phone call?'
'Itwasn't so easy for her to talk at that point.'
Frølich,remaining patient, took a deep breath.
Strømstedstared ahead, thoughtful, open-mouthed.
'Hmm,I'm sorry. This situation isn't exactly easy. What we talked about? What wetalked about was her husband. For the most part we talked about how much heknew, how long he had known and what the consequences would be.'
'Whatdo you mean by that?'
'Bywhat?'
'Whatthe consequences would be? Of his phone call?'