Gunnarstrandasighed. 'If Ingrid's the Trojan horse and lets in the murderer, why does shetell us the story about the snow on the floor? If she let him in, why didn'tshe keep her mouth shut about the puddles? After all, the puddles mean someonewas in the house!'
'Butwhat if she woke up panic-stricken and phoned Karsten, only to receive asurprise visit from the murderer afterwards…'
'Thenshe's not a Trojan horse any more,' Gunnarstranda countered.
'No,but if that's how it was, then she invents the story about the snow on thefloor as a red herring! The snow is meant to suggest that somebody had beeninside the house before she woke up, while the truth was that a guestcame after she had made the call.'
'Ofcourse that's possible…'
'Strømstedmay even have killed the old man without her knowing,' Frølich suggested,getting excited. 'Strømsted kills Reidar. Then he takes the keys from the body,goes up to the first floor, lets himself in, meets her, tells her what he hasdone and…'
'Twoarguments in contra,' Gunnarstranda cut in.
Frølichwas breathing hard.
'Firstof all, Strømsted immediately told you about the call from Reidar whichinterrupted the love-in he was having with Ingrid. He needn't have done that.In other words he was serving up a motive on a silver platter. That may suggesthe has nothing to hide. Secondly…' Gunnarstranda paused.
Frølichsat and observed him.
'There'sstill the problem of the shop window and the scribble on the man's body.'
'Whoeverkilled Reidar, that aspect of the case is going to be a problem,' Frølich said,dismissing the objection with some irritation.
'Fairenough,' Gunnarstranda assented. 'But deep down I know I believe one thing:there was a logic to what someone did with the body! In addition, it seems asif the relationship between Ingrid Jespersen and Strømsted the dance teacher isnot straightforward. He's cohabiting with another homosexual man. IngridJespersen didn't seem to "know" anything about this gayrelationship.' Gunnarstranda formed the quotation marks with his forefingers.'You should have seen the way she flounced out of the café. It was worthy of anOscar. Fittingly enough, she took a nose-dive right in front of me.'
'Shedoesn't seem the kind to fall flat on her face.'
'Perhapsnot, but I'm not sure I believe that she didn't know about Strømsted'sorientation. I've never met a woman who hasn't intuited a gay man. Think aboutit: Ingrid Jespersen has been humping this man once a week for years, in hispartner's flat! It's very unlikely that she didn't know he was gay.'
'He'sbi, not gay.'
'Yttergjerdesaid he waggled his bum like Olympic long distance-walkers!'
Frølichraised both eyebrows. 'You don't say,' he mumbled. 'I can't tell gays andheteros apart. Especially not when they're walkers. I would never have guessedStrømsted was bisexual.'
'Youaren't a woman!'
'Areyou?'
'Well…'
Frølichgrinned.
Gunnarstrandachanged the subject. 'That's enough of that, but she must have known. Ingridmay be behind the murder, but for the time being I think it would be unwise toput all our eggs in that basket. Bearing in mind that Strømsted lives with aman, I think it very unlikely that he would kill for her sake.'
'Sothat's it?'
'Itis, as always, about finding out who did what when,' Gunnarstranda saidwearily. He flicked the sheets of paper in his hand with a finger: 'We have totalk to his partner and find out whether he can substantiate the alibi. Butfirst we'll have to see whether the widow will sign this statement or whethershe'll show up at all.' He turned and selected another document. 'This is thereport on the forensic examination of the office in Bertrand Narvesens vei.There are fingerprints on both of the sherry glasses I found. Reidar drank fromone of them. Someone else drank from the other.'
'Who,do you think?
Gunnarstrandagrinned. 'We don't have any records on whoever it was. I have a feeling a womanvisited him. And it wasn't his wife.'
Chapter 29
Gunnarstrandatook the route through the city centre. He stood watching the children skatingon the ice rink around the fountain in Spikersuppa to disco music. Thefloodlighting cast a sharp, white light and converted the scene into a settingfor a film production; the spray of snow the skates sent up looked like icingsugar. Two blonde women in their twenties floundered on the ice, doing precariouspirouettes and giggling to each other, excited by being in the spotlight.
Gunnarstrandacontinued along Lille Grensen, turned into Akersgata and ambled through theParliament area and on to Cafe Justisen where he drank a leisurely cup ofcoffee, read two tabloid newspapers and listened to words of wisdom fromregular customers. A freshly groomed tramp dressed in Salvation Army clothessat down at a window table with a grunt. The waitress, who was very attractive,Served beer, potatoes and a fried egg. 'Have you washed your hands, Roger?' sheasked in a firm voice, like a mother. 'I'm as clean as a Pentecostalist inPhiladelphia,' Roger sighed, and wolfed down the food and beer.
Gunnarstrandathought about the reply as the café door slammed shut behind him. Outside, ithad grown dark as he strolled down to Storgata to catch the tram to pay a visitto Gro Hege Wyller.
Shehesitated when he introduced himself through the intercom. But in the end thefront-door lock buzzed. On the way up he inadvertently kicked a metal railingalongside the steps and it emitted a hollow ring.
Shedidn't seem surprised to see him. 'Thought you would be back,' she said,holding the door open.
Gunnarstrandawalked past her and into a one-room flat which bore all the hallmarks of ayoung woman with economic restraints starting out: a once-spacious flat dividedand portioned up into smaller units. The part that Gro Hege Wyller occupied hadperhaps been a servant girl's room before or the pantry. The bedsit was just shyof thirty square metres and the ceiling was high. A short mezzanine floor hadbeen built over the sitting room section – a sofa and an armchair over whichshe had thrown some large, purple cloths. The floor functioned as a bed.Cushions and corners of a sheet were visible up there. Three pairs of knickersand black tights were drying on the radiator beneath the window.
Shestood by the door sizing him up. Her jeans were worn and skin-tight. They hungperilously low from her hips and revealed a deep navel decorated with a silverpearl.
PoliceInspector Gunnarstranda sat down in the armchair without any ceremony. On thetable there was a portable 10-inch TV with the aerial extended. 'When was thelast time you saw Reidar Folke Jespersen?' he asked gently.
'Theday before he died,' she replied.
'Thursdayor Friday?'
'Friday13th January.'
Theyexchanged looks. She held his stare, which made Gunnarstranda decide not to commenton the change to her previous statement, which this answer represented. 'Whatwas the purpose of your meeting?'
'Work.'
'Hadyou worked for him before?'
'Yes.'
'Officework?'
'No.'
Gunnarstrandawaited.
'A monthlyassignment. As a rule we had a fixed time,' she went on and slid down onto thesofa under the low mezzanine floor. In Ensjo – Bertrand Narvesens vei.'
Hegedrew a foot up beneath her on the sofa.
'Youboth drank sherry,' Gunnarstranda stated.
'Yes,I drank sherry and listened to Schubert.'
'Andthat was work?'
'Twothousand kroners' worth. An hour's gig.' She made an exaggerated flourish withher hand and rolled her eyes. Then added: 'As you can see, I needed the money.'