Gunnarstrandawas rolling himself a cigarette. 'Uhuh,' he said, lighting up with a Zippo. 'Sothe rumours were that your grandfather was working for the Germans?'
Stokmogave a rueful nod.
Gunnarstrandainhaled. He mused: 'He helped people to cross the border and had a dubiousreputation, I can see that. But the animosity between your grandfather andJespersen – where does that stem from?'
Stokmostubbed out his cigarette and leaned back. 'I was talking to my dad a couple ofweeks ago,' he began.
'Yes?'
'Iknew a lot already. But the story about the arrest in Halden is new. Also aboutFolke Jespersen selling the presents he got. You see, my father didn't knowabout that either or about the silver and so on that had been hidden awayduring the war. But he found some old papers not so long ago – amongst themdeals made between my grandfather and Folke Jespersen. The papers tell you howmuch Folke Jespersen owes. According to my dad those debts were never paid. Hethinks Folke Jespersen swindled grandfather out of a stack of money.'
'How?'
'Jespersenagreed to sell things, which he did, but he never settled up with mygrandfather.'
Gunnarstrandanodded. 'I see,' he mumbled.
'I don'tgive a shit by and large, but my dad, Jonny, has really gone to town on thisbusiness. I think it has something to do with the bullying he received when hewas younger, you know, the stories about him being the son of a Nazi spy andall that. It's the personal stuff that frightens me. You see, my dad demandedmoney off Folke Jespersen and the time I'm talking about they were almost ateach other's throats.'
'Fighting?'
'FolkeJespersen's version is that the goods were stolen from the Jews during the war.That is just awful. First of all, it was my grandfather who took FolkeJespersen to Sweden, and the two of them worked together for years afterwards.But once the man was dead Reidar Folke Jespersen claims my grandfather was anasshole. That's what makes my dad think Folke Jespersen was blackmailing hisdad. My grandfather never did anything to force Folke Jespersen to pay up. Popsthinks that Folke Jespersen had a kind of hold over my grandfather – that hethreatened to spread all sorts of shit and lies about Grandad robbing Jewsduring the war and spying for the Germans.'
Gunnarstrandanodded thoughtfully.
'Yourfather must have been furious with Reidar Jespersen,' he concluded. 'What meansmost to your father? What does he want to avenge: lost money or lost honour -or both?'
Stokmoshrugged. 'As I said, I don't give a shit about this business. But I thinkhonour has priority over money here.'
'Soundssensible,' Gunnarstranda said. 'But this story gives your father a motive.'
'Youhave to think logically. Why would my father kill Folke Jespersen? Now theman's dead, my grandfather will never have his name cleared, and Pops won'treceive satisfaction either.'
'Well,your father might have lost control. That sort of thing has happened before.You said yourself that this was personal for your father.'
'Buthe's no kid,' the other objected. 'He would never be crazy enough to do FolkeJespersen any physical harm.'
Gunnarstrandagot to his feet. The kitchen had gone quiet.
'Buthe's under suspicion?' Stokmo asked, standing up as well. The two men went tothe hall. Gunnarstranda put on his coat. 'He'll have to make a statement. Thatmeans he's a witness.' He turned to a mirror on the wall, three square mirrors,one on top of the other. His body was divided into three sections: head andneck, upper torso and trousers. He buttoned up his winter coat and adjusted hishair. 'He'll have to put his trust in the truth and us,' he summed up, andopened the door.
Ashe was driving home ten minutes later, to take a shower and change clothesbefore going to the theatre with Tove Granaas, Frølich rang.
Gunnarstrandaasked the younger man to wait while he pulled into the kerb and parked just infront of Bentse bridge.
'I'vejust been talking to a Dr Lauritsen in the oncological department at Ullevålhospital,' Frølich said.
'Iknow her,' Gunnarstranda said.
'Youknow her?'
'GretheLauritsen dealt with my wife at the time.'
'Oh.'
'Well?'Gunnarstranda said, unruffled. 'Folke Jespersen must have been her patient,too, I suppose.'
'Somethinglike that,' Frølich said. 'At any rate she told Folke Jespersen he had invasivecancer. But the interesting bit is the timing.'
'Ohyes?'
'Fridaythe 13th once again, boss. Folke Jespersen rang Dr Lauritsen at four to hearthe results of the tests. She didn't want to say anything on the phone at firstand asked him to make an appointment. But then he got angry and began to hassleher. His questions were so direct she had to admit the cancer was malignant andaggressive. She made an appointment for him which he never kept.'
'Howaggressive was the cancer?'
'Shegave the old man two months to live, maximum. He found that out half an hourbefore he rang his solicitor and revoked his will.'
Chapter 32
Awoman was standing in front of the post office cashpoint in Egertorget. Frølichjoined the queue and passed the time watching the young man singing and playingguitar in front of the metro subway. He had always wondered how fragileinstruments fared in such freezing temperatures, let alone this guitarist'snails. He was wearing fingerless gloves and walked, shivering, aroundloudspeakers mounted on a shopping trolley while singing to a sparse audience:two sage-like drug addicts and the bouncer from the Tre Brodre bar.
Thewoman by the cashpoint had finished and turned round abruptly. 'Hi,' she saidand gasped with pain as she grabbed her back, dropping her bag in the process.Frølich caught it in mid-air. It was Anna. She stood bent double, laughing andgasping.
'What'sup?' he asked.
'Myback,' she said, panting for breath. 'I've got such a bad pain in my back. Youstartled me. You were a bit close behind me.'
'Oh,'Frølich said. They stood facing each other for a few moments. She was wearing athick, brightly coloured woollen jacket and faded jeans. She wriggled herfingers up the sleeve of her jacket. Frølich instantly became aware of thefreezing cold.
'Thanksfor the list,' he said. That was all that occurred to him.
'List?'she said, puzzled.
'Theitems you recorded in the antiques shop,' he said with an embarrassed smile.
'Oh,not at all,' she said with a grin.
Frølichrealized that the street musician was singing 'The Streets of London'. A nicevoice. From behind Frølich a red-faced man wearing a coat and woollen hat brokein and asked in a brusque manner if he was queueing for the cashpoint.
Frølichlet him through. 'It's cold,' he said to Anna, putting down her plastic bag.There was a bottle inside which would have caused it to topple over. He restedthe bag against his leg. 'Shall we go somewhere and sit down?'
Slowlyand carefully, she craned her neck up to see the Freia clock above the MammaRosa restaurant.
Hecould have bitten off his tongue and tried to smooth over his boldness bysaying: 'Perhaps time is a bit tight?'
Shewent for it. 'In fact, I was on my way to visit someone at hospital – Akerhospital.'
Shedidn't say who she was going to visit, and he couldn't bring himself to ask.'Another time then perhaps?'
'Ithink so,' she said with a light shiver. 'We'll sort something out.'
'When?'
'Abeer after work one day?'
Henodded. The non-specific 'one day' was a little discouraging and non-committal.On the other hand, he didn't have anything any more concrete to suggesthimself.
Theystrolled down Akersgata, past the Aftenposten and Dagbladetnewspaper buildings. He carried her bag. They walked at a slow pace. 'Coughingis the worst,' she said. 'Laughing is fine – for my back.'
They triedto speed up and run the last few metres in order to catch the bus coming roundthe corner from Apotekergata.
'Careful,'he said as they hobbled along.