'Skal,'Tove said.
Gunnarstrandatook a sip. 'What about if all the elements are involved here: law, guilt,public humiliation, God's image.'
'Patricide,'Tove said.
Gunnarstrandalooked up. She was holding the bottle between thumb and first finger anddangling it in the air. 'Empty,' she said.
'Whatdid you say?' he asked.
'Empty,'she said.
'Beforethat.'
'You'renot that drunk.'
Hegrinned. 'Find yourself another bottle.'
'Excellent,'she said, bending down to take another bottle from the travel chest. 'What wasI saying?'
'Youmentioned the word patricide. But what would motivate Karsten Jespersento bump his father off?'
'Revenge,'Tove said, opening a new bottle. She raised it and studied the label.'Glenlivet. That's sure to be expensive, and good.'
'Whatsort of revenge?'
'You'rethe policeman.'
Gunnarstrandadrained his glass and rubbed his face in his hands.
Tovefell back onto the sofa. She kicked off her shoes and placed a slim, nylon-cladleg on the table. 'My God, I'm glad you've finished with that Bible stuff,' shesighed and sat watching him with a grin on her face. 'You live here, so Isuppose it's best to ask.' She put the bottle and the glass on the table andstarted rummaging through her bag. 'Do you mind if I smoke?'
Chapter 34
Thatnight Frank Frølich dreamed about Linn although it had to be at least fifteen yearssince he had last seen her. In the dream they were in her chalet. Outside thewindow twittering birds were frenetically busy. He was lying on his side in bedand could feel the sun warming his feet. A sweet smell of summer wafted inthrough the half-open window. Linn had rolled over. He lay admiring her tautstomach muscles. The sun cast a clearly defined shadow from the crosspieces inthe window across the bed. Her hair cascaded over the pillow. A tendril from anivy plant stretched down towards the floor and touched a pile of underclothes.And then he was no longer in the chalet, he was in a spinney and it was autumn.The air was keen. They had a view of a small lake and the beech leaves on thefar side had turned yellow with an orange glow; the reflection in the darkwater was so detailed that the reflected image seemed sharper than reality. Nowit wasn't Linn he was with, but Eva-Britt. She stole a glance at him with alock of hair in her mouth as she threw an armful of birch leaves at him. They weredry. Instead of falling to the ground they were picked up by a gust of wind androse in the air; they became smaller and smaller until they were fine specks inthe sky and disappeared. He turned away from her and saw a bookshelf. Hecouldn't read the titles on the spines. The shelf was too far away. Instead hecaught sight of a picture of a motor cycle on the door, a Harley- Davidson FatBoy ridden by a dark-haired woman with bare breasts and long legs in tightjeans. It was Anna. He woke up and found himself lying in his own bed. No Linn,no Eva-Britt. Just a pile of his clothes lying on the floor. On the cupboarddoor hung the old poster of the Harley-Davidson Fat Boy – without Anna.
Inthe end he swung a leg down onto the floor and sat looking at his sorry figurein the mirror. Thank God no one nags me in the morning.
Anhour later he opened the front door and left. It had turned milder, around zerodegrees, and it had snowed in the night. The snow ploughs had packed all theparked cars into a cloak of wet snow. The rhythmic stroke of a spade at worktold him that a determined office worker was set on using his car to go to theoffice. But when the engine started, the tone was muffled. The air was likewool. Sounds had to drag themselves through the deadening layer of thickfalling snow. Frank wished it were summer and that he could wake up one morningwith the sun warming his feet.
Onarriving at the bar in the Hotel Continental, he found himself a seat on one ofthe leather sofas at the back of the room. By and large the customers in thebar were men who worked in industry and took off Hugo Boss overcoats. However,ferociously made-up, fur- coated mothers also frequented the place, draggingalong ungainly teenage daughters sporting large breasts, sulky lower lips andwell-rehearsed doe-eyed glances aimed at the most affluent-looking men. Frankordered coffee. It was served in a pot. Soon afterwards a man in a red jacketbounced into the hotel foyer. One of the women behind the counter pointed toFrank Frølich, who stood up and shook hands. Hermann Kirkenær had short, curlyhair that was beginning to thin on top. He was unshaven and had a ring in hisleft ear. Once seated, he was served a glass of Coke by the woman who hadpointed out the policeman.
Kirkenærsaid that he and his wife lived in Tønsberg, but they stayed at the Continentalwhen they had business in town, like today, when they had three viewings.
'You'regoing to move to Oslo, I believe?'
'Yes,'Kirkenær said, looking over Frølich's shoulder. A tall woman with long hair andwatchful eyes stood waiting beside the policeman.
'Iselin,'Kirkenær said. 'Meet Frank Frølich.'
Herhand was dry and warm; she had long fingers. She was wearing a short jacket anda skirt which covered her knees.
Shetook a seat on the sofa beside Kirkenær. Her broad mouth was marred by a nastysore on her lower lip. Frølich lowered his eyes when she transfixed him with adeep stare.
'InspectorFrølich is investigating Reidar Folke Jespersen's murder,' Kirkenær explained.
'Itwas so brutal,' Iselin Varås said with sympathy.
'Iselin'sreactions are always open-hearted,' Kirkenær said, his sarcasm barelyconcealed, before going on to address the woman with intonation that laysomewhere in the jarring range between spiteful and arrogant: 'It is a verysweet characteristic, but what the police want to know in fact is whether wehad any contact with Reidar before Arvid's meeting on Friday the 13th.'
IselinVarås was holding a stick of lip salve in her hand. She pressed it cautiouslyagainst her cold sore.
'Wemust have exchanged a few words,' she said. 'You had met Reidar, hadn't you? Ihadn't seen him before.'
'Thething was we communicate with Arvid – his brother,' Kirkenær said. 'We wrote tomany – I mean several shops. At first we addressed ourselves to Reidar, but itwas Arvid – the brother – who contacted us, who reacted to the letter, if I canput it like that.'
Ifthe letter went to Reidar, the brothers must have talked about it, Frølichconcluded, and leaned back as the waitress came to the table with a bottle ofFerris mineral water and leisurely poured it into Iselin's glass. Iselinwatched the water foam in the glass and said: 'Reidar is the official owner.'When the waitress had gone, she raised her glass to toast with Frølich. Heinclined his coffee cup out of politeness.
'Infact, they've been very positive, all three of them. Arvid even said he wasvery happy we had approached them,' she said and put down the glass. She tookhold of her hair with both hands and swiftly formed a thick ponytail which sheheld in place with an elastic band.
'Theyhaven't said no yet,' Kirkenær continued. 'And of course one can…'
'Hermann,'she interrupted with a maternal tone.
'What?'
'Theman's dead, Hermann,' she said, glaring reprovingly at him. Then she dabbed thelip-salve on her sore again.
Theman didn't like being brushed aside like this.
Shewent on, undaunted: 'We'll leave it up to them to re-establish contact. It'snews to us that Reidar Folke Jespersen was against the sale. We thought allthree of them were agreed, but with the situation being as it is…'
'All thatwas missing was the signatures on the contract,' Kirkenær interrupted, sendingher a furious look.
'Whenyou met the brothers, you didn't pick up a hint of discord between them?'
Bothshook their heads.
'I'mpositive about that,' she emphasized, rolling the lip-salve between herfingers. 'And I'm certain he didn't say anything while we were there.' Shesmiled and shared a look with her husband, perhaps a mutual experience ofsomething amusing. 'Arvid may well have said something.'