The Man in the Window (11 page)

    'Of course.'

    It was Tove who broke the silence. 'You are also very direct.'

    'But I'm not sure where you're going.'

    She put down her cup and leaned forward. 'You say you don't want to betray your late wife,' she said. 'Betrayal: that was your word. Are you betraying her by inviting me out?'

    'Of course not.'

    'If your late wife is hanging over us, is there a chance you will betray her the next time we meet?'

    'No, you misunderstand,' he said. 'I mean the years - the time I had with Edel - the years and the things I experienced with her are not something I can easily share with others. You and I…,' He stopped with a wry smile on his face.

    'What's the matter?'

    'Nothing, except that I am well over fifty and that…' He shook his head from side to side.

    'And that I'm also over fifty and we're talking like two teenagers?' Tove suggested.

    He nodded. 'Yes, perhaps that's it.'

    'What about your husband?' asked the Inspector.

    'Do you mean my ex-husband?'

    He nodded.

    'He thinks birdsong is edible, and that he will be happy if he can eat it.'

    'Really?'

    'He's crazy,' she explained.

    They exchanged looks. 'Are you disappointed?' she asked.

    'Am I disappointed?'

    'Yes, you seem disappointed.'

    'I'm not disappointed,' he said. 'But you don't need to paint a negative image of your ex-husband, not for my sake.'

    Tove smiled. 'I'm good friends with Torstein. He is thus far in my life the best friend I have and have had. And I'm the first to complain that he's crazy.'

    'In what way is he crazy?'

    'He's a realist, a mathematician - very talented as well - perhaps a little too talented. What I call crazy - apart from such cracked ideas as eating birdsong - is that he's trying to develop a theory about super-sensory phenomena.'

    'A realist researching super-sensory phenomena?'

    'Yes, by preference, ghosts.' She smiled. 'The thing about ghosts is - they like to hang around cemeteries, don't they? And they show themselves at night. So they're not there during the day. Torstein's theory is based on the notion that when a dead person's
essence
or
soul
leaves the flesh - the body - and becomes a ghost, then ghostly activities tend to take place in cemeteries at night - or ghosts haunt the places where they met their tragic death. What Torstein devotes his mathematical talent to is finding a mathematical formula. He is searching for the points around the cemetery or the haunted zone - and the time-segments during the day - that demarcate ghostly activity. In other words, whatever it is that regulates the energy of the ghosts. Imagine you're a ghost - the idea is you are active within certain limits: this is where I spook, this far and no further; I don't haunt areas outside these limits. Torstein's theory is based on the notion that if ghosts are active in specified areas and at specified times, then it is his task to find these limits. And his aim is to position himself on the boundary and drive the ghost mad, that is, to tease the ghost.'

    She went quiet.

    'You're kidding?'

    'No. Torstein has filled several files with his calculations.'

    Gunnarstranda cleared his throat and ogled his empty beer glass. He didn't know what to say.

    Tove stifled a chuckle. 'Torstein's real aim,' she said, 'which is the basis of his application for a scholarship, is to find energy; he believes there have to be energy fields at these points that delimit ghosts' activity, and this energy is what most occupies his interest. He believes that if he can solve the mystery of this energy, he will be able to solve the parapsychological enigma.'

    She lapsed back into silence. Her eyes were both expectant and brimming with mischief. 'It is only after living with him for fifteen years that you realize he's crazy. The problem is that he appears to be able to think and act normally, but something isn't right - and then you end up with border values for ghosts.'

    Gunnarstranda pulled a face. 'I think I understand you,' he said. 'I think I understand.'

    He waved an arm in the air to attract the waitress's attention. 'Bill,' he said.

    'You're not getting away so easily,' she said.

    He stared at her.

    'Investigation or no investigation - you can make time for the cinema.' She delved into her bag with a hand and pulled out two tickets.

    'I see,' he wavered and then took one of the tickets. 'What's it about?'

    She looked up with a smile: 'Ghosts.'

Chapter 14

The Black Widow

    Frank Frølich rang the bell by Ingrid Jespersen's door at half past eight in the morning. She explained over the intercom that she wasn't up yet. 'I can wait,' Frølich said obligingly.

    'In fact I am up,' she said. 'But I'm only wearing my dressing gown.'

    Frølich bent his knees to be able to speak through the two-way loudspeaker. 'That's fine,' he said. 'I'll wait.'

    'But it's so cold outside,' she said. 'You can wait indoors.'

    'That's kind of you,' Frølich said, an image of Mr Bean flashing through his mind because his knees were splayed and he was talking to the wall.

    'The door's open,' she said and pressed the button to buzz him in.

    She kept Frølich waiting twenty minutes. He found himself a chair in the kitchen and soon confirmed that the lady had the same taste as Eva-Britt as far as fitted kitchens were concerned. The cupboard doors were coordinated and many were made of glass. When Ingrid came out of the bathroom, there was a strong fragrance of perfume. Even though the bags under her eyes were still big and dark, her face seemed less strained today. 'I don't sleep well,' she explained. 'I keep thinking that he died downstairs and I might have been lying awake while he was bleeding to death…' She looked around. 'But we can't sit here.'

    She took him to a living room in a wing of the flat he didn't remember seeing on the previous visit. She cleared away a glass and an empty bottle of wine from the round table. 'I haven't turned to drink,' she assured him. 'But I get so twitchy in the evening. The flat's so big.'

    He nodded.

    'I look in all the cupboards and check under all the beds before I go to bed. I lock all the rooms which have keys. I'm afraid someone might be there.'

    He nodded again.

    'I daren't take sleeping pills because I'm afraid I won't wake up if…'

    Frølich waited for her to continue.

    She sent him an apologetic smile and nervously stroked the back of her hand with two fingers.

    'If… what?'

    She shuddered. 'If someone came.'

    'Who?' he asked.

    'Mm?'

    'Who would come?'

    She stared stiffly in front of her.

    He waited.

    'I'm considering moving into a hotel,' she said at length.

    Frølich still said nothing.

    'And I get such a guilty conscience, I mean… being frightened for myself when Reidar is the one who is dead. Do you understand?'

    Frank Frølich nodded.

    She leaned towards him and looked into his eyes. 'I don't know if he was attacked or…'

    Frølich held eye-contact and waited for her to go on.

    'I don't know if I'm in danger, do I?'

    'Why would you be in any danger?'

    She shivered. She glared at him. 'It was a break-in, wasn't it?'

    Frølich said nothing.

    'I want to know if I'm in danger!' she snarled.

    'Are you frightened of being attacked here at home?'

    'Should I be?' she retorted. 'Can you tell me?'

    Frank Frølich cleared his throat and considered his words. 'We have no reason to suspect that anyone in your husband's circle is in any danger,' he said. 'If, on the other hand, you feel threatened…'

    'But I don't know anything!' she interrupted. 'You're not telling me anything!'

    'Do you feel threatened?' he repeated.

    She lowered her eyes, silent.

    He sat watching her. Black suited her. Furthermore there was a patch of transparent, patterned material at the front of her dress. The white skin underneath the black made her look incredibly sexy. Her figure was lithe, graceful. She reminded him of something. She had the same effortless control of her limbs that cats have, he thought, and tried not to reveal this sudden interest in her feminine charms. But at once he was clear that she had not noticed anything; she was in another world, immersed in thought. She broke loose with a shudder and folded her arms in front of her chest - as though remembering in a flash that he was present.

    'Originally you were a professional dancer, weren't you?' he asked.

    She didn't seem to hear. 'I think I'm going to move,' she said in a distant voice. 'Yes indeed, I will move.'

    Frølich tried for a couple of seconds to put himself in her position. He wondered if he should repeat what he had said and tell her that there was no reason to feel threatened. 'Do you know if your husband had any reason to feel threatened?' he asked.

    'No,' she said.

    'Do you wish us to adopt any special measures, to give you protection?'

    She stared at him.

    'If that would reassure you…'

    'Do you think I'm being ridiculous?'

    'Not at all. It's an offer. We're happy to discuss measures that might improve your situation.'

    'No,' she said. 'I don't need any protection.'

    Frølich observed her for a moment before repeating: 'Originally you were a professional dancer, weren't you?'

    'Oh, that's many years ago,' she said wearily. 'But as a matter of fact you're right. I used to dance ballet. Then I taught for a few years, working as a dancing teacher, not far from here. I had a little room in Frognerveien. There's a restaurant there now, and a coffee bar. I often have my lunch there, from time to time anyway. It's nice to sit there, you know. Nice to think about how things change over time, isn't it? It's been a supermarket too, if you can remember the chain of shops called IRMA. They took the place over from me. But, as I said, that came to an end, the dance school that is. I got fed up and with my lack of economic sense it could only go one way.'

    'And you've never been involved in the antiques business?'

    'Not at all.' She half-smiled. 'I'm an old-fashioned housewife. Boring.'

    'Don't say that,' Frølich said and caught himself thinking how to make a move on her. A seam in her stockings led his attentions upwards. Her dress was tight on her supple hips. He coughed and pulled himself together: 'What made your husband so interested in antiques?'

    'He's always been interested', she said, 'in a sense of form, aesthetics - at least that was what brought us together. My sister was working for local government in the seventies. She had a job as a secretary in Oslo Auctions, down in Brugata, you know, where fine ladies can pawn wedding rings if they have a burning need for a dram…' She opened her palms. 'Unbelievably, that was how we met.'

    'Pawning something?'

    'No. Through my sister. Reidar bought up the pawned goods that had not been redeemed. You know, if you pawn something, it has to be redeemed within a certain time. If it isn't, it is sold off at the auction. Reidar bought clocks and old jewellery and violins and I don't know what. My sister and I were invited to a party there once; that is, she was invited, but Ragnhild, my sister, got the heebie-jeebies. She was nervous because Reidar was a widower and so much older. I went as a chaperone and because I was kind of interested in design and so on, well, one thing led to another.'

    Frølich grabbed at the chance and bent down to pick up his notepad. The widow seemed to be keen to answer questions now. 'So antiques brought you together?'

    'I usually say form, or design. A word like
antiques
seems so dusty. By the way, you should know that for Reidar antiques were all about good taste.'

    Frølich nodded and chewed the top of his biro before saying: 'He didn't dabble in the second-hand market, as some people call it?'

    'You should be glad that Reidar didn't hear you using the word,' she said in a careworn tone. 'Second-hand - he hated the word. No, the objects we surround ourselves with signal who we are,' she explained in a matter- of-fact way.

    Fr0lich nodded again.

    'That's the problem with us Norwegians,' she continued with sudden passion. 'We don't understand the significance of being surrounded by beauty. Look at our churches. They are so boring. Yes, I know it is all tied up with the Reformation and Protestantism and the idea that gold and glitter are said to detract from the message. That's right, isn't it? But I believe… that if we had had cathedrals in this country, I'm sure we would have had a healthier relationship with religion. The things you like, the things you surround yourself with, say something about the person,' she added.

    Frølich coughed politely and circled his pen in the air to excuse his lack of interest in cathedrals and to get to the point. 'You ate here - on the evening before the murder,' he said cautiously.

    Ingrid nodded, but didn't say anything.

    'Karsten and Susanne - plus grandchildren - ate with you two?'

    'You think I'm skirting the issue,' Ingrid answered. 'But in order to understand my husband you have to understand his feeling for form.'

    Frølich took a deep breath. 'It's also very important for us to know what happened on the days leading up to his death. Can you give me your version of events on Friday?'

    'Reidar got up early,' she began and faltered.

    'What time?' Frølich said to move her on.

    It startled her. 'At about half past seven, I think. He went to work before I got up. After that I didn't hear or see anything of him until seven or half past in the evening - when he came home and dinner was waiting.'

    'And you were at home the whole time?'

    'No, I must have got back here at about two or half past. I went shopping.'

    'Shopping?'

    She nodded and repeated: 'Shopping.'

    Frølich watched her, but she showed no signs of wanting to expand. He met her eyes: 'Just a general shopping trip - you weren't looking for anything in particular?'

    She stared back. 'Of course, but is that of any interest?'

    He shrugged.

    'I went to GlasMagasinet amongst other places.' She fell quiet and did not appear to want to enlarge on her trip. He said: 'When did you go shopping?'

    'At about half past eleven in the morning.'

    'And what did you do before - until half past eleven?'

    'I had a shower, read the paper… and at ten, maybe five minutes past, I went down to see Karsten in the shop. He opens the shop at ten, you see, and we usually have a cup of coffee together in the morning.'

    'You and Karsten Jespersen?'

    'Yes, if there are not many customers. There were none around, so we chatted over a cup of coffee.' She pursed her lips as though reflecting. 'For three quarters of an hour perhaps. He had Benjamin with him. The kindergarten had a planning day, I think. Benjamin flitted around, doing drawings. I came back upstairs, put on warmer clothes to go out and left at some time between eleven and half past…'

    Frølich wondered if he should ask what she and the dead man's son talked about, but he decided against it. Instead he asked:

    'Did you find anything?'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Did you find anything when you were out shopping?'

    'Oh yes.'

    Frølich waited for her to go on. He waited in vain.

    'And during the day,' he asked, 'did you hear from your husband at all?'

    'Yes, he rang,' she said.

    'Here?'

    'Hm?'

    'Did he ring here?'

    'Of course,' she snapped. 'Where else?' 'Well.. Frølich stared at her. 'He could have called you while you were out shopping,' he suggested. 'On your mobile.'

    'He rang me here.'

    'When?' Frølich asked.

    'In the afternoon, around three. As a rule he comes home at about four. And Karsten and Susanne were coming here that day. But he called a bit before three and said he would be late. He said he would be home at about seven.'

    'Did he say why?'

    'No.'

    'Was that strange?'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Well, was it unusual for him to be late or did he never tell you why he had been held up?'

    'No, I knew it was something to do with business. He might have been talking to his brothers - Arvid and Emmanuel. Arvid lives in Uranienborg and Emmanuel lives a long way out, in Bserum.' She sighed. 'I'm dreading talking to Arvid and Emmanuel. I know they have rung, but I can't bring myself to answer the phone.'

    'But do you remember exactly when Reidar returned home?'

    'At a quarter past seven. I checked the time. You know Jonny Stokmo was here at ten past? Perhaps you don't know who he is? Well, Jonny is a man who works with Reidar, and he didn't want to come inside and wait, but as dinner was ready and we were waiting I kept looking out of the window for Reidar, and I saw Jonny waiting for Reidar too. That did worry me a bit. I mean it was so cold, almost minus twenty.'