The Man in the Window (12 page)

    'The two of them worked together?'

    'Jonny is Jonny,' Ingrid smiled. 'Jonny is… well, you were interested in how Reidar started in antiques. I think Reidar and Jonny's father set out together, a long time ago.'

    She nodded as she read the expression on Frølich's face. 'Jonny's father worked with Reidar, but that was before I met him. I've never met Jonny's father - he died before Reidar and I got married.'

    Frølich finished making his notes before looking up at the widow in the chair. 'And what did Stokmo want when he came round here?'

    'No idea. I asked him in, but I think he felt there were too many people here, with Karsten and Susanne and the young children. At any rate, he said he didn't have time. Yet he waited outside in the street.'

    'And when your husband came?'

    'I suppose they talked.'

    Frølich nodded.

    'What was the relationship between your husband and Jonny Stokmo?' he asked at length.

    'Umm…' Ingrid deliberated, but ended up shrugging her shoulders.

    'I ask because I've heard that Jonny Stokmo was sacked,' Frølich said, looking her straight in the eye, and added, 'on your husband's say-so.'

    Ingrid knitted her brows in astonishment. 'Given the boot? Are you sure? No…' She shook her head. 'I find that difficult to believe. But why would Reidar keep that from me - I mean, if there was some disagreement between them?'

    Frølich shrugged: 'I couldn't say.' He looked at his notes and went on. 'So, Reidar arrived back just before half past seven, and what happened then?'

    'We ate.'

    'What did you eat?'

    'Reindeer steak.'

    'What was the atmosphere like around the table?'

    'What do you mean by atmosphere?'

    'Well, was it as usual, open or strained?'

    Ingrid paused for a couple of seconds. 'Just as usual,' she concluded. 'Most of the attention was focused on Reidar's grandchildren, of course. It was a typical family meal.'

    'Was Jonny Stokmo's name mentioned?'

    She pondered. 'No, I don't think it was, that is… I mentioned to Reidar that he had been here, that was all. But that was before we started eating.'

    'Anything business-related mentioned?'

    'Karsten and Reidar had their usual chat, but that was after the meal. They talked together on their own.'

    'On their own?'

    'Yes, Susanne helped me to clear the table and put things in the dishwasher. The children floated around - and the two men sat on their own with a cognac. I suppose they were talking about money or politics, that's what they usually do.'

    'But the atmosphere was very relaxed, or…'

    She gave a pensive nod. 'There was one phone call, there may have been more, but Reidar answered it. He seemed very angry.' 'Did you hear what was said?'

    She shook her head slowly.

    'When was that?'

    'At about half past ten, I think. Karsten and Susanne were on the point of leaving, yes, it must have been half past ten. The little one was asleep. Benjamin was grumpy, beyond himself. He usually goes to bed at nine.'

    'They left at half past ten?'

    Ingrid nodded. 'Perhaps closer to eleven. I didn't look at my watch, but I sat around in the living room and relaxed before the late-night news. I watched the news at eleven.'

    'And Reidar?'

    'He may have been on the phone, I don't know.'

    'You don't know what he was doing?'

    'No.'

    'Had he gone down to the shop?'

    'No, he was sitting and reading or doing something else. I went to the bathroom after the news and I heard him moving about. And afterwards I went to bed and we talked for a bit.'

    'Did he normally go to bed after you?'

    'No, in fact he didn't, and that was what we were talking about… I asked him if he was coming to bed.' She went quiet.

    Frølich waited. She was clearly finding it more difficult to speak. A sudden, shrill electronic sound cut through the silence. It was his mobile phone. He sent the woman in the chair an apologetic smile and searched for his phone. Ingrid dried the corner of her eye with a finger. Frølich checked the display. It was a text message from Eva-Britt:
Could you pick up some nice fish on the way home?
He could feel his irritation mounting. The word:
home.
He switched off the phone and put it in his jacket pocket. As soon as he had done that, Ingrid stood up. 'Excuse me,' she said, disappearing through the door. Frølich could hear her tearing paper off a roll. He heard her blowing her nose. Soon afterwards she returned with a handful of white tissues. She sat down with a strained smile. The rims of her eyes were red and moist. 'He said he wanted to sit up reading,' she said, fighting to hold back the tears. A teardrop found its way to the tip of her nose. She wiped it away.

    'And you went to sleep?'

    She nodded. 'I took a sleeping pill, an Apodorm.'

    'Why was that?'

    'I couldn't settle. I took a pill to get off.'

    'But you woke up later in the night?'

    Ingrid was staring into space.

    'You woke up?' Frølich repeated.

    'It seems like a dream sometimes,' she said, wiping her nose again. 'Now it seems like a dream.'

    'What seems like a dream?'

    'That I woke up.'

    'You rang Karsten Jespersen at half past two that night,' Frølich said patiently.

    'I thought someone was in the room.'

    Frølich raised both eyebrows.

    'The floor was wet, you see.'

    'Wet?'

    'Yes, wet patches from melted snow, like when someone has come in without removing their shoes and left snow behind them. I saw it, too: the remains of the snow, the zigzag pattern, the rough pattern of a shoe sole.'

    Frølich stared at her. The silence endured. The middle- aged woman sat stiffly staring in front of her. She seemed to be studying a point on the floor. Most probably she was contemplating something within her. She wiped tears from her nose again. 'I was petrified,' she said. 'I've never been so frightened in my life. I was sure someone was standing there, watching me in the dark. I didn't dare move a muscle.'

    The silence enveloped them again.

    Frølich's attention was focused on his own winter boots. The snow that tended to attach itself to the laces had melted now, and at the extreme tip of one lace a drop of water had collected but refused to let go and fall onto the floor.

    'Was anyone there?' he asked brightly.

    She shook her head.

    'Why do you think it was wet?'

    'Reidar…' she began, but stopped to fight back the tears.

    'Had Reidar been watching you sleep?' Frølich asked.

    'It sounds so awful when you say it… but it couldn't have been anyone else,' she said. 'There wasn't a sound.'

    'And you're sure there was snow and water on the floor? It wasn't something you had been dreaming?'

    'I didn't dream I wiped it up.'

    'You wiped it up? When?'

    'When I got up.'

    'And when was that?'

    'It must have been just after half two.' She blew her nose on the paper towel. 'I was so tired that night, and I may be mixing things up because of the sleeping pill. But I was out of my mind with fear and couldn't get back to sleep. I had to know if there was someone in the room, so in the end I switched on the light…'

    'I see.'

    'Yes, I'd been lying there for a while - and when the light came on, it didn't seem so bad.'

    'Which light was that?'

    'The bedside lamp. I can show you. Come…'

    She got to her feet and Frølich followed her. There was still a strong waft of perfume. He couldn't take his eyes off her lithe hips, and again he was struck by the gracefulness of her movements. 'Did you both sleep in the same room?' he asked, embarrassed.

    'We share a bed. We've always shared a bed.'

    She came to a sudden halt in the doorway to the bedroom. They collided. The contact sent an echo deep into his solar plexus, but she didn't seem to register it.

    Frølich was sweating because she was standing so close to him. He apologized with a smile and stepped forward to scrutinize the room. There was a green bedspread over the double bed. A lush green plant stood on a pedestal beside an armchair in front of the window which let in diffuse light through white blinds. The walls were green and a painting with loud colours adorned the wall behind the bedhead. Frølich was unable to make sense of the motif in the painting, but discovered that he liked it. As he viewed the painting and the high, narrow bookshelf lined with paperbacks and magazines, he felt like a voyeur, especially because he soon found himself imagining what position she lay in when she was reading, what nightclothes she wore, the material, the colour…

    'That one,' she said, bringing him back to reality. On either side of the bed there was a wooden table. On each table there was a small, round lamp with a wide lampshade. She went round the bed and switched on one of the lamps. 'Like that,' she said, standing lethargically by the large bed.

    'And the snow?'

    'Here,' she said, taking two steps forward and pointing, 'Here… and here.'

    Frølich scratched his nose with the pen. 'Did you wash the floor afterwards?'

    'Of course.' She looked at him askance.

    'I was just wondering if we should have carried out a forensic examination here.'

    'My God, don't cordon off my bedroom,' she said in a hushed voice, alarmed.

    'You said you were frightened,' Frølich said. 'As I said, we have no reason to believe that either you or anyone else is in danger. We assume that the murder of your husband was motivated by personal circumstances. However, if you are concerned, you should take account of these feelings. If you so desire, we are happy to take measures which…'

    'No,' she interrupted. 'Out of the question. I want to live here. This is my flat.'

    'Of course,' Fr0lich said. 'I'm just saying this to accommodate your…'

    'No,' she repeated, shaking her head.

    'What did you think when you woke up and your husband was not beside you?' 'I thought it must have been Reidar in the bedroom after an evening walk, to pick something up, a piece of paper or…' She got up and walked calmly round the bed. 'Here,' she pointed again. 'There too - that was wet.'

    They went back to the chairs where they had been sitting. 'And then?' Frølich asked. 'What happened then?'

    'I got out of bed, went into the living room and round the flat looking for Reidar. But, of course, he wasn't there.'

    'What did you think then?'

    'I don't know what I thought, I was terrified. I called Karsten,' she said.

    'Why did you do that?'

    'I wanted to ask him to come over. I was scared something had happened to Reidar.'

    Frølich said nothing.

    'I didn't hear a sound. The whole house was silent.'

    Frølich nodded. He looked down at his foot, placed his heel on the same wet patch on the floor and watched another round drop of water forming at the end of the drenched shoelace. 'Mm, you made a phone call.'

    'Yes, it rang for a long time, well, after all, it was the middle of the night - until at last she picked up the phone. Susanne…' Ingrid pulled a face. 'I suppose she thought I was deranged…'

    'What did you say to her?'

    'I asked to speak to Karsten.'

    'And what answer did you receive?'

    'That he was not at home.'

    'How did you interpret that?' 'I regretted the way I had expressed myself. I should have taken a more pedagogic approach. I didn't think when I was ringing that it was the middle of the night. You know, Susanne is quite special. Now and then she gives the impression that she is jealous. I…' She paused.

    'Yes,' Frølich tilted his head and waited patiently.

    'I know this might sound a bit odd, but in fact I think Susanne is frightened about me and Karsten…'

    'So your interpretation was that she didn't want to wake her husband because she feared your intentions?'

    'I know it sounds sick.'

    'Did she have any reason to be jealous?'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Did she have any reason to be jealous?' Frølich repeated with identical intonation.

    'Of course not. Susanne is special. I don't know how else to express it.'

    Frølich could feel that he was not sweating any more. Nevertheless he had to make an effort to look into Ingrid Jespersen's eyes, instead of stealing glances at her rounded breasts or her hips. In fact, he could understand Susanne. 'What happened after that?' he asked.