The Man in the Window (21 page)

    'Because we have the relationship we do,' she growled. 'I needed to be near him.' 'But why in a car park?'

    'Why not?'

    They sat eyeing each other in silence. 'I'm sorry if you're not satisfied,' she said at last. 'But that's my answer to the question.'

    'What did you say to Reidar when he rang?'

    'What?'

    Gunnarstranda's eyes flashed. 'You heard what I said. I know Reidar rang when you and Strømsted were in bed that Friday.'

    She closed her eyes and blanched as though he had slapped her. 'Has Eyolf…?'

    'Answer me,' the policeman insisted with force.

    'I don't like to talk about this,' she whispered.

    'Answer me.'

    'He demanded that I…'

    Gunnarstranda drummed his fingers with impatience.

    She breathed in and gazed out of the window. The policeman followed her gaze. A woman in a tight-fitting winter coat got out of a car and slipped into a hairdresser's on the other side of the street.

    'It was typical Reidar,' Ingrid said. 'He was efficient in everything he did. He rang me up, presumably to show me he knew. He asked me to stop meeting Eyolf. That was all.'

    'He asked you?'

    'Well, it was more of a demand.'

    'What did you say?'

    'Nothing. He rang off.'

    'But what did he say when you were alone - later in the evening?' 'We didn't talk about the matter.'

    'That's odd.'

    'You didn't know Reidar. I neither wanted nor dared to broach the subject.'

    'You had been caught in the act.'

    'Yes.' She ran a finger under one eye, moved.

    'It might have given you a motive.'

    'Motive?' She said with a resigned smile. 'Why on earth would it give me a motive? In fact, I was ready to break with Eyolf.'

    'That stands and falls on how far you are telling the truth.'

    Another weary smile. 'What do you think, Inspector Gunnarstranda? Do you think I'm telling the truth? I know you have discussed this case with others.'

    'Let me put it this way,' the detective countered sharply. 'If you fail to present evidence or information which has a bearing on the case, it will not count in your favour.' He took a deep breath. 'You maintain you were on the point of breaking up with Eyolf Strømsted on that Friday, but how does that tally with the fact that you met him a short while after?'

    'I needed it. I needed to meet him again.'

    'Why?'

    'Because my husband had been killed, because I felt alone, because I needed someone to hold me. Is that so damned difficult to understand?'

    'Not at all, but there could also be other reasons for meeting him, reasons which you are withholding.'

    She shook her head with vehemence.

    'You and Reidar might have had a row on Friday night when you were alone.'

    She was quiet.

    'If you had a row - there are many outcomes one could envisage.'

    She was still quiet.

    'Did you have a row that evening?'

    'No.'

    'The fact that you have a relationship with another man is not something I can ignore in the investigation.'

    'I understand that.'

    'Then I'm sure you'll understand that we will have to come back to this matter.'

    'I don't know if I will understand.'

    'Why do you think Reidar did not go to bed that night?'

    'I have no idea,' she snarled. 'Perhaps you do.'

    'I can only form hypotheses - and have them confirmed or confounded.'

    'I didn't have a row with Reidar.'

    'Was Strømsted's name mentioned either by you or your husband that evening?'

    'No.'

    'I also find that very unusual.'

    'Sorry, but I can't do anything about that. Eyolf's name was not mentioned at all.'

    'You've already had to change your statement once. I'm asking you one more time: Was your infidelity discussed by you and your husband that evening?'

    'The answer is no,' she said stiffly, in a low voice and with downcast eyes.

    The policeman watched her. 'Do you know if

    Strømsted has other lovers?' he asked quietly.

    'You'd better ask him, not me.'

    'But he's been your lover for a long time. You must have had thoughts of that nature, about whether he meets other people.'

    'Of course. I assume he meets other women - on the odd occasion. But whether he sleeps with them… I have chosen not to speculate.'

    'He lives with someone,' Gunnarstranda said.

    For a fraction of a second her eyes bulged, then she looked down, swallowed, shook her head again and gave a disdainful laugh. 'He definitely does not, that much I do know.'

    The policeman, surprised, smiled gently. 'You didn't know he lived with someone?'

    'I don't believe you.'

    'Why the doubt?'

    'I've been visiting him every week for three years. I've never so much as seen a pair of knickers or a packet of tampons in that house, no high-heeled shoes…'

    'Hasn't he got a double bed?'

    'All men have double beds.'

    'Is that so?' Gunnarstranda swallowed, then pursed his lips, as though he had learned something new, and asked: 'Why do you think he didn't take you to his place on Sunday evening when you turned up at the dance class? Why do you think you ended up in a car park?'

    'This is none of your business.'

    'He lives with a man,' Gunnarstranda stated baldly.

    Ingrid recoiled. She stared out of the window, folded her trembling hands and after a glance down at the table jumped up and snatched her bag. Without another word she turned and strode out between the tables. Inspector Gunnarstranda watched her. The Vietnamese-looking cloakroom attendant searched through a row of winter coats, took one off a hanger and passed it with a smile to Ingrid Jespersen, who donned it with her back to the detective. She spun on her heel and marched out. As she passed the window where Gunnarstranda was sitting, her eyes were fixed in front of her and she didn't even grace him with a look. At that moment she slipped on a patch of ice and fell sideways. She landed on her hip and one arm. A young man with a long fringe ran up to her. She waved him away and struggled up on one knee. It wasn't easy - the soles of her shoes were smooth and had no tread. The back of her dark coat was white with snow. She had snow in her hair. She had snow up her nylons. She stood supporting herself on a parking meter for a few moments. Two small children on the opposite side of the street pointed and laughed. It was all over in less than thirty seconds. Not once did she look in the policeman's direction. When Gunnarstranda finally managed to compose himself, the same waiter was standing there. He was flourishing a slip of paper. 'I've prepared the bill for you,' he said in a soft voice and placed it on the table.

Chapter 28

Motives

    Frølich was lumbering down the corridor when he saw Gunnarstranda switch off the light and close the door behind him. He joined Gunnarstranda back in his office. The acrid smell of many smoked cigarettes hung in the room like the fusty smell of carriages on the 0stfold railway line.

    Frølich took a seat and put his feet up on the desk, then flicked through Ingrid Jespersen's revised statement.

    Gunnarstranda was smoking a cigarette by the partly opened window and said: 'By the way a complaint has been lodged against us.'

    'Us?'

    'Well, me, to be precise,' Gunnarstranda said. 'Someone has claimed I've been smoking in smoke-free zones.' He flipped over the long-necked ashtray behind his chair and looked down into it. 'It wasn't you, was it?' he asked.

    Frølich turned round. 'Me? No.'

    'The complaint was anonymous.'

    'Does it matter who complains? You could smoke outside, like all the others.'

    'I do smoke outside.'

    'And you smoke in here.'

    'Are you sure you weren't the one who complained?'

    'Yes.'

    'Hm.' Gunnarstranda sat down, placed the cigarette on the rim of the long-necked ashtray and focused on Frølich, who was still studying the report. 'Suppose it's Ingrid who did her husband in,' Frølich began. 'Her infidelity has been rumbled. Reidar rings her - catches her in the act - threatens her and tells her to finish with the guy. What would he threaten her with? Divorce? But she's fifty-four and he's eighty.'

    'Seventy-nine,' Gunnarstranda corrected.

    'OK,' Frølich said. 'What I don't understand is why she would be afraid that her adultery would come to light. What could he threaten her with? Or what has she to lose by being divorced? Her share of the inheritance?'

    Gunnarstranda looked at him with unseeing eyes. 'Yes,' he said. 'She would lose the inheritance, but that's not an immediate issue. Divorce would give her half anyway.'

    Frølich put down the papers. 'Imagine the atmosphere,' he exclaimed. 'The meal must have been a pretty quiet affair. Reidar's son and family are there while the two of them are sending each other signals - but when Karsten, his wife and children leave, Ingrid is bound to have discussed the matter with her husband!'

    'Why?'

    Frølich sighed with despair. 'But she had to, didn't she! They have to go to bed. They have to share intimacies…'

    'We don't know that.'

    'I'm not thinking of sex. But there is something intimate about going to bed at night. They share a bed. He - Jespersen - has caught his wife with another man. Strømsted is young and virile - a man his wife must have chosen because she wants sex from the relationship. Think about it! Jespersen is close on eighty and impotent. His wife's choice of a lover is like a slap in the face. Of course they must have talked about her infidelity that night!'

    'Not necessarily.'

    Frølich, perplexed: 'You don't think they talked?'

    'I don't think they necessarily discussed her infidelity,' Gunnarstranda said.

    'Why not?'

    'There are things we choose not to talk about.'

    'But this is adultery.'

    'I know it's adultery, but you and Reidar Folke Jespersen may not have the same moral code.'

    'Code?'

    Gunnarstranda waved him on. 'Oh, never mind. Go on. Where were you?'

    'My guess is they started rowing. I think she became aggressive when he refused to talk to her - or when he stuck to his guns and insisted she stopped meeting the other man. Because she had been unfaithful he refused to sleep in the same bed. I assume he went down to the shop to sleep there. She couldn't put up with his sulking and followed - down to the shop where the row continued - and in the end she grabbed a bayonet hanging on the wall and stabbed him!' Frølich illustrated with stabbing motions in the air.

    'Sleep in the shop? Why didn't he go to one of the many sofas in the flat?'

    'All right, he didn't go downstairs to sleep, he went to the shop to look at the things Karsten had been talking about, or to check the door was locked - or just to sit and meditate for all I know. It doesn't change anything. She ended up stabbing him!'

    'And then?'

    'Hm?'

    'What happened then?' Gunnarstranda asked with interest.

    'Well, she undressed him, scribbled those things on his chest and forehead and dragged the body to the shop window. We know all this…'

    'Yes, but go on. What happened then?'

    'Well, then she goes up to her room - and then she panics. She fakes a kind of nervous breakdown and tries to work out how she can get off the hook.' Frølich throws his arms in the air. 'The upshot is she phones Karsten to foist this break-in fantasy on everyone around her.'

    'And then?' Gunnarstranda urges his colleague on with a flourish of the hand.

    'She could have rung her lover,' Frølich says with triumph in his voice. 'If she really was frightened, she should have phoned her lover. But she doesn't; she rings Reidar's son. Why would she do that - if it wasn't to establish an alibi…?'

    'But then?'

    Frølich: 'Yes, things go wrong. She's rebuffed by Karsten's wife - Susanne - as it is half past two at night. She sits up until the morning biting her nails. But by a stroke of good fortune this paper girl shows up. So she doesn't have to discover the body. Nor does she have to ring the police.'

    'There are some flaws in your theory.'

    'Fine, but at least it is a theory. And when I asked her whether she had heard any noises that night, she went ashen. I'm sure she's holding something back. Absolutely certain.'

    'Possible,' conceded the inspector, thinking. They stared at each other as Gunnarstranda added: 'However, why put the body in the shop window?'

    Frølich reflected. 'That's a question we'll have to ask all the suspects,' he said. 'It's irrelevant as a counterargument to the theory.'

    'Irrelevant? The wife displaying her murdered husband in the shop window is illogical. If she were trying to cover up the murder and claim it was the result of a break-in, the logical thing to do would be to leave the body on the shop floor - dressed. It would be logical to damage the door frame or smash a window - much more logical than stripping the body and dragging it to the window.'

    They sat gazing into the air.

    'He may have threatened her with divorce and loss of the inheritance,' Frølich said at length. 'That would explain why he revoked the original will. It would also explain why he didn't suggest a new will to the solicitor.' Frølich jumped to his feet with excitement. 'Of course. It's obvious. That's how it was! He used divorce and the inheritance to put pressure on his wife.'

    Gunnarstranda shook his head. 'We've already been through the inheritance business.'

    'Well…' Frølich was thinking aloud. 'She must have gone for the old goat for money from the very outset. Women who marry old men do it for money - everyone says that. Assuming this goes for her too, she's stuck it out for almost twenty-five years waiting for riches, and now, all of a sudden, this dream of paradise is jeopardized by her infidelity. That's why she kills Reidar, so that he doesn't have time to leave the money to others in a new will.'

    'Two arguments in contra,' Gunnarstranda said. 'First of all, the likelihood is we're not talking big money here. The couple lived in an expensive apartment in Frogner - and I imagine they were quite well off, but there is nothing to suggest that Jespersen was a man of great wealth. The second is that I don't believe Ingrid Jespersen is the type to marry a man for his money. Another thing I'm also a little uncertain about is whether her infidelity unduly bothered Reidar.'

    'He made the phone call,' Frølich objected. 'He ordered his wife to stop meeting Strømsted.'

    'That's true, but we shouldn't forget that Reidar had lived with this age difference for a very long time. Do you remember what I said when I first met Ingrid? I took it for granted that she had a lover - why would Reidar see things any differently? My guess is he assumed she would take lovers from time to time.'

    Frølich considered what Gunnarstranda had said, but also found a counter-argument: 'If Jespersen accepted that his wife would go with other men, he wouldn't have bothered to ring her on precisely that day, would he?'

    'We don't know why he rang. Perhaps he rang to give her a shock, to show her he knew about the relationship,' Gunnarstranda said darkly, 'to tell her to get her act together. Something may…

    'Possible,' Frølich interrupted. 'But it's not without significance that he rings his wife when she is in the process of cheating on him and that he rings his solicitor a few hours later to retract a will, which, whatever you say, favours her in some shape or form. The strange thing is that he is killed afterwards. Furthermore, you're overlooking the dirty dog himself: Strømsted. He may be involved.'

    'Something,' Gunnarstranda continued undeterred, 'may have happened which caused or provoked the telephone call from Reidar to Strømsted.'

    'But what could that have been?'

    They were interrupted by the telephone. Gunnarstranda grabbed it, listened for a couple of seconds and said: 'Excellent, Yttergjerde. Stay on their tail.'

    'Trouble in paradise,' he said, putting down the receiver. 'That was Yttergjerde. Ingrid is having another tete-a-tete with Eyolf. Driving round in the car.'

    'Co-ordinating statements?' Frølich suggested.

    'Seemed like they were having a row.'

    The two men exchanged looks.

    'They do have a relationship, which we have uncovered. It would be strange if they weren't talking.'

    Frølich scratched his beard. 'It's not strange that she's angry,' he said. 'Strømsted admitted the relationship to me, whereas she lied when I talked to her.'

    'It'll be interesting to see if she signs her new statement,' Gunnarstranda, said, putting on a thoughtful expression. 'This Strømsted person has a long-term relationship with a man. While he is humping Ingrid Jespersen once a week - why?' The Detective Inspector supplied his own answer: 'I suppose to satisfy his bisexual orientation. If he's crazy about Ingrid, he wouldn't be living with someone else, would he?'

    'You mean because Strømsted lives with someone he cannot be the murderer?' Frølich asked, and said: 'We don't know much about the feelings between the two of them - for all we know he could be screwing her to get a few kroner from the shop…'

    Gunnarstranda's brow was still furrowed.

    'They drove all the way to Toyen Park the day after,' Frølich said quietly. 'Both of them live in the best area of Oslo. Why would they drive all the way to Toyen Park if it wasn't to hide from us and get their stories straight?' He opened his palms. 'And now they're doing it again.'

    'I think you have a point. Toyen is a fair distance away…'

    'Why did they go all the way to Toyen if it hadn't been to lose Yttergjerde?' Excited, Frølich sprang to his feet. 'Even if they couldn't go to Strømsted's place, because of his partner, they could have gone to Ingrid's. But why didn't they? Well, first of all there are police outside the house. And second of all they would have to have sex in the flat above the crime scene. Imagine the night of the murder: Ingrid checked all the doors in the house. If she was in this together with Strømsted, she's the Trojan horse.'

    Gunnarstranda sighed. 'If Ingrid's the Trojan horse and lets in the murderer, why does she tell us the story about the snow on the floor? If she let him in, why didn't she keep her mouth shut about the puddles? After all, the puddles mean someone was in the house!'

    'But what if she woke up panic-stricken and phoned Karsten, only to receive a surprise visit from the murderer afterwards…'

    'Then she'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 the floor as a red herring! The snow is meant to suggest that somebody had been inside the house
before
she woke up, while the truth was that a guest came
after
she had made the call.'

    'Of course that's possible…'

    'Strømsted may 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 has done and…'

    'Two arguments in contra,' Gunnarstranda cut in.

    Frølich was breathing hard.

    'First of all, Strømsted immediately told you about the call from Reidar which interrupted 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 suggest he has nothing to hide. Secondly…' Gunnarstranda paused.