The Man In The Window

Chapter 44

Imustn't wake up, she thought. I want to sleep through until it is morning. Assoon as she had formulated the thought she knew she would wake up because thisnight was quite different from any other. Her eyes closed, she lay rigidbeneath the duvet. She was experiencing the worst thing in the world, waking upin the middle of the night, in the silence, alone.

When,at last, she dared to open her eyes, she was looking down at the floor where astrip of yellow light from the next room cut across the parquet and up the walllike a laser beam. She didn't move a muscle. Without making a sound, she triedto breathe evenly and calmly while thinking about the previous time she had wokenup like this.

Theimportant thing now was to lie still so that the duvet didn't rustle and shedidn't make any noise. Why not? she thought. Because. There is no because, itis just a question of lying still, relaxing and accepting that everything is asit should be. A question of sensing sleep overtake her and then falling intooblivion again, finding release from these terrible hours, release from thisloneliness – from being awake and alone in this room, in this bed withoutReidar.

Assoon as she thought of Reidar, she visualized the white, lifeless body whichwas no longer him, which was dead. In death he had been transformed into anempty shell. A mortal frame with no tired, stiff, vain man; no moreimpenetrable armour. Reidar had developed into a man she feared to tell thetruth because he would never accept the truth she asserted, because he alwaysended up treating her like a little girl. Ingrid Jespersen, fifty- four yearsold – a little girl.

Withoutthinking, and without noticing, she let out a sigh of self-pity. But on hearingthe sound, she froze.

Shehad made a noise, and that was what she hadn't wanted to do.

I'm afailure, she thought. It all came out: I'm over fifty, a widow and still achild feeling sorry for herself. But it's not because I live alone; it'sbecause I never managed to live my own life. I needn't have gone out of my wayto satisfy others. I could have been myself. I needn't have been frightened.You're much too frightened, she told herself. And you thought Reidar wouldprotect you. Look at you now. How can Reidar protect you now? The fear that waskept at bay by his presence has caught up with you in an instant. Now you are aprisoner of fear, and you will never be free.

Ingridlay still and knew she was right. She had married Reidar because he gave hersecurity. And now she was caught by the same fear she had fled.

Ithad been a mistake to choose Reidar. She should have chosen a man of her ownage, lived happily and had children.

Andnow? It's too late. Now I can't have children.

Younever wanted children.

No,perhaps I didn't want to have children. But I should have had children anyway.Someone should have forced me. A woman who says she doesn't want children is achild herself. She is not capable of becoming an adult. Look at me now. Anageing body mounted by men out of politeness or charity. I've always walkedaround like a trophy. I'm an American matron with blue hair. I'm a stork, abird without the proportions of a bird, the woman who can carry her age withdignity – because I never found out what it was like to grow old. I'm theperson young women despise and young men are ashamed of because I use any meansat my disposal to keep myself young – which is to deny yourself. In the eyes ofothers I have no dignity.

A newsound caused her to freeze again.

Shewas lying on her side with her eyes wide open, staring at the floor and theyellow strip of light.

Shewas not alone.

The certaintyof this began as a light chill across her skin causing nubbles to form. At thesame time she felt the hairs on her neck stand up and the chill moved under herskin into her bones. The feeling spread from the small of her back, through herbody, and was transformed into a numbing paralysis, draining life from herbones, divesting her arms of power, making her pupils widen and preventing herfrom breathing.

Slowlyshe moved her index finger up and down. It functioned. But she couldn't feelthe rest of her body. All she could sense was the rush of blood streamingthrough her veins. She could feel her heart pumping blood around a body thatwas numb with terror.

Shefound herself thinking that she could hear regular breathing, and she was awarethat the person breathing knew she was lying still and listening.

Therewas that sound again.

Someoneclearing their throat. The sound freed something in her body. She could feelherself tensing up like a cat ready to jump, her legs coiled and her arms readyto launch herself. She didn't do it consciously. Her sole thought was an imageof herself fleeing, sprinting across the floor to the front door and liberty.She girded herself. The blood swirled through her head, almost drowning thenext thing that happened.

'Ican tell you're awake,' a voice said. 'It's about time.'

Chapter 45

Itwas night. The cold was keeping even the hardiest of night owls indoors.

'Ithought it was a bit strange,' Frølich said, stifling a yawn, as Gunnarstrandaturned off Parkveien and continued down Drammensveien towards the city centre,'that they lived the way they did.'

'Youmet them at the Continental?'

Frølichnodded. 'Temporary accommodation. They were looking at houses, they said. Theylive out of town.'

'Theydidn't give their home address?'

'Yes,they did. Tønsberg at that. But I didn't know…'

So asnot to get caught up in the tramlines, Police Inspector Gunnarstranda parked onthe pavement beside the National Theatre. 'Of course not,' he muttered, gazingup at the dark windows of the Hotel Continental before opening the car door andgetting out. He stood breathing in the cold night air. Behind him he heard thedull sound of Frølich closing his door. It was cold on the ears and both menwere exhaling icy breath. A patrol car crossed Karl Johans gate and droveslowly down Universitetsgate. In contravention of the rules, and cheekily, theyswitched on the flashing blue lamp when they encountered the traffic lights onred in

Stortingsgata.They turned left and disappeared round the bend by Stortinget.

Gunnarstrandalooked across at the entrance to the Hotel Continental. It was a warm glow ofwelcome in the cold, dark night.

'Ready?'Frølich asked.

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'I'm ready.'

'Let'sgo then.'

Theycrossed the street. Frølich stayed downstairs in reception. Gunnarstranda tookthe lift up to the second floor. Three minutes later he was standing in thenarrow corridor on the second floor and waited. Not a sound to be heard frominside. He raised his arm and checked the time. Three minutes later he raisedthe same arm and knocked. At that moment he heard the telephone ringing insidethe room.

Ittook a while before Frølich's call was answered. Then the door was opened afraction. The woman who opened it was wearing jogging bottoms and a faded T-shirt.

'Hermannisn't here,' she said, squinting sleepily into the bright corridor light.

'Thatdoesn't matter,' Gunnarstranda said, taking a deep breath. 'It's you I've cometo talk to.'

'Me?'She placed a sun-tanned hand against her bosom, her eyes quizzical but alsodisbelieving.

Gunnarstrandatook another deep breath. 'You and I are going to talk about your husband,' hesighed. 'Your husband, his past and in particular his relationship with taxidrivers.'

Chapter 46

'Where?'he asked.

IngridFolke Jespersen was sitting up in bed. She could make out the silhouette of adark figure in the armchair by the window. A head and an upper torso stood outagainst the darkness outside. It was a man. She tightened the duvet around herbody. She wanted to say something, but no sounds emerged.

'Whereis it?'

Allshe could manage was a puzzled shake of the head.

'Whereis it?' the man repeated gently. He stood up and, with slow steps, crossed thefloor.

Now he'sgoing to do something, she thought.

Light.He switched on the ceiling lamp. The light made her eyes smart. She scrunchedthem up, but not before she had seen that the man had a balaclava over hisface, with holes for eyes and mouth. He looked like a bank robber. And he washolding a large knife in his right hand. The steel blade glistened.

'Wherehave you hidden it?' said the lips behind the woollen mask as the figurecasually leant against the wall.

'Whoare you?' she managed to whisper.

Thelips behind the mask smiled. 'What have you done with it?'

Shesat with the duvet wrapped around her.

Theman took two steps forward. The hand with the knife hung against his thigh. Heslowly moved towards the bed. There was a strong smell of scent.

Theknife gleamed. She jerked her head back. It banged against the bedrail. Therewas a burning sensation where the knife scraped against her neck. She forcedher head back as far as she could. The edge of the bedhead cut into her neck.The tip of the knife was pressed into her throat. 'Be careful,' she managed tobreathe.

'Ofcourse,' the voice said.

Shetried to avoid looking at the red lips through the hole in the mask and staredat his eyes. This is turning him on, she thought, not daring to move a muscle.

'Ijust want to know where it is,' he said, taking hold of the duvet. He held itlightly in his hand. She was squeezing it tight.

'Letgo. Let go,' he whispered.

Shelet go.

He flungthe duvet onto the floor. Her nightdress had bunched up around her waist. Sheclosed her eyes in shame. The man ran the tip of the knife down her neck'Mousey, mousey,' he said, running the knife across her breasts. 'Come outwherever you are…' he whispered and pressed the tip of the knife into herstomach. 'Not there,' he whispered.

'Please,'she breathed.

Heran the knife across her hips. 'Not there…'

Hescraped the tip across her stomach and throat again.

Thenhe got to his feet. He stood with his back to her.

Shelunged for the duvet.

'Liestill,' he commanded her.

Herstomach hurt. She wanted to get away.

Hewalked to the window.

Hesaid something, with his back turned.

Shetried to force her vocal cords into action.

Againhe said something.

'Whatwere you…?'

'Whereis it?' he asked, spinning round. She saw only his eyes. They were flashing.She tried to pull her nightdress down over her thighs.

'Answerme!'

'Idon't understand what you mean.'

Hesaid nothing and glowered at her. She tried to avoid looking at his eyesthrough the holes of the mask. His eyelashes were grey and rigid. Then he wasby her bed. He seized her wrist. The blade glistened in the light from the lamp.At the very moment she felt the skin around her wrist being twisted, she felt astab of pain in the palm of her hand.

'Doyou understand this?' he raged.

Bloodcoursed down her fingers and wrist.

'Yes,'she whispered, looking down at her hand which was covered with hot bloodpouring out of the wound. Numb from the sight, she sat watching the blood flowout until she came to her senses, then wrapped a corner of the duvet around herhand.

'Don'tmake a mess,' he yelled and grabbed her leg to pull her out of bed. He let goof her ankle and she fell. He tugged at her and pulled her hair. She got to herknees, but stumbled again. She tried to get up and follow him. Once in thebathroom her sole sensation was the underfloor heating.

'Plaster,'he whispered in a panic. 'Where do you keep your first aid things?'

'There.'She pointed to the medicine cupboard beside the mirror.

'Butwe'll have to wash the cut first,' he whispered and kicked her head first intothe shower cabinet. There was a crack as her forehead hit the tiled wall. Asecond later freezing cold water sprayed down over her body. She coiled up inthe corner and screamed. In a flash she saw the blood from her hand mingle withthe water and flow towards the drain. The pain shot up her arm as the icy waterstung her back. She was unable to breathe normally. And at last the showerstopped. She couldn't stand up. She tensed all her muscles waiting for theboiling hot water, the water that would scald and burn her body. But it didn'tcome. After a time that seemed like an eternity she opened her eyes, blinkedwater from her eyelashes and stared at the man standing with his back to her ashe rummaged through the cupboard. She dragged herself up.

Shedrew herself up onto one knee. The thin nightdress was drenched; it stuck toher stomach, her thighs and her breasts. She tried to find support. The glassof the shower cabinet was stained with blood where she had groped for a hold.She sniffed and wiped the mucus off her face with her good hand.

'Pleasedon't make any more mess,' he said, turning round. 'Well, aren't youattractive?' he whispered, licking his red lips. He took a towel and passed itto her.

'Here,dry your face on this.'

Sheobeyed.

Secondslater he had placed a wad of gauze on her hand and bound it with a bandage. Shelooked down. But he grabbed her chin and raised it. She shut her eyes.

'Open!'he ordered.

Hiseyes were pale blue, almost grey. And she recoiled because she had seen thoseeyes before.

He beganto laugh. But she had no energy left for anything except staring.

Hesnapped his mouth shut, then said: 'Where is it?'

Shecouldn't stop herself. She began to cry.

Atthat moment the telephone rang.

Chapter 47

Gunnarstrandafirst rang at 3.30 a.m. without getting an answer. At 3.56 the unit leader wasable to say with certainty that there were people in the flat. A man's and awoman's voices had been identified. At 4.04 the Special Forces unit had theirpeople in position. At 4.10 one of the officers had seen a glimpse of the manthrough one of the windows in the flat. The man was wearing a mask. Then theunit leader asked Frølich to draw him a map showing the layout of the flat. At4.18 Gunnarstranda rang for the second time.

Theyhad situated the centre of operations in Fritzners gate. Gunnarstranda wasparked on the pavement in Bygdøy allé. In the car beside him sat two men, onethe Special Forces leader listening to the conversation. It was blackest nightoutside.

Gunnarstrandacounted eighteen rings before Ingrid Jespersen answered. 'Yes,' she saidnervously.

'PoliceInspector Gunnarstranda here,' he said.

'It'sthe middle of the night,' she replied.

'Wehave reason to believe that there is a Hermann Kirkenær in your flat,' Gunnarstrandasaid. His feet were freezing. The cold was coming through the car door.

Shedidn't speak.

'Wehave reason to believe you are in a hazardous situation.'

'Me?'she said.

'Couldyou go to a window facing Thomas Heftyes gate so that we can see you?'

Therewas silence for a few seconds before she spoke. 'I'm still in bed.'

'Ican wait until you dress.'

'Whyshould I?'

'Dearfru Jespersen, answer me the following: Are you alone or is there someone withyou?'

She clearedher throat. 'I'm alone.'

'MayI speak to the man who is with you in the flat?'

'Don'tyou believe me? I'm alone.'

'Verywell, fru Jespersen. We're coming up and will ring the doorbell. We expect you tolet us in so that we can search the flat.'

'No,'she gasped.

'Whynot?'

'It'simpossible.'

'Wehave reason to believe that a wanted person is hiding in your flat. I canassure you that we…'

'Youcan't do that,' she interrupted.

Gunnarstrandaglanced to his left and exchanged looks with the man listening. The man pulleda face and said something inaudible.

'Well,I think it would be best if you let me talk to Kirkenær,' Gunnarstranda said,unruffled.

Thistime the silence was a little longer. The sounds suggested a hand held over thereceiver.

'He'sasleep,' she said on her return.

Gunnarstrandaglanced across at the two men in the car. They were grinning at her comment.'Wake him up,' Gunnarstranda said calmly.

'Justa moment.'

'Hello,'said a man's voice.

Thesound of the voice created a buzz of activity in the adjacent car.

'Thisis Police Inspector Gunnarstranda, Murder Squad. I'm leading the investigationinto the killing of Reidar Folke Jespersen,' Gunnarstranda said, and went on:'It's important that you understand I do not have overall authority in thissituation that you have placed yourself. I therefore urge you to follow myinstructions. That way we can bring this to a satisfactory conclusion.'

'Ifyou have nothing else to say, I see no reason to continue this conversation,'Kirkenær said, unmoved.

'Iknow that your grandmother's name was Kirkenær,' Gunnarstranda said. 'I know your mother's name is orwas Amalie Bruun. I know you have taken your grandmother's surname.'

Kirkenærcoughed. 'You're putting me in a very difficult position.'

'Yourposition is very simple. Grant Ingrid Jespersen safe conduct out of thebuilding and come out with your hands over your head.'

'Justa moment,' Kirkenær said.

Gunnarstrandaexchanged a swift look with the unit leader in the adjacent car. The manmotioned him to keep talking.

'Hello,'Gunnarstranda said.

IngridJespersen came back on the line. 'Hello,' she said in a starched tone. 'We'refine here. Please don't disturb us. I invited this man here.'

'FruJespersen, leave your flat. That's the only thing you can do to make us calloff the action. If you don't come out, there will be very grave long-termconsequences, especially for the man with you.'

Anothersilence.

Kirkenærcame to the telephone. 'Ingrid likes it here with me,' he said. 'Shall we sayyou ring back tomorrow?'

Gunnarstrandawatched a policeman slowly releasing the safety catch of his weapon. He said:'Grant her safe conduct.'

'Yourrequest cannot be complied with,' Kirkenær answered in the same formal tone.

Gunnarstrandawatched the armed policeman. He passed by the car where the unit leader waslistening on the line and gesticulating.

'Granther safe conduct.'

'Yourrequest cannot be complied with,' Kirkenær repeated.

Gunnarstrandaglanced at the other car. The man listening in gesticulated again.

'Irepeat,' Gunnarstranda said, feverishly trying to think of something, 'eitheryou come out with your hands above your head or you allow Ingrid Jespersen safeconduct out of the flat. You have ten minutes. Otherwise the matter is out ofmy hands. When suspected criminals take hostages, the case is automaticallyreferred to a different department.'

'I'mnot taking hostages.'

'Thesmartest move would be to comply with my request. It will save us a lot ofbother, stress and unnecessary emotions.'

Kirkenærchuckled. 'Emotions. I like you, Gunnarstranda.'

'IngridJespersen has gone through enough already. Let her go.'

"FraidI can't.' Kirkenær sighed. 'The lady is my ticket out of here.'

'She'sinnocent.'

'She'snot innocent,' Kirkenær said with force.

'Herhusband was guiltless. Wasn't that so?'

'Hewas guilty until the day he died.'

'Therewas a witness who saw you that night,' Gunnarstranda said.

'You'rebluffing.'

'No.There was a witness.'

Kirkenær'sbreathing accelerated. 'Who?'

'Ataxi driver by the name of Ekholt.'

Kirkenærsniggered. 'The man's dead. I heard it myself on the radio.'

'Butyou didn't need to hear it, or read about it,' said Gunnarstranda. 'We know youkilled Richard Ekholt. We have proof.'

'You'reboring me, policeman.'

'Youforgot to take the driver's mobile phone with you. It was in the car where hewas found. It tells us as much as Ekholt could have told us if he had beenalive. Why do you think I'm here? We've surrounded you, Kirkenær. We'vepainstakingly slotted in the last pieces of the jigsaw. I have a print-out fromEkholt's mobile phone company which proves you contacted him and he you – allthe times too. I know Ekholt was watching you that night. I assume he didsomething to you he should not have done…'

'You'reputting me in a worse and worse situation, Gunnarstranda.'

'No,you put yourself in this situation…'

'Shutup!'

'It'sover now, Kirkenær. Come out. Ingrid Jespersen is innocent.'

'Thereare a variety of ways of approaching guilt, Gunnarstranda. I suppose, as apoliceman, you are used to rationalizing, aren't you?'

'Thatmay well be true, but you…'

Kirkenærinterupted: 'But hasn't it occurred to you that if you just use your mind you'reconstantly operating in relation to dreams and you never find out where youreally are?'

Gunnarstrandacraned his neck. Men in combat uniforms were running past the cars. A taxi hadstopped and half parked on the pavement. The driver was following what wasgoing on with interest.

'That'snot how I see my situation, but I understand your reasoning,' he said on thetelephone.

'Let'stake the opposite case. Some people always have to feel; they're feelingspeople. Their problem is that by feeling they take in only what happens andnever why things happen. Are you with me, Gunnarstranda?'

'I'mwith you.'

'Somewould say the logical approach is to think first and feel afterwards. But ifyou think before you feel, you twist the reality to fit your dreams instead ofturning your dreams and thoughts into reality – isn't that true?'

Gunnarstrandamanouevred a half-smoked cigarette out of the ashtray and pressed thecar-lighter. With the cigarette in his mouth he was unable to answer rightaway.

'Isn'tthat right?' Kirkenær yelled.

'Mm,yes, that's right.' Gunnarstranda took out the lighter and lit his cigarette.From the corner of his eye he could see the unit leader grimacing.

'That'swhy you and I have to choose the fourth method. Feel first, think afterwards:observe, feel and use your instincts to form rational decisions.'

'I'msure you're right,' Gunnarstranda commented dryly and inhaled. 'But you don'ttake hostages to give a lecture on philosophy, do you?'

Kirkenærchuckled. 'You see, Gunnarstranda. You've been influenced by the method. Youlistened to my explanation, took what I said and your other dealing with meinto account and then you came to a conclusion.'

Kirkenærcontinued: 'I don't expect you to under-stand. But if you had been through whatI've been through, you would have known I did the only thing possible.'

'Really?'the policeman said, playing along. In the adjacent car two men weregesticulating to him. 'Murdering Folke Jespersen or the taxi driver who sawyou?'

Kirkenærchuckled. 'Don't be so silly. If you continue like that, I'll put the phonedown.'

'Butwhy all the bother, Kirkenær? Why first plan the buy-out, then send the SSuniform and finally put the body in the shop window?'

'Hehad to be crushed, bit by bit, and to know who was taking revenge on him.'

'Butyou could have just parked outside the shop and run him down, couldn't you?'

'Iwanted to crush him, not kill him.'

'Whyput him in the shop window?'

'Sothat others could see his guilt.'

'Whydid you kill him?'

'Ididn't kill him.'

'Buthe died.'

'Hisdeath was beyond my control.'

'Whydid you come here?'

'Toget my revenge.'

'Anddid you get it?'

'No,I'm getting it now.'

'Irepeat,' Gunnarstranda urged. 'Ingrid Jespersen has nothing to do with thiscase.'

'Andwhat do you know about that? What authority have you got in this matter?'

'You'llhave to trust me,' Gunnarstranda said with slow precision. 'If I'm no longer…'

'I'vewished Reidar Folke Jespersen dead for a long time,' Kirkenær interrupted. 'Solong in fact that the dream has an entry in the annals of time. When he did diein the end, I felt no satisfaction at all.'

'There,you see…'

'That'swhy I've come to finish off what was started,'

Kirkenærinterrupted.

'Youmustn't even think of finishing anything,' Gunnarstranda said hastily with aglance to the left. One of the men in the car was nodding encouragement andpointing to his watch.

'Well,'the Police Inspector went on, 'the reason I've been on your heels is that youdon't have the right to take the lives of others, however great the painleading to the decision.'

Thepoliceman was about to go on, but Kirkenær jumped in first: 'We are speakingtwo different languages. The morality that you are advocating doesn't interestme, in much the same way as I don't care about the system or machinery of powerthat you represent.'

'Everyonecares about something.'

'Likewhat for example?'

'Yourmother and father.'

'FolkeJespersen was my father.'

Gunnarstrandawas lost for words.

'Didn'tyou know?' Kirkenær asked.

'Itwas one of the hypotheses that has led to me sitting here. But has it notoccurred to you that it might be a lie?'

'Whywould my mother lie?'

'Whatmakes you so sure she didn't? Why did she marry Klaus Fromm?'

Theother end went quiet.

Gunnarstranda'smind whirred. He looked to the left and was met by two tense faces. 'You wentto the meeting on Friday to let Folke Jespersen see you,' Gunnarstranda said.'He recognized you. He knew you were his son. He immediately revoked his willand arranged a meeting with your mother…'

'Mymother's dead,' Kirkenær broke in angrily. 'Why are you trying to blacken mymother's name?'

'Onno account would I dream of talking ill of your mother,' the policemanreassured him. 'I'm sure she was an exceptional woman. I believe, for example,that Reidar yearned for her all his life.'

Kirkenærwas breathing heavily down the line.

'DidI say something wrong?' the policeman asked.

Silenceat the other end for a few seconds. Gunnarstranda stared with growing unease atthe telephone. Then, in a dry, staccato voice, Kirkenær began to speak: 'At thecrack of dawn on 8th May 1945 Reidar Folke Jespersen kicked in the door to mymother's house and dragged her out of bed. Her husband had been led away afterthe Germans surrendered and was being held in prison. I was two years old,lying in a cot in the same bedroom. But the Norwegian heroes ignored me. It wasfour o'clock in the morning when Reidar Folke Jespersen and five other mendrove my mother out of town to a lay-by in Maridalen. There they cut off herhair. My mother described it to me, several times. There were six of them.Three of them raped her, one after the other. Two held her down and one – I'msure you can guess who – stood watching. Afterwards she was left to get back totown on her own, wearing a torn nightdress and with a shorn head. Her child wasalone in an empty, ravaged flat in Oslo. It was a hike of almost tenkilometres. And every time she met people on the road, she was given a blow tothe back or they spat in her face. But she walked tall. She was bleeding downbelow, her body was soiled by the sperm of unknown men, there were cuts allover her face and body, but she marched the ten kilometres back to town with astraight back, because she had no intention of accepting, she had no intentionof using the same human concepts of guilt. Her love was defined as treason. Asa woman she had broken her oath of allégiance to Norway during the Germanoccupation; she had given her love and her body to a German soldier. Thus shehad insulted her country and those who were insulted presumed the right to beather with sticks, spit at her, defile her and humiliate her.'

'Iunderstand both your mother's and your father's feelings in this matter,'Gunnarstranda began when Kirkenær paused.

'Thankyou, but you are in no position to under- stand,' Kirkenær interrupted again.'Historical facts have two sides. Even the mob had feelings of honour at thattime. Distinctions were made between people. Distinctions were made betweenthose who lived in and out of wedlock. Women who were married to Germans andhad children were transported out of the country, to Germany. But my mothernever received this protection. Why not? Right. Because of Reidar FolkeJespersen. He could have turned a blind eye; he could have even used hisinfluence to give me and my mother protection. After all, her husband was inprison.'

'Don'tyou think your father received his punishment when he found out you were hisson and that he had…'

'You understandnothing, Gunnarstranda. These weren't anonymous men drunk on the intoxicatingair of liberation who humiliated my mother. This was Reidar Follce Jespersen,the war hero, who came home to find his sex object taken by the occupyingforces. For him it was not enough to win the war. He also had to destroy mymother. For him the war was not over until she was dead and publiclystigmatized.'

'Buthe didn't take her life, did he?'

'Shedied by her own hand when I was twelve years old. The doctors treating herdiagnosed her illness as a psychosis. But they didn't know what I know. Mymother was taken from me and killed on 8th May 1945. The person who should beblamed, Reidar Folke Jespersen, is dead now and is therefore no longer burdenedwith guilt.'

'Whatare you going to do now?' the policeman asked with dread.

'I'mgoing to finish off what I started. I want to take my revenge.'

'Ican't allow you to do that.'

'I'malready beyond your authority. You can't do anything, nothing at all.'

'You'reforgetting that your actions affect others apart from you.'

Kirkenærfell quiet, and Gunnarstranda went on: 'I'm here because I've been talking toyour wife, Iselin. I've just come from her now. She is clearly innocent. Do notcause her any suffering. I'm asking you at least to take her into account. Forthe last time I demand that you come out with your hands above your head.'Gunnarstranda looked to his left. The unit leader had opened the door and gotout of the car. He had had enough of listening to the conversation. He wasleaning against the car door and giving orders over the radio. 'If you don't,you will be talking to someone else,' Gunnarstranda sighed. But Kirkenær hadalready rung off.

Chapter 48

PoliceInspector Gunnarstranda looked very tired and drawn as he parked in the driveto Tove's house in Sæter. A stranger in a blue dressing gown opened the frontdoor when he rang. She stared at him in confusion. He went in and walked pasther. He continued up the stairs to the first floor. He paused because he couldfeel he was being observed. When he turned round, the woman in the dressinggown darted out of sight. Whispering voices came from downstairs as he put ahand on the door to Tove's flat. It wasn't locked.

Hestood with his back against the same door and met Tove's gaze from thearmchair. Slowly she lowered the book she had been reading until it was in herlap.

'Aren'tyou asleep?' he asked, looking at his watch.

Sherose to her feet. 'No, I was listening to the radio.'

Henodded and hung up his coat and jacket.

'Didn'tyou want to be there?' she asked.

'No,'he said, rubbing his face with both hands. 'Police raids and guns are not mything.'

'Theywere saying on the radio…' she began.

'Yes,'he broke in. 'I heard. He was shot.'

Toveobserved him and said nothing.

Gunnarstrandaslumped down onto a low sofa by the window and rolled himself a cigarette.

ToveGranaas went to a corner cabinet beside the front door. It was brown and veryold with small doors. She took out a bottle of whisky. 'You need a dram,' shesaid, filling a glass and passing it to him.

'Haveyou got to go to work?' he asked.

Shefilled her glass, then looked at her watch. 'In two hours.'

Hetook a sip.

'Nowyou can tell me,' she said.

Gunnarstrandasat staring at his unlit cigarette. 'He sent his stepfather's uniform to Jespersenthrough the post. As a warning, or a threat, I suppose. The idea must have beento conjure up Klaus Fromm's ghost. But unfortunately for poor Kirkenær itwasn't Reidar who opened the parcel. His son, Karsten, did. The next step inthe planned murder was to appear in front of his real father. To appear in theflesh – to be Nemesis in person. And that must have gone as planned. Reidarmust have known that Amalie Bruun's son was his child, but he obviously thoughtthat the boy didn't know. The Friday reunion went off as planned. Reidarrecognized his son. That's the only explanation for him bringing forward theappointment with Amalie's lookalike that afternoon. And it also explains why herang the solicitor and revoked his will – he had realized that Kirkenær knewand he would have to consider a further beneficiary. It also explains why hetorpedoed the sale of the shop and agreed to a meeting with Hermann Kirkenærthat same night without a murmur. For Kirkenær this was the third and decisiveconfrontation – a private meeting. Late Friday night the prodigal son returned.The two of the met downstairs in the shop, and revenge took its course.'

'Revengefor what?'

'Hisown wretched life.'

'Hislife?'

'Reidarcommitted a brutal assault on Kirkenær's mother when peace was declared. Hismother suffered from depression as a result and committed suicide some yearslater. Kirkenazr was a war child without a home country, without a mother andfather.' Gunnarstranda gazed into the distance. 'I don't think I have theenergy for this roll-up,' he said and put it on the table.

'Hashe confessed?'

Gunnarstrandaraised his head. 'No.'

Thepoliceman sat rapt in thought. 'After killing his real father he must have puton his stepfather's uniform and put his blood-stained clothes in the box. Thenhe took the keys from Reidar's pockets and went to the flat…' Gunnarstrandapaused.

'Whydid he break into Ingrid Jespersen's flat now, so long afterwards?' Tove asked.

Athoughtful expression crossed Gunnarstranda's face. 'He said he was going toextract his revenge, but I don't understand why he wasn't already satisfied. IfI have anything to reproach myself for, it is because I didn't press him harderon that point.'

'Hedidn't say why?'

'Notdirectly.'

'Didhe want to hurt her?'

'Itwas a more grandiose plan than that. I want my revenge, he said. But hedidn't say what he was avenging, apart from his mother's suicide. It's a bitodd, though, that stabbing his father wasn't enough for him. Ingrid Jespersenhad nothing to do with what happened to his mother. What would he be avengingby hurting her?'

'Aneye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,' Tove suggested.

Gunnarstrandasighed: 'But he had his revenge when the old boy lay dead on the floor, didn'the?'

'Wheredid Kirkenær go in the years after the war?' Tove asked.

'Frommwent to Paraguay after the war, as lots of the top German Nazis did. He set upa newspaper.'

'Amalieand the child?'

'Accordingto Iselin Varås, Kirkenær's wife, Kirkenær grew up in Paraguay, Germany andNorway.'

'InNorway?'

'Yes,Amalie's mother was from Tønsberg – the Kirkenær family.'

Thepoliceman's mobile phone hummed in the pocket of his coat in the hall.

Gunnarstrandastruggled to his feet. He exchanged looks with Tove as he took out the phone.'Please be brief,' he said with a yawn.

'Kirkenærwill live,' Frølich informed him. 'His condition is stable and he's out ofdanger.'

'Well,that's something.'

'Do youthink we've got our man, boss?'

'We'llhave to hope so. Why's that?'

'Well,after the hostage drama went out on radio, a witness came forward and said hewanted to change his statement.'

Chapter 49

FrankFrølich sat down in front of the computer screen and watched Heat on DVD- the long sequence where Val Kilmer and Robert de Niro shoot their way out ofa police trap like commandos while Al Pacino, the cop, runs like a lame goatfiring single shots from his automatic. He had the same feeling he always didwhen he watched the film; it had nothing to do with him not liking Pacino, butalongside de Niro and Kilmer he wasn't cool enough. At the same time itirritated Frølich that he supported the crooks every time he saw the film. Heshould have been writing a report on his interviews with Sjur Flateby andothers, but he wasn't in the mood, and since he wouldn't be able to go home foranother couple of hours yet, he made use of the computer's DVD player to givehim the requisite sense of relaxation.

Somethingin the atmosphere made him lift his head and glance towards the door.Gunnarstranda was standing in the doorway. Frølich paused the film. He shovedback his chair, away from the computer table.

'There'slight at the end of the tunnel, Frølich.'

Frølichdidn't answer.

'IngridJespersen says Kirkenazr was searching for something.'

'Inher flat? What?'

'Ihave a suspicion I know what,' Gunnarstranda murmured. 'But it might take an houror two,' he went on. 'We need a scanner and a good photo-editing program.'

Frølichstood up.

'This,'Gunnarstranda said, showing him the photograph of a German soirée towards theend of the war. 'The first time I saw this I knew there was something familiarabout it.'

'Aface?' Frølich suggested.

'Maybe.At any rate, there is something in this photo that a voice inside me tells me Ishould subject to a closer examination.'

Twohours later Frølich had scanned in four photographs of a German party atBrydevilla during the war. He had printed them several times, rotated them onthe screen, made them brighter, darker, improved the contrast and magnifiedthem.

'Ican see it's the same woman,' Frølich said, pointing to Amalie Bruun. 'But whatdo you actually want me to do with this?'

Gunnarstrandadidn't answer straight away. He sat looking at the original photograph whichshowed Klaus Fromm in uniform, chatting casually to an unidentified person on asofa.

'Iwant you to magnify it one more time.'

'Tocheck out the lady?'

'Allof them. I want to have a closer look at the men,' Gunnarstranda explained,chewing his lower lip in consternation. 'Him in particular,' he added, pointingto Fromm.

A furtherhour later they sat with a pile of prints in front of them. Some looked likenon-figurative shadow painting and experimental art. Black mists and grey huesgave way to white expanses with scattered, tiny, black dots.

'Remindsme of the Rorschach test,' Frølich said.

'Hm,'Gunnarstranda brooded.

'That'sthose inkblots forensic psychiatrists show their clients. They show one ofthese blots and if the guy thinks it looks like Queen Elizabeth's genitals, thenhe has got long-term impaired mental faculties and gets off.'

'Exactly,'Gunnarstranda said, miles away.

'Thetest's called Rorschach after some Swiss guy, I think…'

'Him,'Gunnarstranda exclaimed, pointing to Klaus Fromm again. 'I want you to enlargethis fellow, as sharp as possible.'

'What'sthe point? All you can see is grey porridge and inkblots.'

'Tryanyway.'

'Tenmore times,' Frølich said and moved the mouse up and across the image of Fromm.

'Stopthere,' Gunnarstranda said, excited. 'Back.'

'Whatis it?'

'Back,slowly.'

Frølichobeyed. They saw an X-ray like silhouette of the man's shoes, trousers, hishands resting on his lap. 'There, yes,' said Gunnarstranda.

Frølichwas lost. They were looking at a mass of grey with dark shadows.

'Canyou enlarge it any more?'

'I'lltry.'

TheWindows hour-glass stayed on the screen until the greyish black mass ofindefinable contours returned.

'Yes!'Gunnarstranda said in a reverential whisper. He was shaking with excitement. Healmost dropped the lighter as he lit his roll-up. 'Look,' he whispered,pointing to the screen.

'Ican't see anything.'

'Yes,you can.

'Butwhat am I supposed to be looking at?'

'Atthe picture.' Gunnarstranda held a quivering finger in front of one of the darkpatches on the screen. 'Look at that, the medal. Can you remember seeing itbefore?'

'No.'

'Havea closer look.'

Frølichstared. 'I give up,' he said at length.

Gunnarstrandabeamed. 'So near and yet so far,' he teased, not without arrogance. 'Print outwhat's on the screen anyway.'

Frølichobeyed.

Gunnarstrandastood up and held the paper as it slowly hummed its way out of the printer.

'So,what do we do now?' Frølich asked.

Gunnarstrandawaved the print-out. 'Aren't you curious?'

Frølichgave a measured nod.

'Ifyou have the inclination, and if you think you have the time, you can join me.'

'Where?'

'Bythe pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.'

Chapter 50

Hewas running. The car went into a skid. Past him. The boy couldn't stop,couldn't turn round. The car skidded round and blocked his way. The driver'sdoor was thrust open. Out jumped a young soldier with a grin. In his hands he washolding a machine gun. He smiled as he took aim. He smiled as he fired. The boyheard the bullets a hundredth of a second before the salvo rang out. By then hehad thrown himself to the side. He rolled down the slope. Knowing he hadn'tbeen hit. Sharp stones tore open his anorak and made his back bleed. Behind himhe heard the soldier, and a dog was barking. He crawled through a thornthicket. It hurt as the thorns scratched his face and hands. He lay on hisstomach behind and under an almost impenetrable mesh of thorny branches. Hisheart was pounding. He could hear the pounding inside his ears. The dog camedown the slope wagging its tail. It was an Alsatian. It was sniffing andwhining. And running round in circles. It started digging with its front paws. Thensuddenly it jerked back and let out a loud whimper. It growled and madesnapping movements in the air. The leaves rustled. Gravel and pebbles rolleddown the slope. The outline of the soldier filled out behind the thicket. Theboy held his breath. The dog went on its knees with a plaintive squeal. The manwith the machine gun turned and stared right at the place where the boy washiding. The dog fell on to its side. The soldier raised his gun and took aim.The gun barrel moved slowly from right to left. The soldier shouted at the dog,which was emitting low whimpers. The soldier spun round, ran over to the dogand cursed. A swarm of insects was buzzing around the dog. They were pouringout of a hole in the ground like a gush of water from an underground spring. Atthat moment the boy felt the first wasp sting on his face. The pain was intenseand it burned. He clenched his teeth so that he didn't make a sound. Thesoldier took three steps back from the dog and swore. He pointed the machinegun at the dog and fired. The volley was deafening. The dog's body shook. Theboy felt sick. The wasps were crawling over his face. Light, ticklish wasp feetwalking over his lips, his eyelids. He opened his eyes for an instant. A hordeof wasps was stinging him again and again through his anorak sleeve. Thesoldier with the machine gun waved his free arm to chase the wasps away.

Anotherwasp stung the boy on the neck. The pain was so great that he let out ahalf-stifled sound from his mouth. The soldier immediately froze – andlistened. The boy breathed through his open mouth. He breathed in a wasp andcrushed it between his teeth. The gun barrel went from bush to bush. Suddenlythe soldier cursed out loud and grabbed his cheek. The wasps were attacking thesoldier, who let off another volley into the air, then retreated up the slope.The boy instantly crawled out. He brushed the wasps off him and again was stungin the neck. He gasped with the pain. Wasps were all over his bare hands. Theystung him. He cut himself on the sharp stones. His whole body ached. Hewriggled his way under the branches and away, out of danger from the insects.But the soldier was still standing up there somewhere. He and the others. Theywere longing to get back to their bunks. The sooner they shot him, the soonerthey would be able to get some sleep, food and cigarettes. They hated him. No.They didn't hate him. But he annoyed them. His being alive made them angry.

KarstenJespersen paused in the story. It was a natural place to pause. Benjamin waslooking at him with big eyes. He had both arms round his little giraffe and allof its neck in his mouth. Benjamin was waiting for the next part. But at thispoint in the story most of the excitement was over and Karsten was not sure howto go on.

Hewondered why, and formulated an answer in his mind. His story was about theboy, with no specific characteristics, but the boy had been a young man. Infact the story had been about his father – Reidar Folke Jespersen.

Whatreally happened was that the young man had escaped from the soldiers and runacross bogs and heathland until he came across a smallholding surrounded bytrees, a smallholding where there lived a young logger of his age who helpedReidar to get safely across the border into Sweden. It was easy enough to makethe escape exciting, but Karsten was more interested in allowing himself a fewliterary liberties. He was planning to add another part about desperaterefugees being led across the border by Harry Stokmo. A group of wretchedfigures between trees listening to twigs cracking, and creeping under coverwhile trying to prevent their children from coughing or tiny sobs from escaping- and then it would turn out that it wasn't a patrol cracking twigs underfootbut the little boy crawling out from under the brush.

Karstenthought that with a small child as the protagonist the story would be timelessand universal. It would catch Benjamin's imagination, he thought. The storydidn't need to be about the 1940-45 war in Norway, it could just as easily be amodern war, in Kosovo for example.

Karstenhoped that Benjamin would identify with the boy in the bushes – as Karsten haddone when he was first told the story, imagining himself behind the bushes withthe Alsatian sniffing around a few metres from him. It was now, at this verymoment, while reflecting on the first action in the story that Karsten became alittle unsure of himself. He remembered that he had been told the story by hisfather, as a first-person narrative. But he also remembered how he hadidentified with it. This fact, that he had enjoyed the story to the full eventhough it had been a first-person narrative, told by his father, rendered himpensive, distant. At this moment, while his gentle fatherly eyes rested onBenjamin's engrossed, impatient features, he realized that his edited story wasnot just unnecessary, it was also a little suspect. There had to be a deeperpsychological motive for him to edit the story, he began to think. Andhe had palpably concealed his father's role. At some point in Benjamin's lifehe would be bound to realize that the protagonist of the story was his owngrandfather. Then the natural response would be to ask himself why his ownfather would conceal this fact from him. Benjamin would wonder about hisfather's, Karsten's, motives in concealing the truth. And it wouldn't be longbefore he found an answer. He might not find the correct answer, the oneKarsten considered to be correct, that the story had been edited to give ita literary lift. Benjamin might find other answers – for example thatKarsten changed the story in order to sweep the truth under the carpet. PerhapsBenjamin would think that Karsten begrudged his father the hero's role. At thismoment while Benjamin was waiting with bated breath for him to go on, Karstenhad felt ashamed and fallen into a trance. And he didn't snap out of it untillittle Benjamin started shifting in his bed with unease. Karsten found himselfsitting beside him with a distorted expression on his face.

'Daddy,'Benjamin said, impatiently waiting for him to go on. 'More.'

Karstengave a start. 'It's late,' he said and got up. The curtain in front of thewindow was illuminated by a car coming up the drive. He went to the window andlooked out. The headlamps blinded him, like two evil eyes, he thought, as thecar parked a few metres from him and the lights were switched off. The evilgaze of two eyes hung on his retina as he watched the car doors open. Theletters on the car door were unmistakeable. He read POLITI and it was like adeja-vu experience. It reminded him of something he had dreamed. They'recoming, he thought. He listened to Benjamin's congested breathing andwatched two dark silhouettes coming towards the window. They're coming to takeme away.

Chapter 51

AfterFrølich had parked the car, they sat looking up at the windows in IngridJespersen's flat. 'Third from the left,' Frølich said. 'There's a hole in theglass.'

'Ican't see anything,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Asingle shot,' Frølich said. 'A round hole in the pane. Those boys are prettygood.'

'Andher?'

'Theyhad to sew up her hand. Five stitches.'

Gunnarstrandanodded towards the building on the other side of the street. 'There they are.'

IngridFolke Jespersen and Eyolf Strømsted walked out of the front door. They went overto a brown Opel Omega parked on the opposite side. Ingrid started the car whileEyolf waited in the passenger seat. Ingrid got out and scraped the ice off thewindscreen when the engine was running. She scraped with her left hand. Theother one was swathed in a bandage.

Thetwo detectives stepped out.

'Oh,hello,' Ingrid said on catching sight of them.

'Haveyou got five minutes?' Frølich asked.

Shelooked at her watch with a frown.

'It'llbe very quick,' Frølich said.

Thepassenger door opened and Eyolf Strømsted showed his curly head.

'Juststay inside,' Gunnarstranda said quickly. 'We need to have a few words with fruJespersen.'

'Here?'she asked.

Frølichmotioned towards the police car.

Gunnarstrandaopened the rear door for her to take a seat and he sat next to her. Frølichtook a seat behind the steering wheel. Some people on the pavement were huddledtogether. The engine of the Opel opposite them was running. Eyolf Strømsted wassitting with his head facing the front.

'Thatwasn't very nice,' she said.

'What'sthat?' Gunnarstranda asked.

'Beingbundled into a police car like that. Look at the neighbours.' She pointed totwo middle-aged women who had stopped to stare at the police car. 'I hope youknow what you're doing.'

'Haveyou any reason to doubt us?'

'No…'

'Thereare a couple of untidy details,' Gunnarstranda said. 'About the course ofevents on the night your husband was killed.'

'Ihave nothing to add,' she said coolly.

'Wehaven't managed to get a statement from Hermann Kirkenær yet.'

'Isuppose not.'

'He'sin a coma.'

'So Iunderstand.'

'Didhe say anything to you about the night your husband was killed?'

'Nothingat all. I'd rather not…'

'We'vespoken to his wife, Iselin Varås,' Gunnar- stranda interrupted. 'She saysKirkenær left the Hotel Continental between one and half past one in themorning. He returned to the hotel at the latest at three with a uniform packedin a box, which proves that he had been to the shop to pick it up.'

Hepaused to let the words sink in.

'Isthat enough proof?' she asked after a while.

'Thereare a couple of things we can't quite get to add up,' Gunnarstranda said, and turnedto Frølich: 'Could you start the engine and get the heating going?'

Frølichobeyed. He stepped hard on the accelerator.

Thecurly head in the Opel opposite peered nervously in the direction of the policecar.

'Whatthings?' Ingrid asked stiffly.

'Well,Kirkenær returning home with the uniform in a box.'

'Mm.And what's strange about that?'

'Well,we were working on the theory that Kirkenær killed your husband and got hisclothes covered in blood. Since he couldn't go out onto the streets withbloodstained clothing, we thought he had put on the uniform which he hadconveniently sent to the shop beforehand. Afterwards he had packed his ownclothes in the box where the uniform had been. But that doesn't tally withKirkenær returning home with clean clothes and a clean uniform in a box.'

'Whydo you believe everything the woman says? It's obvious she would protect herhusband.'

'Ofcourse, except that she knows nothing about her husband's real and much closerrelationship with your late husband. But you can rely on us. We have seized thebox, the uniform and the clothes. No one would have been happier than me if wehad found blood on these items. The next problem is this damned medal.'

'Whatmedal?'

'Themedal that Kirkenær was trying to get off you the night he was shot by thepolice.'

'Washe looking for a medal?'

'Yes.'

'Ididn't understand what he meant. Anyway, he didn't find a medal in my flat.'

'No,he didn't. Because I've got it,' Gunnarstranda said, retrieving a littleplastic case containing a bronze medal from his inside pocket. 'Karsten's son,Benjamin, was playing with it on the same morning as your husband was founddead.'

'Howdo you know?'

'Becausewe – Karsten, Frølich and I – saw him doing it. He even showed it to us.'

Silencein the car.

'Frølich,'Gunnarstranda said.

Withdifficulty, Frølich turned round.

'Couldyou go and take a statement from our friend in the other car?'

'Ofcourse,' Frølich said, getting out and closing the door behind him.

Thetwo of them on the back seat contemplated his large body towering over the carwhile he waited for two cars to pass. Then they watched Frølich cross thestreet and open the door for Strømsted to get out. The engine was left running.They saw Frølich order Strømsted into the rear and follow him in.

'Really,'said Ingrid Jespersen.

'It'llbe interesting to read what he says later,' Gunnarstranda said.

'It'scramped in here,' Eyold Strømsted said with apprehension. He bent forward andstared past Frølich, towards the rear of the police car where IngridJespersen's profile could dimly be seen. The defroster and the heater were onfull. An oval patch on the front windscreen had opened up. 'What are you two upto?' Strømsted asked.

'We'retaking a new statement from you,' Frølich answered laconically.

'Why'sthat?'

'Fullname?'

'EyolfStrømsted.'

'Born?'

'Fourthof the fourth, nineteen-fifty-six.'

'Maritalstatus?'

'Whatare the categories?'

'Married,single, cohabitee.'

'Cohabitee.'

'Address?'

'JacobAalls gate 11B.'

'Isit true that you share a property with Sjur Flateby, born on the eleventh ofthe ninth, nineteen-forty-eight?'

'Itis.' Strømsted looked across at the police car from which Ingrid Jespersen waswatching them with a pallid face.

'SjurFlateby has withdrawn his original statement.'

'What?'

Frølichsearched through his inside pocket for some folded A4 sheets, which he passedto the other man. 'This is your partner's new statement. Would you be so kindas to read through it?'

Strømstedtook the papers. He seemed bewildered.

'Bottomof page two,' Frølich said. He turned over the page and pointed. 'This is thebit that differs from his earlier statement. Sjur Flateby swears that you wentout on the evening of Friday 13th January and didn't return until after five inthe morning.' Frølich gave the man with the alluring curls a long, hard stare.'Before,' he continued with a cough. 'Before, you both claimed you were snug athome in front of the TV until one o'clock at night, after which you went to bedand kept each other awake until half past five. What do you say now that you nolonger have an alibi?'

'Backto the medal that Kirkenær was searching for,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Whatabout it?'

'Lookat it.'

Gunnarstrandapassed the medal to Ingrid Jespersen.

'Nazitreasure,' she said, examining it.

'Guesswhere the boy found it,' the detective said.

Sheshook her head.

Gunnarstrandapointed to the window of the antiques shop. 'He found it in the shop. Benjaminfound it while his father was working in the shop on Friday the 13th. You mightremember. In your statement you said you and Karsten were drinking coffee inthe office that morning from ten until just past eleven. During this time theboy was drawing and playing on the floor. He told me last night that he had beenrummaging through a box containing a uniform. He had pinched this off theuniform.'

Theylooked at each other. 'So?' Ingrid said at last.

'Therewere no keys in Reidar's clothes when he was found dead,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Isthat so?'

'Wethought it strange because he must have let himself in that night.'

'Soundsreasonable,' she said.

'Weknow that Kirkenær came to the shop on Friday the 13th to meet Reidar. Ourtheory was that your husband let him in. Then Kirkenær killed him. We thoughthe wore the uniform so that his blood-stained clothes would not attractattention. We thought he took Reidar's keys after killing him.'

'Didn'the?'

'Ohyes, he took the keys.'

'So,what's the problem?'

'Theproblem is that stealing the keys is totally illogical.'

Ingridstared at the policeman. 'Are you claiming…?' she said in a stiff tone, andrepeated herself: 'Are you claiming the man who broke into my flat in themiddle of the night and slashed my hand was sane, logical and in possession ofhis right mind?' She raised her bandaged hand.

'Weassumed,' Gunnarstranda said, undeterred, 'that Kirkenær took the keys fromReidar after killing him, went into your flat, possibly leaving snow on thefloor; and dropped the medal from the uniform. However, since Reidar'sgrandchild found the medal before Reidar was killed, Kirkenær can't havedropped the medal in your flat. Do you agree?'

Ingridgave him a stern look.

'Thereare two logical questions which have to be answered here. If Kirkenær didn'tdrop anything in the flat why did he go back later to look for something? Andwhy did he take Reidar's keys if he didn't need them? There is only one logicalanswer to the first question. Kirkenær took the uniform with him to remove anytraces that might indicate his personal connection with this man. He didn'trealize that the medal was missing until long after. But when he did, he knewthe medal would be traced back to the war and to him. So it was handy for himto have your husband's keys. He could use the keys to get into the shop andlook for the medal. But the answer to the second question is still problematic.Why did he take the keys when he couldn't know that he would need them? Can yourecall that the seal we had put on the shop door was broken?' Gunnarstrandaasked. He went on: 'The seal had disappeared but the door hadn't been opened. Iwent into the shop and found some fragments of a broken wine glass. But ourofficers had this glass down in the records as intact after the murder. Sosomeone must have removed the seal after the murder and gone into the shop,then smashed the glass by accident. I think it was Kirkenær. He had yourhusband's keys and searched for the medal in two stages. First of all heunlocked the shop and searched it without success. In his confusion he knockeda glass off the desk. The next night he returned. And he broke into your flat.But why would he do that? He couldn't have guessed that the medal was there.The medal could have been at the bottom of the harbour as far as he knew. Itcould have been anywhere.'

Hepaused. She was looking away.

Neitherof them said anything. On the other side of the street Frølich and Strømsted wereinvolved in a discussion of the heated variety. Strømsted was gesticulating.

'Don'tyou think he was looking for the medal?'

'Yes,I do. But I believe he was after something else, something more important thanfinding the medal. I think he had a very special reason for stealing the keysoff your husband. The medal was a secondary matter.'

Shecoughed. 'He was unhinged,' she said. 'He wanted to kill me.'

'Correct,'Gunnarstranda said brightly.

'Correct?What do you mean?'

Thedetective smiled. 'Haven't you guessed? The only logical explanation forKirkenær stealing the keys from Reidar's clothes was to take his revenge. Hewanted to hurt or kill the person who was close to Reidar. He wanted to hurt orkill you. And for that reason he wanted access to your flat. That was why hestole the keys.'

'Atleast we both agree on that,' she said nervously, peeking at the Opel. 'Theman's unhinged.'

'No,he isn't,' Gunnarstranda said with a smile.

'No?'

'Hewanted to kill you, not because he's crazy but because he had been deprived ofthe opportunity to kill your husband. He had been planning the murder of yourhusband for months…' Gunnarstranda was interrupted by the ringing of his mobilephone. 'Yes?' he said.

'Strømstedrefuses to make a statement until he has consulted his solicitor,' Frølich saidinto his ear. 'What do I do?'

'Arresthim,' Gunnarstranda said. 'I'll have a car sent.'

Afterringing off he bent forward and took the radio from between the two seats.'Your paramour on the other side of the street has just confessed that hevisited you on the night your husband died,' Gunnarstranda said to Ingrid. 'Soit looks as if you may have to give your third version of what happened thatnight.'

Ingridgrabbed his arm. 'Please don't take everything from me,' she whispered throughrigid lips.

Gunnarstrandasat up to his full height and looked her in the eyes. 'Why are you frightenedof telling the truth?' he asked in a gentle tone. 'We know Kirkenær came herethat Friday night. We know he found the front door open, unlocked. We know hewent into the stairwell and found the shop door unlocked. We know Kirkenær hadone motive for coming here. He wanted to kill your husband. But he couldn'thave done it. It wasn't him.'

'Whyare you so sure?'

'Becauseyour husband was already dead! Hermann Kirkenær found your husband dead on thefloor. Since he was already dead all he could do was expose the body to publichumiliation. Kirkenær stripped the dead man and dragged him to the shop window.We also know that he was seen doing that. There was an eye-witness.'

'Aneye-witness?'

'Yes.'

IngridJespersen opened and closed her mouth.

Gunnarstrandasmiled like a fox smelling meat through an open pantry door: 'If the uniformjacket and trousers in the shop were not used to cover the trail of blood thatnight – how did the killer conceal the blood on his clothes and body?'

Helooked straight into her eyes. 'I know the answer,' he said. 'And you know theanswer.'

Thesilence persisted until Gunnarstranda cleared his throat: 'I've just askedFrank Frølich to arrest Eyolf Strømsted on a charge of murder. Do you reallywant to be charged with being an accessory?'

'Itwas almost three in the morning,' she said in the same monotone as before. 'Ihad rung Susanne and Karsten in total panic. Afterwards I heard steps on thestairs. A ring on the bell. It was Eyolf.' She went quiet.

Gunnarstrandacoughed and stared at the front of the building, towards which he was beginningto feel a strong aversion.

'Helooked terrible,' she started, wringing her hands.

'Blood?'

'Yes.'

'Goon.'

'Reidar'sblood.'

'Goon!'›

'Heundressed and had a shower. I put his clothes in the washing machine.' She tooka deep breath. 'Not everything came out clean, so he borrowed some of Reidar'sthings before leaving.' 'What did you do with the clothes that weren't clean?'

'Iput them on the fire.'

Gunnarstrandaturned his gaze onto the car where Eyolf Strømsted was keeping Frølich company.Strømsted's eyes had a hunted, fearful look. 'I think he knows you've spilt thebeans,' he said, addressing her.

'Idon't want to see,' she said.

'Whydid he kill your husband?'

'Hesaid he hadn't meant to.'

'Whatdid you do while his clothes were in the washing machine?'

'Nothing.'

'Whendid he leave?'

'Atabout five.'

'Twohours without doing anything at all?'

'Wetalked.'

'Whatwas your story for the police?'

'Iwould go down and see what had happened when it was light. Otherwise I wouldstick to the truth. But I didn't even manage to do that. The police arrivedbefore dawn.'

'Thebody was seen by a newspaper girl because Kirkenær had put it in the shop window,'Gunnarstranda said. 'What did you think then? When your husband had been put inthe shop window and was not lying on the floor as Strømsted had said?'

'Ithought Eyolf had lied to me. I thought he had put the body in the window.Eyolf thought I had done it. He thought I had my own plans and was manipulatinghim. That was why he told your assistant that Reidar had rung us on the Friday.He wanted to punish me, in the same way as I wanted to punish him. We werewrong, both of us. Of course it was this crazy man who made a spectacle of poorReidar. But we couldn't know that.'

Chapter 52

'Wouldyou believe me if I said it was his own fault?' said Eyolf Strømsted.

'Probablynot.'

'If Isaid I hadn't meant to kill him? Would you believe that?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Withno objections?'

'Murderis rarely intentional.'

'Whatabout if I said it was an accident?'

'That'smore difficult, but it's no secret that accidents have an easier passage,'Gunnarstranda answered. 'Death by misadventure is cheap for the state and ithelps us to sustain a belief in the essential goodness of mankind. But don'tmake too much of it. I would advise you to stick to the truth. Leave the legalside of things to those who understand it.'

'Herang me and said he wanted to meet,' Strømsted said.

'When?'

'Herang some time before midnight. Half past eleven, I think. He insisted I went thereas soon as possible.'

'Whydid you agree?'

'Outof concern for Ingrid. She had been very distressed earlier in the day, afterher husband's call – at my place. So I put on a jacket and went. The door tothe stairwell was open and he met me on the ground floor. We entered the shop.He started talking about my responsibilities towards Ingrid. He asked me if Iwas prepared to marry her. I asked if he would get divorced, but then he beganto laugh. I'm going to die, he said and went on talking about Ingrid asif she were a little child. It's important that you take care of her whenI'm gone, he said. I asked where she was. He said she was asleep in bed inthe flat above us. He had just been in to see her. The simplest thing wouldbe if you killed me, he said with this weird laugh. Why do you thinkyou're going to die? I asked. He didn't answer. Why? I persisted. Becausedeath has finally caught up with me, he said. Then he passed me thebayonet.

'Ican't remember taking it. But I remember looking at it. I couldn't take my eyesoff it. While he was talking about all those he had killed during the war andwhile he went into detail about the convulsions people suffered as life ebbedaway – all that time I was staring at the black steel. I remember thinkingabout how elegantly it had been formed, how such a gruesome, evil intention hadbeen moulded into an object. He said he wasn't afraid to die. I think he askedme if I would do him the favour of killing him. I don't know if I answered him.I think I did – I refused. I don't remember because I couldn't take my eyes offthe blade.

'WhenI did, everything had gone quiet. But it was too late. I looked up. Somethinghad happened to his eyes. I have never seen anything like it. As if he hadsnapped. Prove it, he shouted and threw himself on the bayonet.'

Strømstedraised his head.

'Andthat was it?'

Strømstedflashed a hollow smile. 'That was it? I didn't have a chance. I was standing inhis little office, leaning against the wall, when he rushed headlong at me. Ifelt the steel sinking into his flesh. He put both arms round me, held on tightas his body quivered. We slid down the office wall. He was lying on top of meand kicking with his legs. Blood was spurting out. I had blood over my face, myhair and neck. It was running down the inside of my sweater. And you sit thereand ask if that was it?'

'Wereyou holding the bayonet?'

'Ofcourse I was. But this is the incomprehensible part. I can't recall it movingfrom his hand into mine.'

'Whatdid you do afterwards?'

'Ican remember freeing myself.'

'Inthe office?'

'Afterhe finally stopped jerking. I rolled over towards the door.'

'Wasthe light on in the shop?'

'No,just in the office.'

'Whathappened next?'

'Iremember standing there with the bayonet in my hand and looking down at myself.The old man was dead, that much was obvious. He face was white and his mouthwide open. I felt dreadful – warm blood inside my clothes – and lookeddreadful. Don't remember what I was thinking, but I wiped down everything I hadbeen near when I was in the office. Afterwards I went up to Ingrid's flat andrang the bell.' 'Did she open the door?'

'Yes.I told her what had happened.'

'Whatdid you do?'

'Ihad a shower while she washed my clothes. We dried them in her tumble-dryer.'

'Howlong were you there?'

'Untilfive.'

'Andthen?'

'ThenI went home.'

'Didyou at any point consider calling the police or turning yourself in?'

'Yes.'

'Whydidn't you?'

'Weagreed it would be best not to.'

'Whoagreed?'

'Well,it was my decision.'

'Why?'

'Friends,lots of people, knew about the incident earlier that Friday, his phone callwhen Ingrid and I were in bed. I told Sjur, as a joke, because it was funny. Iknow Sjur had told it to many more people. The phone call was already a goodstory doing the rounds. I knew that the police would find out sooner or later.But when Ingrid's old man died, the incident wasn't so funny any more. All of asudden it seemed hard to imagine that I would be believed – that it was anaccident.'

'Didyou go back downstairs to the shop?'

'No.We agreed that Ingrid would "discover" the body when it became light.And call the police.'

'Didyou go through the dead man's pockets?'

'No.''Did you notice anything as you were leaving?'

'Likewhat?'

'Likethe shop window, for example?'

'No.'

'Wherewas the body lying when you left?'

'Hewas lying on his stomach in the doorway between the office and the shop.'

'Andthe front door was unlocked when you arrived?'

'Yes.'

'Whenwould that have been?'

'Iwould reckon at around half past twelve, maybe closer to one.'

'Andhow long after did he die?'

'Athalf past one, maybe.'

'AndKirkenær?' Gunnarstranda asked as Frølich drifted into the office.

'Stillin a coma.'

'Shame.'

'Willhe go free?' Frølich asked.

Gunnarstrandashook his head. 'He desecrated the body,' he said. 'He went there during thenight. We have Iselin Varås's wordfor that. He found the body, stripped it, penned his message and placed it inthe shop window after removing the keys. Those acts on their own are theft anddesecration – enough for a charge.'

'Butcan we be bothered?'

'No,'Gunnarstranda said, lighting a cigarette. 'We'll charge him with murder.' Hewaved the lists of calls from Ekholt's mobile phone.

Frølichobserved him from under knitted eyebrows.

Gunnarstrandablew a perfect smoke ring. 'Ekholt was sitting in his taxi and saw everythingthat was going on in the shop window. He didn't see the killing because thathappened in the back office and the shop was pitch black. But he did see whoput the body in the armchair by the window. Ekholt put two and two together andgot eleven. Of course he thought he was watching the murderer. Iselin Varåssaid Kirkenær took a taxi back to the Continental that night. She had no ideawhat was going on. But she was worried when they began to get phone calls froma strange man purporting to be a taxi driver. Kirkenær refused to talk to theman, and he refused to allow her to talk to him. Who else could the taxi driverhave been if not Ekholt? Kirkenær thought he was hailing a normal taxi with anormal driver that night, not a witness. For his part, Ekholt thought thatKirkenær had killed the old man, so he made sure his taxi was chosen. Accordingto Iselin Varås, Kirkenær seemed edgy and irritable every time the strangercalled. Kirkenær slammed down the phone every time except for once. Iselin saidthat one evening he had agreed to meet the man and had gone out soonafterwards. I thought it might be interesting to find out which evening itwas.' Gunnarstranda waved the paper he was holding in his hand. 'I showed herthis list of calls from Ekholt's mobile phone. The stranger's calls matched thelist exactly.'

'Kirkenærmet Ekholt the same night Ekholt spoke to me,' Frølich said in a low tone.

Gunnarstrandaflicked the ash off his cigarette. 'Ekholt must have had one single purpose, toblackmail Kirkenær. The phone call to you was a sign that he meant businesswhen he was threatening Kirkenær that he would tell everything he knew. What hedidn't take into account was that Kirkenær was dangerous.' Police InspectorGunnarstranda stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and gaveanother sparkling white smile. 'When Hermann Kirkenær wakes up from his coma,he'll be staring right into your mug,' he said softly. 'And you will charge himwith the murder of the greedy taxi driver – Richard Ekholt.'