Once again Frank Frølich was sitting behind a two-way mirror. This time he was joined by Gunnarstranda. In the interview room, Lystad from Kripos was in mid-flow. Opposite the police inspector sat Inge Narvesen and his solicitor. The latter was a man in his fifties who was clearly more familiar with corporate than criminal law. He had a plump, moon-shaped face beneath a mound of unkempt curls. Neither the solicitor nor Narvesen seemed particularly happy to find themselves in this situation.
‘Do you deny that?’ Lystad asked.
‘That I ate at the hotel? Not at all.’
‘Alone?’
‘No.’
‘Who were you with?’
‘No idea what her name was.’
‘Have a try.’
‘It’s true. I have no idea. She called herself Tanja, but I doubt she was christened Tanja.’
‘You’re absolutely correct. Who was this “Tanja” for you?’
‘A prostitute. She sold, I bought.’
‘Bought what?’
‘What do you buy from prostitutes?’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘I bought sex off her.’
‘You went to Fagernes to buy sex off a woman working as a waitress in Oslo?’
‘Obviously the term “waitress” does not completely cover this woman’s activities.’
‘OK, let’s talk about something else. You started a relationship with a young woman in 1998, is that right?’
‘It’s possible. What do you mean by “young”?’
‘Elisabeth Faremo. She was working as a sales assistant at Ferner Jacobsen where you were a customer. Did you start a relationship?’
Inge Narvesen shot a glance at his solicitor. He nodded. ‘The term “relationship” is stretching it,’ Narvesen drawled.
‘Perhaps you would claim you confined yourself to buying sex off her, too?’
‘No. We were a couple. But it wasn’t a relationship of any duration.’
‘I know,’ Lystad said. ‘It stopped when her real lover was arrested for breaking into your house.’
Narvesen said nothing. He flashed a raised eyebrow at his solicitor, who slowly shook his head.
Gunnarstranda and Frølich exchanged meaningful looks. Whatever sort of choreography this was, Frølich thought, there was no question it had been rehearsed.
Lystad got up and walked over to the window facing him. He stood surveying the street. ‘You say you bought sex off this woman in Fagernes,’ he said to the window. ‘Where did you have intercourse?’
‘At the hotel.’
‘You didn’t have a room at the hotel.’
‘
She
did.’
‘She
didn’t.’
‘She must have been using an alias. We were in her room, in her bed.’
‘What was the room number?’
‘I really cannot remember.’
‘Which floor?’
Narvesen smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry.’
Lystad gave him a stony look. ‘Not so surprising that your memory plays tricks on you since neither the woman nor her alleged alias, Tanja, ever checked in at the hotel. But, for the time being, let us just say that your statement does not exactly tally with reality …’ Lystad raised a hand when Narvesen made a move to intervene. He said: ‘Where was her partner when you were having sex?’
‘Don’t know. She and I were alone.’
‘But she was in Fagernes with her partner.’
‘That’s news to me. I didn’t know she had a partner.’
‘And you had sex before or after the meal in the restaurant?’
‘Before.’
‘I have a witness whose statement reads as follows: You came into the restaurant. A woman was sitting there already. First of all, this woman’s name was not Tanja. She has been identified as Merethe Sandmo from Oslo. You sat down at Sandmo’s table.’
‘She called herself Tanja. I didn’t know what her real name was and didn’t want to know either. It’s correct that we met in the restaurant … after having intercourse. We went down separately. She went first.’
‘This woman has never been connected with this sort of activity before.’
‘There always has to be a first time.’
‘Do you believe this was the first time she had sold sex?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘How did you set up this meeting?’
‘Over the Internet. The usual procedure.’
‘I’m not familiar with the so-called “usual procedure”. How did you set up the meeting?’
‘There’s a website which arranges appointments for prostitutes and customers. Don’t have the address in my head, but you can have it later.’
‘Did you meet before you went to her room?’
‘No.’
Frølich and Gunnarstranda exchanged looks again. Narvesen’s solicitor reacted as well. He whispered into Narvesen’s ear.
‘You went to her room alone, but you can’t remember which room it was or what floor it was on?’
‘I apologize. I expressed myself clumsily.’
‘Answer the question.’
‘I made a mistake. She met me in reception and we went to her room together. She was an attractive woman. I was excited and don’t remember which floor or …’
‘That’s enough,’ Lystad said and turned. ‘You’re obviously lying,’ he continued. ‘You’re showing contempt for everything I stand for and for the public prosecuting authority as an institution. I advise you to demonstrate greater prudence when we meet in court. However, we can come back to the trial later. As regards your meeting with Merethe Sandmo, I don’t believe you were in any hotel room ever. I believe you paid her, yes, but she sold you information, not sex. I believe that afterwards you drove to a chalet in Vestre Slidre. There you met Elisabeth Faremo and killed her.’
The silence hung in the room. Narvesen had blanched. The solicitor sent him a concerned look, coughed and spoke up. ‘Do you have any proof for that allegation?’
‘I’m working on it,’ Lystad said. ‘You’re the vindictive type, aren’t you, Narvesen?’
‘Inspector Lystad,’ the solicitor interrupted. ‘I have to ask you to be more specific and not to make unfounded allegations.’
‘Of course I’ll be more specific. Narvesen, can you tell us a little about your relationship with Halvor Bede?’
Narvesen sat looking at the policeman in silence. The solicitor leaned towards him. They whispered. The solicitor spoke for him.
‘You can’t just throw completely new information at us out of the blue, without giving us a chance to go through …’
‘This is not a trial,’ Lystad broke in. ‘We’re questioning Narvesen. However, you have the right to be informed. Narvesen, shall I or will you tell your solicitor about Halvor Bede?’
Narvesen didn’t answer. He sat with his interlaced fingers resting on the table in front of him.
‘Halvor Bede was a Norwegian ship’s officer who once took the liberty of trying to blackmail your client,’ Lystad said to the solicitor. He continued: ‘He was convicted and served his sentence, but was unfortunately stabbed to death by an unknown assailant on the day he was released.’
‘But what has that got to do with me?’ Narvesen barked. ‘Bede was killed in a bar fight. Some row about a woman or God knows what. I’ve never been near the bar and the case was shelved years ago.’
‘Shelved, yes, but not closed. You are a vindictive type, aren’t you?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘We’ll come to that. You like setting fire to chalets, don’t you, Narvesen?’
‘Don’t answer that kind of allegation,’ the solicitor exclaimed brusquely before turning to Lystad: ‘Unless you have witnesses’ testimonies or concrete evidence that connects my client to this alleged murder or any other alleged crimes, I would ask you to bring this session to a close right now.’
‘We will continue for as long as I deem fit,’ Lystad said, looking at his watch.
‘Is my client charged?’
‘No.’
‘Is he under suspicion?’
‘Very much so.’
‘You have to be more open. You have to base your accusations on evidence.’
‘It will be a pleasure,’ Lystad said, opening his briefcase. ‘This concerns a raid carried out by the Eco-Crime division on your business premises, Narvesen. There is also a minor matter regarding the specific withdrawal of a sum of cash you made: five million kroner. I can tell you that the numbers of the notes you were given in the bank were recorded. A selection of these notes has turned up in Fagernes, the same day you admit being in Fagernes with Merethe Sandmo. It is my belief that you handed over the five million to Merethe Sandmo.’
Narvesen observed him without uttering a word.
Lystad continued: ‘What I am keen to find out is what she could offer you which would be worth five million. I don’t even think your solicitor believes you paid her so much for a trick in a hotel room.’
The room had gone quiet.
The solicitor cleared his throat.
Lystad looked straight at him. ‘At this juncture your client has only two options. Either he can make a statement or he can refuse to make a statement. The latter would not be wise. But you can discuss the matter for a minute or two. We’ll take a break.’
He left the room.
Frølich and Gunnarstranda sat watching the interview room for a few seconds.
‘Lystad is good,’ Frank Frølich said. ‘But the most important thing now is to talk to Merethe Sandmo.’
They stood up and went into the corridor.
‘She’s in Greece, as you know,’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘But we have to get hold of her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s the only one who can explain what actually happened when she met Narvesen. And another thing, as regards the fourth robber, in fact it could have been her — Merethe Sandmo.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’ve been pondering about that,’ Frølich said. ‘Everything has a logical explanation. Merethe doesn’t have the experience so she panics. Or was she in the whole operation against her will? That would explain why she didn’t make a run for it when security arrived on the scene. Her involvement and the consequent murder might explain why she agonized and tipped off the police. It also explains why she only tipped them off about three names and not four. Which, in turn, might explain why Elisabeth Faremo felt forced to give her brother and the two others an alibi. It could also explain why the gang broke up. It might also explain why Merethe Sandmo fled from Jonny Faremo into the arms of Vidar Ballo.’
‘Naturally, that is a possibility. But there is one element which her potential involvement in the robbery does not explain.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Vidar Ballo’s dead.’
Frølich was stunned. ‘How long has he been dead?’
‘A long time. A hell of a long time. His body was discovered when his neighbours reacted to the stench. Possibly he went home and died after talking to me.’
‘So he was dead when the chalet went up in flames?’
‘There is a large, very large possibility that he was, yes.’
‘What did he die of?’
‘He OD’d. Usual thing, heroin, standard user’s kit, huge dose, etc, not an ounce of suspicion about the death.’
Frølich was silent.
Gunnarstranda coughed and motioned with his head towards Lystad, who was waiting for them by the table: ‘Shall we have some coffee before the break is over? You and I have been invited to participate more actively in the next round.’
Frølich shook his head. ‘Probably not a good idea for me to take part.’
Gunnarstranda raised both eyebrows.
‘The second I show myself, Narvesen and his solicitor will start the mud-slinging.’
Gunnarstranda’s eyes flashed. ‘Tell me what you’ve done!’ he demanded.
‘I assume he will accuse me of criminal damage.’
‘What have you done?’
Frank Frølich shrugged. ‘Smashed a pane of glass in his veranda door.’
‘You idiot!’
‘Relax. It was just tit-for-tat – for my chalet which he set alight. He hasn’t got the balls to do any more than sling mud. Whatever he says, it’s just wild allegations. He’ll bark a bit and that’ll be it. That’s why I’m going now. So I don’t have to concentrate on that side of the case and I can be left to reflect in peace.’
Gunnarstranda took a seat beside Lystad, whose eyes were drearily following Frølich’s disappearing figure.
Lystad said: ‘What’s got into him?’
Gunnarstranda shrugged. ‘He’s been like that for some time. It’ll pass.’
Frank Frølich drove around aimlessly. When he turned into Hausmannsgate, he suddenly had a brainwave and continued into Mariboes gate. He found an empty parking space opposite the entrance to the Rockefeller music hall and walked down Torggata.