The Fourth Man by K.O. Dahl Page A

I should?’
    ‘So, what are you doing here?’
    ‘It’s Sunday,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘I’m free.’
    Frølich grinned. ‘And you can stand there and threaten to report me? It’s not in your jurisdiction.’
    ‘Anyway, it’s not a good idea for you to wander around asking people questions. It’s better if you ring me. I’m always kept up to date.’
    ‘The area of interest is a stretch of river about a kilometre in length,’ Frølich said, unruffled. ‘And Faremo is certain to have come here by car. If he didn’t fall off the promontory over there, Faremo or the murderer must have taken the right-hand turning just before Askim. On my map there are two narrow gravelled paths or cart tracks leading to the river. And I’ll give you odds of nine to one that there are witnesses. At any rate, someone must have noticed the car.’
    They ambled slowly back. Gunnarstranda cleared his throat and said: ‘As a matter of form, Frølich …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Are you putting in a report, perhaps? Describing the last few days, what you’ve done and who can confirm it, etc?’
    ‘So I haven’t been cleared of suspicion of murder?’
    ‘Which murder?’
    They looked each other in the eye. Frølich had never been able to read what went on in the other man’s head. And he didn’t want to try now, either.
    ‘Strange business, this, Frølich. There’s only a tip-off connecting Jonny Faremo to the murder of the security man in Loenga, and let’s be honest, that tip-off isn’t worth a lot.’
    Frølich squinted up at the sky. The day wasn’t many hours old, yet the sun had already set up a flamboyant farewell spectacle behind the mountain ridge. Vermilion tongues of cloud licked between ochre-yellow flames above the azure-blue aura over the trees. He asked: ‘How little is the tip-off actually worth?’
    Gunnarstranda took his time to answer. ‘Private initiatives from you are likely to be misunderstood. If you don’t take it easy, you’ll be suspended.’
    ‘Tell me about the tip-off,’ Frølich persisted obstinately.
    ‘A woman, twenty-nine years old, a freelance model who gets most of her jobs working as a waitress in a so-called Go-Go bar.’
    ‘Prostitute?’
    ‘Doubt it. She calls herself a model and appears in Aftenposten in lingerie adverts and that sort of thing. On top of that, she’s the girlfriend of one of the boys in the gang we banged up.’
    ‘Whose girlfriend?’
    Gunnarstranda hesitated.
    ‘Which one of them?’ Frølich repeated.
    ‘Jonny Faremo.’
    ‘What’s her name?’
    ‘Forget it, Frølich.’
    ‘The only thing I’m interested in is her name. It’s ridiculous that you won’t tell me.’
    ‘Merethe Sandmo.’
    ‘Is she a suspect?’
    ‘No idea. This case is being dealt with by Kripos, not me.’
    ‘Why would Faremo’s woman blow the whistle on him?’
    ‘No idea. But the relationship must have been stormy. The tip-off reeks of revenge, which makes her statement worth very little. It wouldn’t take much to break the link between these boys and the murdered security man. If it does break, we’ll have to look elsewhere for someone with a score to settle with Faremo. And, obviously, one of those people is you.’
    ‘The woman whose name you just mentioned, who shopped them, she could have given him a shove from behind.’ Frølich stood admiring the sky.
    ‘By the way …’ he said finally.
    ‘By the way what?’
    ‘Do you think I’m a few bricks short of a load?’
    ‘I don’t think you’re a few bricks short of a load, no. But I don’t think anything about anyone in an investigation. And you know that very well.’
    ‘But that means you would bust me if there was enough evidence to support such a hypothesis?’
    Gunnarstranda smiled mirthlessly. ‘Would you blame me?’
    Frølich sighed. ‘Probably not.’
    ‘Why do you want me to talk to this academic, Reidun Vestli?’ Gunnarstranda said in a gentler tone.
    ‘Because, for some reason or other, Elisabeth