The Fourth Man by K.O. Dahl Page A

Elisabeth’s features: the nose, the forehead and the eyes.
    He said: ‘I’m looking for your sister.’ He thought: Big mistake. I should have introduced myself, been coldly courteous, not brazen like a little kid.
    The man took off his gloves with an effort and stretched out his hand. ‘Jonny.’
    ‘Frank.’
    ‘So you’re a friend of Elisabeth’s?’
    ‘Yes. Earlier today you were in court and got off because your sister talked about a man called Frank. You may remember?’
    Faremo grinned. ‘Elisabeth and I have occasionally discussed the fact that you were a policeman.’
    Frølich could feel the words sinking in: Elisabeth and I have occasionally discussed …
    Faremo went on: ‘She has always maintained that you weren’t an asshole, that you were …’ Jonny Faremo gave a cool, ironic smile as he prepared for the sarcasm: ‘ … that you were different.’
    Frølich controlled himself and refrained from giving a riposte. ‘Do you know where she is now?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘A neighbour claims she left half an hour ago with a rucksack and another bag.’
    ‘Then she must have done.’
    ‘But you must know if she was going anywhere.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    Frølich thought: Because she’s your alibi, asshole! He said: ‘So you don’t know?’
    ‘You should drop the Gestapo style when talking to members of her family.’
    ‘I apologize if I’ve been offensive, but it’s important for me to get into contact with her.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes. Really. Is that so strange?’
    ‘A little.’
    ‘Oh yes?’
    ‘From what I have understood from my sister, she was the one who had to take the initiative in your relationship.’ Faremo smacked a glove against his palm. ‘But now I’m in trouble, you’ve turned into a bloodhound and come running round here.’
    Frølich said: ‘If you see her, please ask her to ring me.’ He turned to go. The packed snow on the concrete roof was slippery. He almost fell, but he didn’t look back. She has told her brother everything . That was the only thing he thought. Jonny Faremo knew God-knows-what all the time he had been asking her about her brother. She had been sitting and shielding her cards like a child caught cheating.
    When he joined the main road Faremo was still standing in the same place, watching him closely.
    Frølich glanced at his watch. It was lunchtime, but he couldn’t swallow a bite. He pulled into the verge and stopped before he had driven fifty metres. What would be the best course of action? Find out where Elisabeth had gone or focus on the brother? How would he find out where she had gone? He hardly knew anything about her.
    He wove his hands round the wheel. Perhaps do nothing? Go home and sleep maybe? After all, he was off work.
    He didn’t have long to think. Faremo’s Saab drove past. Frølich switched on the ignition and followed him.

9
     
    It was late afternoon when he parked alongside a picket fence near the tram stop at Forskningsparken. From here he made his way to the part of the university complex housing the history and philosophy faculty. The thought of this visit was distasteful. The thought of searching for the Elisabeth he didn’t know was distasteful. However, the distaste he felt for this side of her seemed less important as long as he was unable to get in touch with her, to find her. He wanted to hear what she said about the poker game, the alibi – all the things he couldn’t grasp. So he ignored the beast gnawing at his stomach, went into the Niels Treschow building and took the lift up the tall structure. He haphazardly roamed the corridors, took the stairs and wandered further afield as he read the names on the doors. The door to Reidun Vestli’s office was ajar. He knocked and pushed the door open. A young woman with blonde hair and an unusually powerful jaw looked up from the computer. ‘Sorry,’ Frank Frølich said. ‘I’m looking for Reidun Vestli.’
    ‘She’s gone home.’ The young woman looked at her