Free The Fourth Man by K.O. Dahl

dealing with it, helped by Kripos. You will have to be able to account for your movements over the last twenty-four hours.’
    Finally the cat is out of the bag . ‘And why’s that?’
    ‘You know why.’
    ‘No, Gunnarstranda, I don’t know why!’
    ‘You don’t need to take that tone with me. We both know that Faremo may have died as the result of an accident. He could have been arguing with someone who pushed him in – maybe with premeditation, maybe in the heat of the moment. And you’ve already been seen in what was termed a heated discussion outside his home.’
    ‘Are you having me followed?’
    ‘No, but I am investigating a murder. You have a lot of good friends here, Frølich, but no one can or will disguise the facts. Until last night Jonny Faremo was among the group of men suspected of murdering Arnfinn Haga. We’ve been watching Faremo’s place. Your discussion with Faremo in the car park has been duly documented.’
    ‘OK, but will you believe me if I say it cannot have been me who threw Faremo in the river?’
    ‘Try me.’
    ‘What you say is correct. I was outside their flat. When Faremo and his gang were released after the hearing, I did as you said. I took a week off. Then I went straight to the Faremo flat. I talked to him, but my voice was never raised and there was no heated discussion.’
    ‘The question is: what did you do afterwards?’
    Frank Frølich stared vacantly at the wall. He had been outside Faremo’s flat last night – for some reason he had taken a taxi up there and puked in a ditch. Why did I go there? What the hell was I trying to do?
    ‘Are you there?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Others, apart from me, are going to ask you, Frølich. I’m just giving you a little head start.’
    He didn’t feel nauseous any more, just thirsty. Lethargically, he got onto his feet and staggered into the kitchen. Nothing in the fridge apart from two cans of lager. No. He closed the door and drank water straight from the tap.
    He lurched towards the bathroom. In the shower, he soaped himself down thinking about Elisabeth and how she had testified on behalf of her brother and two others. He could see her in front of him as she strode out of the court towards Grensen without a look to either side. Why didn’t I stop her? Why didn’t I talk to her?
    He scalded his body with hot water while conjuring up the sight of her hurrying home as fast as her legs could carry her. That delicate frame of hers nervously rushing around her flat, opening drawers, slamming them shut, throwing clothes and other things into a rucksack and bag. A phone to her ear. She had done a runner, but where – and why ?
    His brain churned slowly, all too slowly. When he got to her flat, she had already disappeared. Then her brother came. Had she done a runner from her brother? And if so, why? She had already given him an alibi for the murder.
    He remembered his own trembling fingers as he tapped in Reidun Vestli’s phone number: the clear sound of being transferred, the muffled sound of a mobile phone. The conversation that was broken off as soon as he introduced himself.
    Suddenly it became important to ring Elisabeth. Everything that has happened is the result of a silly misunderstanding. If I ring now, she will pick up the phone and give me a convincing explanation of the whole thing . He turned off the water and walked into the living room without drying himself. His feet left big damp patches on the lino. Found his mobile phone and rang Elisabeth. But her phone was switched off. He rang Reidun Vestli. No answer. He stood naked, looking at his reflection. Never seen anything so pathetic.
    At that moment the doorbell rang.
    He staggered into the bedroom, found a clean pair of trousers and a T-shirt and went to open the door.
    A man stood on the mat. Frølich had never seen him before: lean, 1 metre 80, light brown hair and brown eyes.
    The man said: ‘Frank Frølich?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Sten Inge Lystad,