by K. O. Dahl
'Sugar or milk?' came a voice from behind.
He turned and saw that the reason he had not heard her coming in was that she was barefoot. 'I take it black, thank you.' He put the plant pot back in its place, crossed the floor and sat down in one of the stylish chairs around the low oval coffee table whose wood gleamed wine-red.
She sat down on the sofa diagonally opposite him. After a moment or two she grabbed the remote control from the table and cut off the man's song. Tamino he supposed. They exchanged looks as the silence enveloped them.
'Gunnarstranda,' Sigrid said as though tasting the word. 'Unusual name.' She squinted at him with a cheeky smile playing on her lips: 'Do you like the name?'
The policeman examined the elegant porcelain cups for a few seconds, considered the question, scented the atmosphere in the room and noted his surprise that she had asked such a personal question without any unease. He stroked the gilt-edged plate, then looked her straight in the eye and smiled. 'What sort of question is that? No one likes their name, do they?'
She cocked her head, satisfied with the answer: 'I suppose you're right.'
'Yes,' Gunnarstranda said, sampling the coffee and informing her with a tiny nod of the head and an appreciative pursing of the lips that it was good. 'In our culture it's the women who have been obliged to change their names; man's lot has been to accept his identity and to perpetuate the name.'
She stared into space for a second before gathering herself. 'But if you didn't like your name you could have changed it, I suppose. It's possible.'
Gunnarstranda leaned back in the chair. 'I didn't come here to talk about me,' he mumbled, crossing his legs. 'But now that we're on the subject, I disliked my name as a child. And for a long time I thought everyone did - dislike their name. But that's not the case. And as I grew older I realized that I disliked people taking pseudonyms and aliases even more.' Taking in the room with a sweep of his arm, a gesture that was intended to include the splendid view, the lavish interior and her general social affiliation, he continued: 'Well, what is a lady like yourself doing in a place like…'
'… a rehab clinic for drug abusers? Nothing could be more normal,' Sigrid said. 'I belong to the mediocre majority of women in West Oslo. I am one of those who have tired of shopping and housewives' holidays on the south coast and have decided to go back to work now that their children rate friends higher than home.'
'When is that?'
'When children enter their teens, or the child, in our case. We went to school at the same time: Joakim to senior high school, me to Diakonhjemmet University to study social work. I've been working with Annabeth for three years now.'
'Joakim - is that your son?'
She nodded.
'What does he do now?'
'He's in the US, studying economics at Yale.'
'Not bad.'
'Very right and proper, you mean, for herr and fru Haugom of Grefsen.'
'So you're a little critical of the boy's choice of education?'
'Let's just say working with drug addicts puts Western capitalism and financial politics in perspective.'
'Interesting.'
'Why's that?' She curled her legs up under her on the sofa.
'Because you appear to be middle-class, but you choose to work with drug addicts and are critical of…' He searched for words.
'Of our official drugs policy,' she completed, pensive and focusing in front of her.
'How do you get on with the patients?'
'Pretty well actually. I would say I'm doing a good job.'
'You're thriving?'
'Yes, and the patients with me.'
'And Katrine?'
She nodded. 'Katrine was the young, silly type. Excuse my language. I liked her very much; she had looks, style, a future and all that, but at the same time she was envious of me.'
Gunnarstranda smiled in acknowledgement.
'She was envious of my life, house, money and the car I drive. Please don't misunderstand me. Such envy is healthy. That type of girl, however, needs clear, specific models; their personality is too fragile and their self-image too vulnerable to come to terms with the fact that life can be hard. Their whole problem is that when they come face to face with reality, when they are confronted by adversity and the going gets tough, they resort to drugs. That is a world they can control; the drugs milieu is full of clichés, as you know. Not even the worst soap opera on TV can be as superficial or hollow or as full of vacuous phrases as a conversation between two addicts.'
Gunnarstranda sipped his coffee and was on the point of saying something.
'I'm sorry,' Sigrid said, suddenly seeming depressed. 'It's just that I can't take it in that I'm talking about Katrine. Of course I know she's dead, but it's strange anyway…'
'If she had died in a different way,' the policeman said, 'let's suppose, of the classic overdose, for example, I daresay we would not have been sitting here discussing her.'
Sigrid Haugom closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. Silence fell over the room.* Gunnarstranda leaned back and watched her from beneath half- closed eyelids. She shifted position, cleared her throat and said: 'Death is not so unusual in this job, of course. We've had several patients who have died. Death and overdoses are daily topics of conversation - in fact. But addicts are never killed by someone else; they tend to kill themselves.' She looked down.
Gunnarstranda nodded. 'What did you think about fru Ås inviting her to a party at her home on Saturday?'
'I was against it, and I definitely thought it was premature.'
'What do you mean by premature?
'The difficulty for our patients is that they often have to be fundamentalists to survive. They have to be off all drugs, off alcohol and off former friends. Do you understand? But the world isn't like that. The world is full of overlapping networks. Reality consists of people who build alliances. The world is full of double standards and territorial battles. At the Centre we do have occasional parties. Everyone does. But I didn't like Katrine being there. For our patients it's tough to face the fact that the very people who work every day at ridding them of their addictions turn to alcohol when they want to enjoy themselves. Everyone drinks with moderation. Well, maybe not everyone. Some drink themselves legless. The difference between an addict and a so-called normal person is that the latter can adapt their lives to the demands of everyday living. They go to work sober, drink a beer in the sun - but they stop there. In my opinion, the kind of party Annabeth has is a revolting ritual. Revolting is my word and I am against that kind of ritual. When a patient like Katrine takes part, the party changes character; it becomes a sort of confirmation ceremony, with the patient showing us that she can deal with the life to which she has to return.'
A sort of initiation test into the normal world?'
'Not my words, but you've got my point.'
'But weren't you worried when she fell ill?'
Sigrid Haugom sighed and stared out of the window, sunk in her own thoughts while absentmindedly running a hand up and down her leg and scratching herself. The room was silent except for a wall clock and its hollow, raindrop-like, ticking sounds. Gunnarstranda peered up at it: old-fashioned craftsmanship with a dial made of matt porcelain, covered in stains. The Roman numerals were neatly painted and the same neatness was visible on the clock hands. A carved eagle adorned the wooden clock, and the pendulum that hung next to the wall swung from side to side between two weights, much like fir cones in appearance.
'Now she's dead of course, but as a rule we would have been worried, yes,' the silver-haired woman said.
'But at the time, during the party?'
'I tried to talk to her, but then she seemed to recover. She must have eaten something she couldn't stomach and then it passed…'
'So her behaviour didn't give cause for alarm?'
'Now that you ask, I think perhaps we should have taken the whole affair more seriously.'
'Has this sort of thing happened before? I mean that a patient
is sick in this way?'
An eloquent smile played on Sigrid's lips. 'It was the first time I'd been to that sort of party. For the Centre, that is. Such parties are not that usual.'
'What was the occasion?'
'It was a party for the staff - an end-of-summer celebration. I suppose Katrine had been invited because she was leaving us for the big, wide world. Her treatment at the Centre would have been finished in the summer.'
'Are there many patients you can declare drugs- free?'
'Our statistics are not very good, no.'
Gunnarstranda sat looking at the floor. 'Are anyone's statistics good?' he asked at length.
'Yes, some are. Nothing exceptional, but there are better statistics than ours. However, even if Katrine was the patient who had achieved most, that doesn't mean that we don't have a lot to do. Some of the blame for the bad figures has to lie with the legislators. Patients come to us as a result of compulsion orders, but they only last for a little time, and if we don't have the authorization to hold them, they often go. It's the same as with many so-called normal people: they take the path of least resistance.'
'Why do you think she was ill that night? Do you think it had anything to do with the food?'
'I have no idea.'
Gunnarstranda waited while Sigrid reflected. She was sitting with her legs folded beneath her on the sofa, holding an ankle with one hand and supporting herself with the other. 'I remember Katrine and Annabeth were in conversation, and that I walked towards them. Her boyfriend, who was there, did the same. He caught her when she fell.'
'She fainted?'
'I don't know.'
Gunnarstranda waited.
'She might have fainted.'
'What did you do?'
'I followed the two of them, her and her boyfriend, to the bathroom and, after a while he came out, leaving her inside. He said she felt better and would be out in a while. I waited for a bit, and after a few more minutes I knocked on the door. But she wouldn't open up. A little later she shouted to me that everything was fine and opened the door. Then I went in; she was sitting on the toilet lid. I remember I washed her face. She seemed fine, but was a little shaky. I remember she asked me to call a taxi, but then didn't bother, that is to say she told me not to bother. She said she would come out of the toilet, but that she might leave the party early. So I went.'
'Did you say anything else to her?'
'No. Some time later I asked Annabeth, but she thought she had gone home early because she was ill.'
'What did you think then?'
'I was nervous. She was upset because of an incident that took place earlier in the day and -'
'What sort of incident?' Gunnarstranda interrupted.
'I think someone from her former life had appeared in the travel agency where she was working.'
'Who?'
'I don't know the name. But she rang me a couple of hours before we left for Annabeth's. It must have been about five o'clock, I think, so it was after she had finished work. She said something had happened.' Sigrid frowned. 'The whole thing was a bit incoherent, but I think she said someone from the drugs milieu she had been part of turned up at her workplace. That was why she had to talk to me. She insisted on it.'
'Why you?'
'Because…' Sigrid searched for words.
Gunnarstranda leaned back in the chair, silent.
'Because we talked a lot. We got on well.'
'But what did she want to talk about?'
Sigrid Haugom deliberated. 'I asked if we couldn't talk on the phone, but she said no. I remember I looked up at that clock.' Sigrid pointed to the wall where the clock in the brown box was ticking loudly. 'It was past five and we had to be at Annabeth's for half-seven. And I was working out how much time I would need for a shower and the other things I needed to do. I… well… I tried to make it all fit, let me put it like that, and asked if I should pop by before we went to the party, but she said no.'
'And how did she go on?'
Sigrid shrugged. 'Words to the effect of… then we can chat later, or something like that. I wasn't so happy with that because I knew she was very touchy in that area, about being rejected, so I asked: Are you sure? And once again I offered to drive down to hers. But then she asked me if I had time tomorrow, that is, the day after, on Sunday. And I said yes, but, well, that didn't materialize.'
'Can you remember what she said had happened, the precise words she used?'
The woman on the sofa turned this over in her mind. Gunnarstranda sipped his coffee and sent her another complimentary glance.
Sigrid closed her eyes. 'She said: I've had a visit… or: Something happened at work… I've had a visit from the past. I have to talk to you or I'm going to snap. Something like that - I can't remember the exact words.'
'… or I'm going to snap?'
Sigrid nodded.
'How did you interpret that expression?'
'Not in any special way. As a way of speaking, like: I think I'm going to faint or: I think I'm going to die, as some people say.'
'And what did you answer?'
'I said: Who was it then, my love? Or: My dear, who was it then?'
'You were so intimate? My dear? My love?'
'Yes, in fact we were.'
'Do you address other patients in the same way?'
'I generally get on well with patients.'
'But you address them all in the same way?'
'You could say that Katrine was… I suppose it is true to say there was something special about our relationship.'
'Why was that?'
Sigrid took her time. In the end, she said: 'Because it was her, and it was me.' She thought a bit more. 'Maybe Katrine was different, yes, I think she was. Katrine was special.' Sigrid seemed to be clarifying her thinking to herself. She sat staring into space, lost in thought. 'There was something about Katrine,' she said at length, and added, 'Oh, I don't know. When it comes to the crunch it might just have been the chemistry, but on top of that she had confided in me over a long period.'
'Confided?'
'Yes, it wasn't perhaps very therapeutic, but she preferred me to many others.'
'But she didn't say who it was that had visited her or what had happened?'
'No. The conversation turned into a discussion of when to meet.' 'Did you try to contact her on Sunday?'
'I rang her in the afternoon, but got no answer.'
'How did you interpret that?'
'I thought she had forgotten or she would get back to me later. After all, we hadn't made any specific arrangement.'
Gunnarstranda coughed. He considered his next question. 'What sort of person is her boyfriend?'
'An empty shell.'
'Shell?'
'I think so. There's a lot of facade, but not much in here.' She tapped her temple with her middle finger. 'He was also jealous, not very mature… yes, in fact that covers it… not very mature.'
'Is he violent?'
'I don't think so.'
'Do you think he hit her?'
'No.' She shook her head. 'No, I would have known.'
'How did the jealousy manifest itself?'
'I guess he was afraid she was intimate with other men.'
'Was she?'
'I have no idea.'
'She didn't take you into her confidence about everything?' 'It would be more correct to say I wasn't interested in that type of confidence.'
'Did anyone at the party make advances to her?'
'Advances?'
Gunnarstranda looked her straight in the eye. 'I think you understand what I mean. Did anyone at the party "follow her, have sexual intentions, that is?'
'I doubt it.'
'Why?'
Sigrid stared into space. She was thinking. 'Then the individual concerned must have left the party,' she said at last. 'And…' She continued to think. 'And so as not to be found out this individual must have returned…'
'Yes, that's a possibility.'
'No…' she too
k her time, staring upwards. 'That seems quite unlikely.'
'But does it seem impossible?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well,' said the policeman. 'You knew her, she confided in you some of the time and there is a good chance someone followed her. Whether it was feasible is another matter. Can you say, with your hand on your heart, that everyone at the party stayed in the house all that evening and night?'
'No.' 'Why not?'
'Some went into town. After all, the meal was over. Some were upstairs, some were downstairs, some were at the bottom of the garden or behind the bushes. Who knows.'
'Do you remember who went into the city centre?'
'A gang of them went to dance at Smuget… there was a man we called Goggen who was the leader and desperate to go - he's an ergonomist - his real name is Georg Beck. I know Bjørn Gerhardsen left…'
'The host, Annabeth's husband?'
'Yes, he's just an overgrown schoolboy. He wanted others to join them. Quite a few of the younger ones went along. I don't know how many there were. At any rate, Goggen and Bjørn Gerhardsen. Plus a few others. Katrine's boyfriend, Ole Eidesen, may have been with them.'
'Why do you think that?'
'I couldn't see him or Katrine anywhere. Either he went with Katrine or he went with Goggen and the others to town.'
'And you?'
'Me? I went hither and thither.' She put on a tentative smile. 'Do you think I…?'
'We don't think anything, but we may need to hear some of the confidences.' 'How so?'
'She may have said something that has a connection with the case. So I would like you to contact us if you remember anything.' He rose to his feet. Sigrid followed suit. 'Of course,' she assured him.