The Last Fix

by K. O. Dahl

  Another crash. The Porsche was rocked again by the bang and slipped further into the ditch. At some expense to the Opel. It was stuck too. I switched off the radio. The silence was deafening. I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray and looked at the weird sculpture of two entangled cars as a transparent, sun-glittering cloud of dust fell to earth and cleared the air. The derelict shed was unchanged. The corn swayed in the light breeze and there was not a sign of life anywhere.

  Suddenly the Opel moved. The window was rolled down on the driver's side. Something was thrown out and fell to the ground. It looked like two crutches. I opened the car door, put one foot on the ground and straightened my skirt. It was cooler outside than I had expected. The light wind was chilly. The gravel on the road cut into my bare feet. I stopped, unsure of myself. Then a foot appeared out of the Opel window. A black shoe, a leg. The leg with the shoe fell on to the ground with a thud. Another foot appeared in the car window. Another leg with a black shoe fell to the ground. The next thing to be seen in the window was a man's bald head. The man had a wreath of curly hair over his ears and wore glasses. After the head came his upper torso. Finally, the man tumbled to the ground head first. I closed my eyes because I didn't want to see him break his neck and die. On opening my eyes I saw him roll around and then lie still. But he was not dead. He soon crawled into a sitting position and wiped his face with both hands. The man had no feet and no legs. His legs had been amputated, and his thighs were two short stumps under loose trouser material. 'Can I help?' I asked, feeling stupid. The man didn't seem to hear me. He rolled up his trousers and attached the two prostheses lying on the ground. I went closer. I froze. 'Can I help you up?' I repeated and heard my voice crack.

  The sight of my shadow made the man stop and look up. He was bleeding from the mouth and nose. 'I can't hear you,' he muttered and patted his ears. 'I think I've gone bloody deaf'

  I picked up the crutches and passed them to him. The look he gave me was one of surprise. He tried to stand up, but toppled over. I didn't know what to do, except to grab his arm. By supporting himself on the crutches as I lifted he managed to stand up. 'Thank you,' he mumbled and hobbled off. Soon he was gone. He looked like a clown swinging on a trapeze in a rat's cage. Click, clack, click clack.

  I walked back to my car and got in. The hobbling figure was approaching the forest at the margins of the picture. I felt cold and lonely. The cripple hobbling away on his crutches became smaller and smaller. He didn't look back once.

  Gunnarstranda lowered the notebook and looked up, deep in thought. He discovered that he was sitting on her bed. He hadn't noticed that he had sat down. On her bed. A long, blonde woman's hair lay looped on the sheet. He jerked around sensing that someone was looking over his shoulder. But no one was there. He sighed and flicked through the rest of the notebook. It was filled with writing. The same neat, light-blue handwriting, page after page. Just the last four or five sheets were blank. The policeman closed the notebook and put it back in the drawer. Then he stood up and slowly made his way back to the living room. He stopped at the front door and looked back at the attractive flat that had once belonged to Katrine Bratterud. Leaving the place felt different from entering it. It felt quite different. Closing the door and locking it, he wondered whether it had been a stupid idea to undertake this visit. I don't know, he said to himself. I don't know.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mr Nice Guy

  Frank Frølich saw the man sitting on the chair outside number 211 as soon as he turned into the corridor. It had to be Bjørn Gerhardsen. He was punctual but still appeared impatient, with his arms folded in front of his chest and one foot bouncing up and down in annoyance. Frølich looked ahead, passed him without a nod and continued on to the next door. Here he turned and glanced at Gerhardsen before entering.

  The figure reminded him of one of the boys you find in the back row of the classroom, the type with ambitious parents and no spine. He seemed to be generating an image of himself from those times - rocking the chair, wearing designer clothing and puffing himself up with arrogance.

  Frølich closed the door behind him and crept back to room 211 to write up his notes. Gerhardsen could wait a bit longer.

  Ten minutes later there was a ring from reception.

  'Hi, Frankie. There's a man standing here, name of Bjørn Gerhardsen. He was supposed to appear in front of room 211 at half past three.'

  'Ask him to take a seat outside 211 and wait,' Frølich said without mincing his words and went on with the report.

  The next time he looked up it was ten minutes to four. Gerhardsen was a patient man. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door.

  Frølich swung round in his chair and watched the door. The handle went down slowly.

  The policeman pretended to glance up from his papers as the door opened.

  'Hello, I'm Bjørn Gerhardsen,' the man in the doorway said, unsure of himself.

  Frølich looked up at the clock on the wall. Then, with raised eyebrows, he looked at Gerhardsen.

  'I've been waiting since half past three,' the man said.

  'I see,' said Frølich, getting up. 'I thought you would never come. Well, take a seat,' he said, pointing to an armchair beside his desk. 'Frank Frølich,' he went on, proffering his hand.

  Gerhardsen sat down. He was business-like, but at the same time casually dressed in a dark suit jacket and lighter slacks, chinos, an expensive brand.

  Beneath the jacket he was wearing a garish yellow shirt and a tie that created a natural transition to the colour of the jacket.

  'I'm sure you understand why we would like to talk to you.'

  'Yes, indeed.' Gerhardsen cleared his throat. 'Do you mean… you've been waiting for me since half past three?'

  Frølich glanced up from his papers, indifferent to his question. 'You are married to Annabeth s?'

  'Yes.'

  'And on the Saturday Katrine Bratterud disappeared you had both invited a great many guests to a party. Could you start by telling me your experience of this party?'

  Gerhardsen fixed him with a glassy look indicating that he was not used to being insulted in this way. The look also said that he was not sure whether he would tolerate the insult. In the end he made a decision, closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Then he cleared his throat and said: 'There isn't much to tell. It was a successful party, easy-going, nice atmosphere. I think that was true for most people, at any rate.'

  Frølich nodded. 'What sort of party was it? What was the occasion?'

  'Just a private party. Annabeth and I invited good friends over for some food and wine.'

  'But most of the guests had some kind of connection with the Vinterhagen centre, isn't that correct?'

  'Yes, it is. In that sense I suppose it marked summer - it was a kind of summer party.'

  'But not everyone was invited?'

  'No, I guess it was the inner core. All that side of things was Annabeth's domain.'

  'And Katrine Bratterud.'

  'Yes, as you know, she had completed the programme at the rehab centre. She was due to be formally discharged, if that is the term they use. In fact, I don't know much about the details of these procedures.'

  'You're the chairman there?'

  'Yes, but not a therapist. I trained as an economist and economics is my professional field.'

  'I see. You're the CEO of a financial institute?'

  'Geo-Invest A/S.'

  'Katrine was not a close friend?'

  'Yes, she was, a good friend. That was one of the reasons she was invited. She had been a part of Annabeth's working day for years. And… ' He opened his palms. 'What is there to say? She was attractive, she… had style, was talented… was intelligent… and had the best references from the travel agency where she worked.'

  Frølich nodded to himself and scratched his beard. 'We can come back to that,' he mumbled and asked, 'Did you notice anything in particular about Katrine that evening?'

  'She was ill.'
/>
  Frølich looked up.

  'Yes, she felt sick and threw up, I believe… there was a bit of a hubbub around this Incident. My guess is it happened at around eleven. At any rate, it was a while after we had left the table. We always stay at the dinner table for a long time… I didn't see what happened, but I understand that Annabeth spoke to her…'

  Gerhardsen stopped as the door behind him opened. He turned in his chair. Police Inspector Gunnarstranda came in and stood in front of the mirror on the wall arranging his comb-over. 'Bjørn Gerhardsen,' Frølich said to Gunnarstranda and to the man: 'Police Inspector Gunnarstranda.'

  The two of them shook hands. Gunnarstranda sat on the edge of the desk.

  Gerhardsen asked: 'Should I continue?'

  As the other two made no attempt to answer, he said: 'Annabeth had been talking to her when someone came from behind. Anyway one or two bot- des of wine were smashed. As I said I didn't see anything but Annabeth was covered in…'

  'You don't know who it was?'

  'Pardon.'

  'The person who collided with your wife, you don't know who it was?'

  'No.'

  Frølich motioned for him to go on.

  'Well, there was a lot of mess, and then Katrine must have fainted, I suppose. Her boyfriend was there and helped her into the bathroom. Then I heard she had left after the incident because she didn't feel well.'

  Gunnarstranda was fidgeting with a packet of chewing gum. The packet wouldn't open. With an irritated yank he broke the packet in two and put two pieces of gum in his mouth. He leaned over, rested his chin on one hand and listened with interest. His chin rotated like a sheep's lower jaw.

  Frølich to Gerhardsen: 'But you didn't see this happen?'

  'No.'

  'Where were you?'

  'I was round about, somewhere or other. I was the host after all.' 'Did you notice Katrine leave? When did that happen? How did it happen?'

  'No. That is - I did register that she was quarrelling with her boyfriend.'

  'Quarrelling?'

  'Yes, that was after the wine incident, or the fainting or whatever I should call it. I passed them in the hallway. Needed… well, I needed… a pee. They were having a row.'

  'A row?'

  'Yes, or so it seemed, but they went quiet as I passed them, and then I heard them start up again as I closed the door. But I have no idea what they were rowing about.'

  'Did you talk to Katrine at any point during this party?'

  'A little. We sat together at table, or opposite each other, so we talked or to be more precise, we made conversation.'

  'How long did the party last?'

  'Until about four o'clock in the morning. That was when the last guests left.'

  'Can you remember who the last ones were?'

  'There were quite a few in fact. Some were being picked up. There was a lot of fuss with taxis and so on. Some had to wait for taxis. But there were some who went before, earlier in the evening, though I certainly didn't notice who went when.'

  Frølich conferred with his notes. 'How can you know that when you weren't there?' he asked breezily.

  Gerhardsen gave him a hard look. 'I was there in fact,' he answered.

  'We have heard that you left the party soon after coffee was served, with a certain Georg Beck and a number of others.'

  'Yes, indeed, that is correct. But I was back before four.'

  'By taxi?'

  'No, I drove one of the company cars.'

  The two policemen exchanged glances. Gerhardsen noticed and coughed. 'We have two cars belonging to Geo-Invest, a van and a smaller saloon - a Daihatsu. Since I'm the CEO I can use the cars on the odd occasion. That night I took one to drive home - so that I didn't have to queue for a taxi.'

  He coughed and continued as the two detectives still made no move to interrupt. 'We have offices in Munkedamsveien. These two cars are in the garage and I couldn't bear the thought of waiting for several hours in the taxi queue, so I unlocked the garage and drove the saloon car home.'

  Frølich cleared his throat. 'Were you intoxicated?'

  Gerhardsen shrugged. 'I presumed I was not over the limit.'

  'But you had been drinking alcohol and continued drinking all night.'

  Gerhardsen returned a flinty stare. 'I presumed I was not over the limit.'

  'Who left the party earlier in the evening?' Gunnarstranda interrupted. 'Who else apart from you?'

  'There was Goggen, Georg that is. Then there was his boyfriend - a man whose name I don't recall, but Annabeth knows him through some connection or other. Then there was another woman who was a temporary teacher at the centre during the winter at some point. Her name's Merethe Fossum. And then there was Katrine's boyfriend - Ole. Can't remember his surname.'

  'When did you leave?'

  'At midnight, more or less.'

  'Where did you go?'

  'We went to Smuget.'

  Gunnarstranda sent an inquiring look to Frølich, who explained: 'Restaurant at the bottom of Rosenkrantz gate.'

  'That's just by Aker Brygge, isn't it,' Gunnarstranda said.

  'Walking distance,' acceded Gerhardsen. 'Right across from the City Hall square.'

  'What happened then?'

  'Well, we went to Smuget. And split up.'

  'Split up? What do you mean?'

  'Mm, there are several rooms there. In one of them there was a blues band, in another disco music. There were all kinds of music and it was packed. We went our own ways.'

  'And what did you do?'

  'I circulated a bit, had a few beers and a few mineral waters, talked the usual rubbish to whoever was at the bars.'

  'Why did you leave the party you yourself had organized and hosted?'

  'I usually do.' Gerhardsen sat up straight in the chair. 'I know this may sound strange to some people,' he began, 'but Annabeth and I have no children. We've been married for sixteen years. We know each other so well and accept that we're different and we like to amuse ourselves in different ways. Annabeth is the kind of woman who likes objects, by which I mean she collects Royal Copenhagen porcelain - the seagull series. She likes antiques and is very keen to have a home that is modern and reflects good taste. I'm not like that.

  I'm a simple man with a stressful work pattern, a tough job. When she invites people back they tend to be from her circle of friends and if I see that there are other things I can do… Well, we all know that some guests come out of loneliness, some because they feel they have to come, some to be with good friends whose company they enjoy. People's needs vary and that applies to me and Annabeth, too. That is where we are today. At least Annabeth and I have come to terms with it and we are pretty happy living in this way…' He grimaced and weighed his words before continuing. 'In practice this means that a party like the one we held on Saturday often ends with Annabeth sitting and chatting with other women about interiors and…' He extended his arms to show the range of topics in his spouse's conversation.'… about… about the job, the centre and wallpaper patterns too, for all I know. But I…' He tapped his chest with his first finger. 'I prefer to hit the town and have fun.'

  Frølich nodded to himself. 'What's your impression of Ole Eidesen?' he asked.

  Gerhardsen shrugged. 'Common sort of young man.'

  'Common?'

  'Yes, usual.'

  'But you used the word common.'

  'Yes.'

  'Did you mean anything derogatory by that?'

  'Not at all. He seems like a decent sort. We were on the same wavelength, anyway.'

  Frølich made a note. 'And afterwards? Did you see him again in Smuget?'

  'The odd glimpse. We were spread out, the music was too loud and the room was too cramped to enjoy any conversation. I guess he was dancing and enjoying himself.'

  'When did you leave the place?'

  'At around three.'

  'And what did you do then?'

  'There were no taxis around, just long queues, so I strolled up to the garage in Mun
kedamsveien and fetched the car and drove home.'

  'And afterwards?'

  'Afterwards? You mean after I arrived home? Well, I helped to empty ashtrays and dispose of the bottles and then I went to bed.'

  'With your wife?'

  Gerhardsen nodded.

  'What time would that have been?'

  'About four maybe. Can't say when.'

  'And then you slept?' 'I slept sweet, dreamless sleep until late in the morning.'

  'Can anyone vouch for that, do you think?'

  'That would have to be Annabeth, but I assume she was asleep, too.'

  'So you don't have a witness?'

  Gerhardsen, annoyed now: 'Ask Annabeth. I haven't asked her if she lay awake watching over me that night. But let's stop beating about the bush. Why don't you ask me if I killed her and get it over and done with?'

  'Did you kill her?'

  'Of course not.'

  Frølich fell silent and looked across at his colleague, who after fiddling with his comb-over took the chewing gum out of his mouth and glowered at it.

  'Was it your idea or your wife's to invite her?' asked Gunnarstranda, continuing to chew.

  'It was Annabeth's idea.'

  'Can you remember the first time you met Katrine?'

  Bjørn Gerhardsen groaned with irritation and looked up at them. They said nothing. Gerhardsen deliberated. In the end he made a decision.

  'I met her first a few years ago in a brothel close to Filipstad, on the corner of Parkveien and Munkedamsveien. I paid her fifteen hundred kroner for intercourse. I had not seen her before. I didn't know who she was until she came in to massage me. She was a screw, if I can put it like that. I am sure I would have forgotten her had it not been for…'