The Last Fix

by K. O. Dahl

  'Gerhardsen is the only one with access to a car,' Frølich added. 'Kramer claimed there had been a car following them on to Ingierstrand beach.'

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Old Acquaintances

  Gunnarstranda flicked the tiny cigarette end into the long-necked ashtray as he heard the knock at the door.

  'Come in,' he shouted and picked up the photograph attached with a paper clip to the file on the table.

  Frølich came in. 'You saw it?' He nodded towards the picture the inspector was holding between his fingers. 'The travel agency lady came up trumps. She named the thug.'

  'Raymond Skau.' Gunnarstranda pulled a face as if the name had a sour taste. 'Sounds like a character from the Olsen gang films.'

  'That's his name anyway,' Frølich said. 'The lady's a hundred per cent positive. This guy visited Katrine in the travel bureau the Saturday she was killed.'

  Gunnarstranda studied the photograph again. 'Never seen him,' he mumbled and as he put it back he felt his fingers begin to tremble. v'

  'Small-time crook,' Frølich said. 'Done time for receiving stolen property, and robbery. Known to hang around strip joints and that sort of area. May be a pimp, in other words. Been arrested a few times for selling hash to teenagers. But the most interesting bit is a case from a few years back - March 1995.'

  'I see,' said the inspector, bending over the photograph. He interlaced his hands to keep them still. The man in the picture looked like hundreds of others in the same category. Prison mug shots. A man with a haggard face, a vacant expression beneath half-closed, almost sleepy eyelids, and dark or grey hair. A glimpse of a very uneven row of teeth was visible in the murky hole that constituted the open mouth. 'Has he broken a tooth?'

  'Could have done,' Frølich said. 'But at that time - I mean in '95 - he was reported to the police by one Katrine Bratterud.'

  Gunnarstranda whistled. Frølich’s smile widened into a broad beam. 'The report came from the Centre for Battered Women. Bugger me if our friend there hadn't been living with our girl. And charges were brought against him for beating her up and trying to run her over with his car!'

  'Run her over?'

  'Yes,' Frølich said. 'Jealousy drama de luxe. And the case was not shelved, oh no. Froken Bratterud presented herself in person at the police station and withdrew the charges.'

  'And he was waiting outside?'

  'We don't know, but it's possible.'

  'How was she? After the car incident?'

  'She escaped with a fright. I can't remember the pathologist mentioning any lasting injuries anyway.'

  'Jealous,' Gunnarstranda mumbled as he sat flicking the photograph. 'We like that word.' He stood up and strolled over to the window.

  'There was no one at home,' Frølich said.

  'Where was that?'

  'Gronland, council flat, one of the old blocks in Gronlandsleiret.' Frølich nodded and studied the photograph as well. 'Raymond Skau,' he said. 'What a name.'

  'He doesn't have to be ashamed of his name,' Gunnarstranda said. 'He can't do anything about it anyway.' He sat staring into the distance. Frølich stood by the door.

  'Mm,' Gunnarstranda said, rapt in thought.

  'The boyfriend,' Frølich said, pointing to the door. 'We agreed we would see Ole Eidesen together.'

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Man with Cuts

  A woman jogged up the stairs in front of them. Frank Frølich kept a close eye on her. Her face and hair were masked by a veil. However, what nourished Frølich’s imagination were the nicely shaped hips and breasts whose contours he could make out beneath her ample and airy clothes as she rounded the bend in the stairs.

  'There,' Gunnarstranda said, pointing to a door with ole eidesen printed in white on a red plastic strip beneath a bell.

  The Muslim woman lived on the same floor. She stood fumbling for her keys, let herself in and took off the veil before closing the door. Frølich couldn't believe his eyes. 'Did you see that?' he asked.

  'What?' Gunnarstranda rang Eidesen's bell.

  'The woman. Her hair was blonde.'

  'So what?'

  'But she was wearing a veil!'

  'You're allowed to be a Muslim even if you are Norwegian.'

  'But…' Frølich swallowed and cleared his throat. At that moment the door to Eidesen's flat was opened. Ole Eidesen appeared to be around thirty years old. He was slim and of medium height. There was a conspicuous ring in his left eyebrow. He had tried to disguise a growing bald spot on his crown by shaving off all his hair. A dark shadow across his skull revealed the growth pattern of his hair. But the most noticeable thing about him was a series of scratches and red marks down his face.

  'Eidesen?' Gunnarstranda asked.

  'Yes,' the man said, looking serious. His eyes wandered from one policeman to the other.

  Gunnarstranda kept both hands in his jacket pocket as he introduced himself.

  'Come in.'

  'This is Frank Frølich.'

  Eidesen had long, slim fingers. His handshake was light but firm.

  The sitting room they entered was light and smelt of perfume. There were several windows, the hessian wallpaper was painted white and the room was spartanly furnished. A stereo system stood on the floor against the wall. A white leather sofa and two manila chairs encircled a glass table. One chair creaked as Frølich took a seat.

  Eidesen sat down on the white sofa; under his shorts his legs were tanned and muscular. He looked nervously at Gunnarstranda who stood thinking and biting his lower lip.

  Frølich sorted out his notepad on his lap before focusing on the man on the sofa. 'This is about Katrine Bratterud,' Frølich said.

  Eidesen nodded.

  'You've had an accident?' the policeman asked.

  Eidesen shook his head. 'I fell flat on my face.'

  'Fell on your face?'

  Eidesen fidgeted. 'I can't keep still. I think about her all the time. It's worst at night, so I run.' He stretched his face into a tired, apologetic smile. 'I ran last night and…' The smile broadened into a nervous, sardonic smile. 'I tripped over some scrub and fell flat on my face with a bang.'

  Frølich nodded slowly. 'Has the priest contacted you?'

  Eidesen became serious and shook his head. 'I heard yesterday.'

  'What did you hear?'

  'That it was Katrine they were writing about in the newspapers.' 'Who did you hear it from?'

  'Someone called Sigrid who works at the rehab centre.'

  Frølich consulted his notes. 'Sigrid Haugom?'

  Eidesen nodded. 'I rang them.'

  'What did Sigrid Haugom say?'

  'I rang and she said Katrine had been killed. That it was Katrine they had found dead by Hvervenbukta.'

  'Did she say how Katrine was killed?'

  Eidesen coughed and, unsure of himself, shook his head.

  The art is to be patient, thought Frølich. Always be patient, he thought, oblivious of why the boss was letting him run this show, but there would be some plan behind it. That he did know. 'How long did you know her?'

  'Hm?'

  Frølich repeated the question.

  'A few months. I knew who she was long before that. We met on a course. Spanish.'

  'You can speak Spanish?'

  'Yes.' He added, 'My mother is Spanish. I teach Spanish in the evening. Adult education at the folk university.'

  'And Katrine was a student there?'

  'Yes.'

  Frølich waited. Eidesen cleared his throat. 'I asked her out,' he began and cleared his throat again. 'On the third evening we ate at the Spanish restaurant in Pilestredet. I just don't remember…'

  'Do you remember what clothes she was wearing at the party on Saturday?' Frølich asked. 'Try to give me an exact description.'

  'A black top with buttons and sort of… sort of… transparent sleeves,' Eidesen said, thinking carefully. 'Over a sort of grey skirt, dark grey, light and summery, not one of the
shortest, it reached down well over her knees and the shoes I'm not sure… They were black, I think, or grey, bit of a heel on them.'

  'Lingerie?' Frølich asked.

  Eidesen rolled his shoulders. 'I have no idea. She got dressed in the bathroom after taking a shower. We were at her place - then we took a taxi to the party.'

  'But what lingerie did she wear as a general rule?'

  Eidesen shrugged again. 'The usual stuff - both bits, if I can put it like that.'

  'Colours?'

  'As I said, I don't know. I would guess it was something dark because she was wearing a black top. She was precise about things like that… I mean nothing vulgar.'

  'Anything else?'

  The question came from Gunnarstranda. The man's sensitive lips were trembling. He always had this expectant expression in his eyes. An expression that did not invite a head-on confrontation, but still presaged something undetonated.

  'A bag, a little shoulder bag…' Eidesen fixed his gaze on Gunnarstranda, who took off his coat, walked a few paces over to the free manila chair, placed it opposite Eidesen and sat down. He then rested his head on his hands and said in a low voice, 'I always lay my cards on the table and I never lie.'

  'Is that right?'

  'But I'm a real bastard, Eidesen, a real bastard. Did you know that?'

  Eidesen, puzzled, shook his head

  'But that's how the game's played,' Gunnarstranda said. 'Now and then there are certain advantages to being a bastard. From what I understand you were, or had been at some point, Katrine's boyfriend. Right now I cannot make allowances for that. The most important thing is to find out who killed her and, for all I know, that could have been you. I don't know. No one knows except the killer.' -›-

  Eidesen nodded again. He was ill at ease.

  'Did you kill Katrine Bratterud?'

  Eidesen winced. 'No.'

  'She died what pathologists here call a gruesome death,' Gunnarstranda said.

  Eidesen looked up.

  'We don't know why the killer did what he did. The conclusion, however, is that she took a very long time to die. A very long time.'

  Eidesen was breathing with his mouth open. There was silence in the flat; only Eidesen's heavy breathing was audible.

  In the end Gunnarstranda broke the silence again. 'The fact that it took a long time means that the killer had time and the opportunity to stop and let her live. So what, one might ask? Does it matter when she's dead anyway? Well, the time it takes to kill her suggests two very important pieces of information. It means we're talking about malice aforethought.' He stared at Eidesen in the ensuing silence.

  'And?' Eidesen asked with face raised.

  'If someone is hellbent on eliminating a threat someone poses, there can be two causes for what happens. Two causes that seem feasible. The killer may be trying to protect his own life. But I don't believe that to be the case here. Even strangulation must have taken several minutes, which means she put up some resistance. She must have been lashing out with her arms and legs. So we have a situation in which the assailant is waiting for her to die. This killer wasn't defending himself, which may mean that he was blinded by fury - or quite unemotional at the time of the crime.'

  From the kitchen they heard the refrigerator switch itself on. Frølich also heard a hollow ticking sound in the silence. It was a small table clock on top of the television - a new black Philips.

  Eidesen stroked the cuts on his face. 'I would imagine she resisted,' he mumbled.

  The policeman nodded without saying anything. He looked into Eidesen's eyes and said: 'Were you and Katrine having some disagreements?'

  Eidesen shook his head.

  'Please articulate your answers.'

  'Hm?'

  'Answer my questions with words not body language. Frank Frølich, in the chair over there, will note down your answers.'

  'No, we didn't argue very often.'

  'On Saturday 7th June you both went to a party held by Annabeth s. Is that correct?'

  'Yes, it is.' 'Is fru Ås a friend of yours?'

  'No, the invitation came via Katrine. Annabeth is the boss of the rehab centre where Katrine was a patient, a part-time patient.'

  'How long did you stay at the party?'

  'I left at about midnight.'

  'Did you leave alone or with someone else?'

  'Alone… that is there were several of us splitting the taxi fare.'

  'And Katrine?'

  'She was ill and went home.'

  'Before you?'

  'I think so.'

  'Why do you think she left the party before you?'

  'She was in a bad way, throwing up.'

  Gunnarstranda furrowed his brow; his interest was caught. 'Did she have a habit of throwing up?'

  Eidesen: 'A habit? She was ill.'

  'But did she suffer from an eating disorder? Did she often throw up?'

  'Not at all.' Eidesen continued in a dry voice, 'After we had eaten, a good while later, she went to the bathroom and threw up. She said she didn't feel well.' He fell silent.

  'So you interpreted this behaviour of hers as a case of illness, gastric flu or something like that?' 'Yes, that is, at first I thought she might have been drinking.'

  'But she hadn't been?'

  'No. She said she hadn't touched a drop all evening.'

  'But did she seem drunk?'

  'No.'

  'What did you do? Ring for a taxi?'

  'No.'

  Gunnarstranda waited. Eidesen cleared his throat again. 'I think she did that. She said she wanted to go, and a little later she was nowhere to be seen.'

  'But you didn't see her go?'

  'No. I didn't see her anywhere, so I presumed she must have left.'

  'Did you have a row?'

  'No.'

  'Why didn't you say goodbye or make sure she found her way home OK?'

  'There was a bit of tension between us.'

  'So you did have a row?'

  Eidesen shrugged.

  'She was ill, wanted to go home. You wanted to stay. You couldn't agree. You had a row?'

  'We didn't have a row.'

  'If I were to say a guest at the party saw you involved in a loud altercation before she left, what would you say?'

  'OK, that's true. But I don't remember it being loud. It was more the atmosphere that was unpleasant. She didn't want me to stay.'

  Gunnarstranda was quiet. The sunshine broke through the large south-facing windows and specks of dust danced in the air. 'Ole,' he said. 'May I call you Ole?'

  Eidesen nodded.

  'In cases like these, out of self-respect, you must stick to the truth from the very first moment. Otherwise you'll get into a lot of trouble. Do you understand?' Without waiting for a response he went on: 'Well, Ole, did you have a row or not? If you did, what did you row about?'

  'She wanted to leave the party because she was ill, but I didn't want to go. It was fun there so then she got, well, she got… annoyed with me. That was what it was. She was annoyed that I wouldn't accompany her home.'

  'Did she say that? That you should accompany her?'

  'No, but I interpreted her annoyance in that way.'

  'Tell me about her illness.'

  'Well, she just fainted, sideways. We were standing and chatting to some women from the centre, including the one whose house it was, Annabeth s. All of a sudden Katrine collapsed, towards me, with her eyes rolling. Out cold. There was a bit of a palaver and I went to the bathroom with her. She had just fainted for a second or two, then she threw up in the toilet bowl.'

  'Did she give any explanation for this attack?'

  'No.'

  'Had this happened before?'

  Eidesen jutted forward his lips and considered the question. 'Not like that. I don't think I'd ever seen her faint before, but she had been really dreading this party.'

  'Why was that?'

  'That's how she was. Couldn't quite manage social gatherings with people she didn't know. A
nd she was dreading spending a whole evening with these particular people. She felt she was on display because she was a patient.'

  'But did she express her terror that day?'

  'Not in so many words. But…' Ole Eidesen pulled a face. 'She had been very bitchy earlier in the day. Argued with me a lot.'

  'Argued with you?' v

  'Yes, we were at her place. I was watching football and then we started arguing. That is, she started.'

  'What about?'

  Eidesen shook his head. 'She wanted to use the phone and I wasn't allowed to watch TV. She turned down the sound and we had a row. It was the Saturday afternoon fixture for the pools coupon, wasn't it. She was in a real state!'

  'And you interpreted this as a bout of nerves?'

  'Yes.'

  'And what was she nervous about?'

  'Going to the party. She didn't want to go, but felt she had to.'

  'Back to the party. What were you talking about when she fainted?'

  'I don't remember. It was just chat. I think Annabeth was complimenting her on being so clever and all that. I don't remember her exact words.'

  'Were you drunk?'

  'I was in a good mood. There was wine with the meal and brandy afterwards, quite a lot of brandy.'

  'Have you ever used any other intoxicating substances?'

  'Eh?'

  Gunnarstranda: 'You were in a relationship with a drug addict. You must understand what I mean. Did you consume other substances apart from spirits and wine that evening?'

  Eidesen's face went rigid. 'She was not a drug addict. In a few months she would have been regarded as fully rehabilitated. And I do not use other intoxicating substances, as you put it!'

  'So you didn't take any other substances apart from alcohol that night, is that what I am to understand?'

  'Yes.'

  'You each have your own flats. Had you thought about living together?'

  'No, it was still early in the relationship. But we stayed over at each other's place now and then.'

  'And you were considered a couple?'

  'By some perhaps.'

  'And you?' Gunnarstranda said sardonically. 'Did you consider this a relationship?'

  'Of course.'

  'Did you leave the party alone?'