by K. O. Dahl
Gunnarstranda sent her an old-fashioned look.
'Always true to yourself, eh. Upright. Promise nothing. The apostle for the ordinary man.' Her •smile was bitter. 'I went home on a stand-by ticket. It was supposed to be a surprise. In fact it is quite a banal story. I went straight to Reidar's place. I wanted to surprise him and thought there would be no one at home. But there was. In the bedroom. He was underneath her. My best friend. Do you think that's stimulating? Men can find that kind of thing stimulating. I thought it was loathsome. I could hear the noises arid stood there like an intruder watching while she… do you understand? With my boyfriend. There's not much more to say.'
'Did you go into the room? To the two of them?'
'Are you mad? No. I went to her place. I waited for her. I knew she wouldn't be long. After all, she'd left her child in the playpen while she…'
'So you just waited for her?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'Because I wanted her dead, of course.'
'Couldn't that have been avoided? Her dying?'
'I don't know… maybe if I'd been different, with a different view on… on things.'
'Did you talk?'
'Of course.'
'But why did you kill her?'
'Because she was my best friend.'
'Yes…?'
'My best friend. Don't you understand?' Sigrid gave a tired smile. 'Of course you don't understand. I don't have much of a defence. I know myself…'
'When did you leave the dead woman?'
'When she was quite still. She didn't make a sound. She had screamed out all the sound she possessed with him. And that made me furious that she had no sound left for me.'
'And then what did you do?'
'Went back to Scotland. The same day. On stand-by.'
'You never heard anything from the police?'
'Never.'
'So no one knew you were in the country?'
'No one.'
'Did Katrine know any of this?'
'No,' Sigrid said.
'But she rang you and told you she had found the name of her mother. That was what she actually told you in that call on the Saturday, wasn't it?'
Sigrid gave a heavy nod.
'Was it she who told you that Bueng was living at the nursing home?'
Sigrid shook her head. 'No, Katrine knew nothing about Reidar Bueng. She knew nothing about me. It was a shock. It was a terrible conversation. I thought I would have a heart attack when she told me what she had discovered. I knew where Reidar was. I've known where he is every single day since the day it happened.'
'What did you want from him? When you met him at the home the day after Katrine rang?'
'I wanted to be sure Reidar didn't tell her about me, I mean the relationship between Helene and me. I knew it was only a question of time before Katrine would find him. If she found her way to Reidar, sooner or later my name would crop up. It would be catastrophic for us both. I had to talk to Reidar first. I had to make sure he said nothing to Katrine about me.'
'Do you think Bueng knew you killed Helene?'
'Of course.'
'But he never gave you away?'
'Never.'
'He didn't say anything to me, either. Do you still love Reidar Bueng?'
She laughed the same chilling laugh and sneered again. 'Do you still love him,' she mimicked with a biting tone. 'You ridiculous starched hypocrite.' She clenched her fists. 'What are you actually asking? What the hell do you mean by that question? Are you wondering whether I miss being with an old man who cannot walk unaided? Whether I miss physical contact with this man?'
'I'm wondering whether you love him,' the policemen repeated as unshakable as before.
They stood eyeing each other until she said: 'What does it matter? I've destroyed my life. I've lived half my life with a person who regards love as a muscular activity, like an exchange of body fluids.'
She gazed at the ceiling and gave a deep sigh. 'You know, I have no idea whether I loved Reidar or not. I haven't a clue. I have no illusions about love any longer. But I think I used to believe in it, at that time. It felt like being down for the count… did you, in your younger days, drink too much or were you so ill that you wished you were dead just to escape? That's how it was. But a hangover is soon over. Intoxication passes. In those days nothing just passed. I could go for long walks in the evening until I found a deserted place where I could stick pins or needles in myself and scream in an attempt to escape the plight that was mine… that was love. But now? I have no idea any more. I don't know what has any meaning. But if there is a worst part to all of this, it is not being able to remember that side of myself I used to regard as my most precious.' Sigrid clenched her teeth and hissed with spittle in both corners of her mouth. 'The only thing that never fades, the only truth left is that I hated Helene!'
'As much today as then?'
'There you go again,' she sighed, exhaling with her eyes closed. 'Sometimes, yes. As a rule, no.'
'It won't work,' Gunnarstranda said out of the blue.
'What won't work?'
'You won't be able to pass your resentment and bitterness on to dead Helene.'
'What do you mean?'
'I think your hatred and bitterness are reserved for another person.'
Sigrid shook her head slowly.
'You've told this story before, haven't you, Sigrid?'
Sigrid eyed him, on her guard. 'Why are we on such intimate terms all of a sudden? What do you want now?' she asked, but quickly closed her mouth again as if anxious not to say too much.
'I know who killed Katrine,' the policeman said in a quiet voice. 'And so do you.'
The sun shone on her silver-grey hair. 'I have no idea what you are talking about. Apart from that, my head hurts. You'd better go.'
'Katrine rang you that Saturday,' Gunnarstranda said, taking a step closer. 'She told you about Stamnes. She told you about her mother's true identity and about Raymond Skau, who had turned up at her workplace demanding money. I appreciate it must have been a shock, but you should never have told anyone else. When you told him you signed her death warrant. You knew that, didn't you.'
Sigrid had closed her eyes. 'I didn't know. I went to see Reidar on Sunday to prepare him for Katrine. It would never have occurred to me that she was dead.'
'But you must have known.'
'You're evil,' she said, and then repeated, 'You are evil.'
'You went to see Bueng even though you knew she was dead.'
Sigrid said nothing.
'He may have killed Katrine to protect you. I'm sure he thinks he acted out of chivalry. Nevertheless, that's no bloody good. You know as well as I do he did it.'
'Suppose I did know,' she said with bitterness. 'So what? Can it be undone? Will regret make any difference? As for these ridiculous claims that he wanted to protect me… ha!' Her laugh was harsh and she bore down on the policeman with narrowed eyes. 'Hasn't it occurred to you that he wanted to protect himself?'
He stood looking at her for a few seconds. At last he took a deep breath and took two steps forward. She turned her head and looked at him as though she was actually surprised he had the effrontery to be in her house still. 'Imagine,' she said, twisting her mouth into a sneer of contempt. 'Imagine. The truth had not even dawned on you.'
'Sigrid Haugom,' said Police Inspector Gunnarstranda. 'I am arresting you for the murder of Helene Lockert. Would you please come with me of your own free will?'
* * *
Chapter Forty-Four
Painful
The tram was jam-packed with people. There was not a seat to be had anywhere. People stood cheek by jowl in front of the doors and in the central aisle. He was squeezed up against a woman clinging to a strap hanging from the ceiling. She was wearing only a red singlet over her upper body. The hair under her arm was curly and moist with sweat. He looked at her. She had painted an unattractive yellow stripe under her eyes. Her hair was dyed blonde with darkened roots
revealing the original colour. Every time the tram went around a bend he looked down between her neck and her blouse, into a gap revealing two small breasts with long engorged nipples. The sight made him think of the other girl and how the jerking of her body had become weaker and weaker, like a fish at the bottom of a boat. And then he was there again with one knee pressed into the damp grass and his other foot slightly stretched as her young body heaved its last.
A noise. He was startled by the look he received from the woman with dyed hair. The noise must have come from him. He cleared his throat and looked away to prevent anyone remembering him.
It was as hot outside as inside. In fact it was hotter, but not so clammy; the air wasn't as bad. Standing on the pavement as the tram passed he felt the woman's gaze through the window. It met his own. It was for these reasons you had to plan, by getting off the tram two stops too early, for example.
The problem with the sun was that people would be outside in the wonderful weather. But the heat made this less likely. Most old people go into the shade when the sun is too strong. The first time he passed by he tried to gain some perspective of what was going on in the lobby. It seemed quite still. He passed one crossroads, then another, felt his breathing accelerate. There was a kind of restless, tingling sensation in his arms. He stopped and raised his hand with his fingers outstretched. Not a tremble. Being tense is one thing. It's a good sign to be tense. Composure was in the offing, half an hour away. This was perhaps the simplest operation so far. But at the same time it was the most difficult. It was the first time that he had known inside himself for certain - the first time he had felt it in his body like a feeling of hunger - that the outcome would be death.
He took a left at the next crossroads and walked to the next street. Here he went left again, on his way back to the nursing home.
Sigrid Haugom walked with quick steps through the door to the left. Gunnarstranda followed her. They crossed a kind of dining room, in traditional Norwegian style, with a buffet along the wall and in the middle of the floor a dining table with a scoured surface surrounded by eight chairs. She stopped by the next door and turned as if to ensure that she had heard correctly. 'Are you following me?' Gunnarstranda nodded. 'I see,' she said, and continued down a shorter corridor and headed towards a staircase leading up to the first floor. Halfway up the stairs she stopped again. On the white wall above her head hung a modern painting with striking blue and yellow colours, a sky. 'He definitely did not do it for my sake,' she said, looking down at the policeman through the staircase railing. 'He is only interested in himself and his own needs.'
'Do you think he raped her?'
'Him?' She snorted. 'He would never do anything so banal. No. His actions are imbued with one single purpose: to avoid the scandal a potential court case against me could produce.'
Gunnarstranda: 'Scandal? What scandal? Your husband wouldn't be involved in any case against you, would he?'
She assumed a patronizing smile. 'You misunderstand, Mr Smart Guy. He's not frightened of what I did to Helene. The only thing he's frightened of is the consequences of his own actions. He's afraid of what I would say about him and his abuse of me for half of my life.'
She tossed her head in despair at the policeman's expression. 'Has it finally got through to you? Erik is not the man people think he is. Erik is an animal.'
Gunnarstranda pulled a sceptical face at her choice of words. As she took a step down he took a step up. She grabbed the handrail. 'Scoff at me,' she whispered. 'Laugh at me. Don't try to think what it's like to lie naked on a bed, bound hand and foot, while your child is in the adjacent room, night after night. Don't try to imagine what it's like to serve a person night and day who finds his satisfaction in your pain - and to dress up afterwards to be your tormentor's companion at a dinner in some snobbish club, forced to choose clothes that conceal swellings and bruises, to smile and whisper sweet nothings in this same man's ear not to attract attention, but to maintain his noble facade. You can't, can you? Your imagination doesn't stretch that far. Imagine what it's like to have to grovel to a man like this just because once you were stupid enough to tell him about the greatest error in your life - that one act.'
'Why didn't you move out?'
'How can you ask!'
Gunnarstranda flung out his arms. 'Did he threaten to expose you? Did he threaten to go to the police with what he knew about the murder of Helene Lockert?'
'You're getting there, you clever little policeman.'
'Do you mean to say he killed that poor girl to…' Gunnarstranda searched for words.'… To keep the lid on the secret?'
'He killed Katrine so that no one would know who killed her mother. If everyone knew who killed Helene, he wouldn't have had a hold over me any longer. He could not have stopped me talking about what he has done to me.'
'Help me to catch him,' urged the police inspector.
She shook her head. 'You won't coax me into doing anything,' she said quietly. 'Let's be honest with each other now, Gunnarstranda. As far as evidence goes, you haven't got a leg to stand on.'
'That's true,' the policeman agreed. 'I have no evidence. Unless you help me.'
She laughed. 'Heavens above! Why would I help you?'
Gunnarstranda paused. Sigrid Haugom regarded him with a contemptuous glare.
'Because this cannot go on,' the detective replied at length.
She laughed again. A cold, harsh laugh. 'Can it not go on?' She mimicked him with a pursed mouth: 'Cannot go on!' She took another step down the stairs. 'Have you considered,' she spat, 'that I've been living with blood on my hands for more than twenty years? Have you considered that what I have dreamt about for twenty years has been realized? Finally I know something and I have a hold over him! Finally, finally, finally, I am the one with the power!'
'But is that really what you want?'
'There's nothing in this world I want more!' Sigrid shouted.
The policeman observed her standing on the stairs, bent forwards, panting, her hair dishevelled, her face, in which hatred and fury had formed deep furrows, bare. A frothing drop of saliva bubbled on her lower lip. 'Then do it for someone else instead,' he pleaded. 'Do it for her sake* Look upon it as a chance to make amends. That was what you dreamt about, wasn't it? Making amends to Katrine?'
She took a deep breath as though to restrain another outburst. She stood there with her eyes closed until she made up her mind and signalled her decision with a shake of the head.
'OK, no,' he said. 'But you'll have to come with me all the same.'
When she did at last open her eyes they were shiny with tears. 'The case against me is time-sensitive,' she said, spinning round and continuing up the stairs with the policeman in tow.
'We'll see,' Gunnarstranda said to her back. 'Fortunately it is not my job to determine whether the case against Helene Lockert's murderer is covered by the statute of limitations or not.'
She came to a sudden halt.
Gunnarstranda continued speaking. 'I'm a policeman, not a judge. But I hope you won't resist arrest. It would just be embarrassing for us both.' He gave a wry smile.
'No, of course not,' she said, bewildered, running her hands down her dress as though wiping off something unpleasant. 'We are both adults.' She grabbed a door handle. 'I must change my clothes. What was it you wanted me to do?'
'Just ring him and tell him you were there, at the nursing home on Sunday.'
'Tell him I was with Reidar, that I visited him?'
'Yes.'
'Nothing else?'
The policeman coughed when he peered up at her now smiling face. 'What is it?'
'I've already done it,' she said. 'Funny.'
'You've told him? When?' Gunnarstranda's lean figure jerked. He ran over to her. His sensitive lips were trembling. 'No more bluffing. When did you tell him?'
'Early this morning.'
'You're lying.'
She shook her head. 'I've been lying to myself too much to do it any more.'
> 'But why today of all days?'
'Because today I…' She breathed in and closed her eyes again.'… Today… when I woke up…' She paused.
'What about today?' Gunnarstranda was staring at her. 'What do you mean?'
With a distant smile, she said: 'What makes you think you would understand me if I were to answer that question honestly?'
The policeman had his mobile out. He watched her with a concerned frown on his forehead, then turned away from her with the phone against his ear. 'Don't go anywhere,' he said in a low voice while impatiently waiting for an answer from Frølich. And added in an even lower voice, 'Surely you must understand what an insane thing to do it was to tell him you'd visited Bueng?'
'I don't understand anything any more.'
'I hope it's not too late,' Gunnarstranda said and swore. 'Where do you keep your toothbrush and toiletries? In the bathroom? Well, go and get them.'
He followed her down the corridor with the mobile to his ear. He trailed her every step. Something told him this woman should not be left alone for a single second.
* * *
Chapter Forty-Five
The Telephone Call
A young man with an oversized head, big hair and a strangely frail body squeezed into a blue suit rounded the corner for the third time and looked at Frank Frølich, who jumped to his feet in his eagerness. 'Is Gerhardsen in or not?' Frølich asked, annoyed. He had been sitting and waiting for an audience for three quarters of an hour. The young man had protruding eyes and a swollen red pimple on his cheek.
'He's in a meeting,' came the answer. The young man didn't move.
'Did you tell him I was waiting?'
The young man nodded. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, which was the same colour as the wall-to- wall carpet on the floor. Around his neck he wore a brown silk tie. The knot was much too loose. Young men with an irritating appearance should not be employed, thought Frølich, and, impatient, shifted his weight from one foot to the other.