The Last Fix (51 page)

    '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?'

    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.'