The Last Fix

Chapter Forty-One

Thescratch marks down his chest and side had faded; now they were mere pale,almost invisible red lines, not unlike the marks after a hot night with thewoman you love. Beneath the nipple on his right hand side her nail had dug intohim leaving a cut which was also healing now. With his eyes closed, he couldstill conjure up the sensation of her fingers scratching him, freezing, asdeath finally came to his rescue in the grass and took her into shadowland asviolent jerks shook the young body for five seconds. Her final, but presumablyher greatest climax ever. A gift – delivered after a few tender moments ofdoubt from his side. She had thought he was going to mount her. She had feltthe pressure from his stiff member against her body and assumed he wanted totake her. She had relaxed in the hope she would be allowed to live. He had readthat in her blue eyes. Eyes that now – at this very second – caused him to bendhis head in pain and doze as the sweat broke out over his entire body – still -so long afterwards. just do it, said the blue eyes. Do what you want.Just let me live. She had almost succeeded in bewitching him – forestallingher own destiny. But only almost. Even now he could still feel the same furyrising inside him. As the fury rose the memory of her eyes could cause him topull up short at any moment, to immerse himself in profound thoughts, a memorythat thus became the best way to maintain his aggression, to think about howshe had just been asking for it – by spreading her legs and opening them wideto let him in. That was when he no longer had any choice. The hardness she feltwas no precursor of sensual pleasure; it was a precursor of death.

Therewould never be such eyes again. He put on a white shirt and quickly tiedhis tie. Inspected himself in the mirror and threw his suit jacket across hisshoulders. Think of her. You're doing it for her. Think of her. Get it overwith.

'Hamlet,'Frølich said with a grin. 'Quite convincing, too. You should go on thestage.'

'Atleast I don't fall asleep,' Gunnarstranda answered, weighing the ring in hishand. Frølich was supporting his chin on his hand and said, 'What's thequestion?'

'Thequestion is: If Henning Kramer posted Katrine's jewellery to Raymond Skau, whydidn't he send this one?' Gunnarstranda held the ring between thumb and firstfinger while squinting through the hole at Frølich.

'Becausehe never posted anything.' Frølich mused on what he had said and atlength asked, 'Do we know if she was wearing this ring on the night of themurder?'

'Eidesennoticed this ring was missing when we found her jewellery. We can prove itbelonged to Katrine.'

'IfKramer had wanted to point the finger of blame at someone else I don't think hewould have left a ring in his room that clearly belonged to her… so the logicalexplanation must be that Kramer never posted any jewellery anywhere.'

'You'regetting warm, Frølich. Kramer didn't send any jewellery. All he had wasthis ring. Someone else must have posted the jewellery to Skau, and if there isa someone else, it must be a person who first killed Katrine Bratterud and thenHenning Kramer. And then,' Gunnarstranda grunted, 'we're facing a problem I donot understand at all.'

'What'sthat?'

'Idon't understand why Kramer had to die.'

'Hemust have known something.'

Gunnarstrandachewed on that. 'Possible,' he said. 'If you're right, Kramer must have invitedthe murderer over the night he was killed. That may also explain why he lied toyou about what happened the night Katrine was killed. He may have suspectedsome people, or a particular person. And called him.'

'Whywould he have called the killer?' a sceptical Frølich frowned.

'Becausehe was killed at home in his brother's flat, not in his room. Henning Kramerwas quite unpredictable as regards where he spent the night…' Gunnarstrandamumbled with closed eyes. 'Well, that's how it must have been. Kramer asked tomeet up and that resulted in his death. Afterwards the suicide letter was written.Since Kramer is dead, to all outward appearance by his own hand, it's easier topoint suspicions in his direction than Skau's, who is alive and can still issuedenials. For all the killer knows, Skau has an alibi. Looking at the facts,what do we know so far?'

'Weknow the killer was not a random assailant. He must have been in her circle ofacquaintances.'

Gunnarstrandanodded.

'Weknow the killer must have known about the connection between Katrine and Skau.'

Gunnarstrandagrinned. 'You're the one who's so keen on the theatre. What would Holberg'sErasmus Montanus have said?'

'Astone cannot fly. Mother Nille cannot fly. Ergo… is mother Nille a stone…?' Frølichventured.

Gunnarstrandashook his head. 'We know that Katrine rang friends and acquaintances beforegoing to the party. We know Katrine made at least five calls and later thatnight she was murdered. Ergo,' he mumbled, 'it's possible the motive is to befound in the phone calls.'

'We'veestablished that she had a strained relationship with Bjørn Gerhardsen,'Frølich said. 'We know that Annabeth s must have hated her, that Katrinecouldn't choose between Ole Eidesen and Henning Kramer, and that she was hidingfrom her past while trying to clear up a period in her very earliest past – sheowed ten thousand kroner to a violent pimp. We've established that on the daybefore the murder she visited the social worker who knew about her adoption.'

'Thelast one,' Gunnarstranda smiled. 'It means Katrine knew who she was. She didn'ttell Ole Eidesen. Why not? Because she hasn't come to terms with the matteryet. She knows the name of her biological mother and she has had a shock. Thecircumstances around the adoption must have struck deep. Remember she hadfar-fetched fantasies about her biological parents dying in plane crashes andall that sort of thing. Now she has discovered the actual truth. What does shedo then?'

'Soyou think the phone calls prove she was continuing to dig up her past?'

'Notnecessarily. She may have simply revealed the news to some other person.Although she may also have rung someone who was in the know.'

'Buthow does that help us?'

'Weknow she made four or five calls, at least.'

'Andwe would never get a warrant to check the telephone line. Wait a minute,' Frølichsaid, excited. 'Gerhardsen,' he went on. 'Gerhardsen has money. He's loaded.Katrine might have called him to ask for a favour. She needed money to pay offSkau. Wow, this is a straight business deal for the two of them. Both Katrineand Gerhardsen have been in this situation before. She asked him for money.That explains why he treated her like a whore at the party afterwards. Thatexplains why she was ill at the party. Suppose he had given her money andwanted repayment in kind – in the form of sexual favours?'

'Youmay be right. But why would he throttle her?'

Frølichconsidered the options. 'Because she didn't want to play along,' he concluded.'And Gerhardsen doesn't have an alibi. He claims he went to Smuget, but no onehas corroborated that, neither those who went with him nor the other two in thetaxi. Neither Ole Eidesen nor Merethe Fossum remembers him entering. Neither ofthem can remember having seen the guy inside. But Katrine and Henning must havebeen five hundred metres away from his taxi outside Smuget. My God, his car inMunkedamsveien, everything fits. He has to cross the City Hall square to fetchthe car. If he had gone for it right after the taxi dropped them off he wouldhave seen Katrine and Henning. They were putting on their show on the wharf.'

Gunnarstrandaregarded his younger colleague with a smile. 'You'd like to bang up Gerhardsen,wouldn't you.'

'Naturally.'

'Haveyou got something against him?'

'Allthe same, it's worth bringing him in for questioning again,' Frølichsaid.

Theywere interrupted by the telephone, and Gunnarstranda's face split into a hugesmile after delivering his arrogant one-liner.

Hecoughed. 'Of course I remember you,' he said, standing up and fidgeting.

Frølichstood up as well.

'Justa moment,' Gunnarstranda said, holding his hand over the mouthpiece of thereceiver. 'Yes, Frølich?'

Thereserved expression caused his colleague to burst into a grin. 'A woman, isit?' He beamed.

Gunnarstranda,unmoved, coughed. 'What's the matter, Frølich?' he repeated inunapproachable mode.

Frølichwas already by the door. 'Should Gerhardsen be arrested or just brought in forquestioning?' he asked in a formal tone.

Theinspector gave an impatient shrug and turned away. As soon as he concentratedon the telephone the features of his lean face softened. He sat down andlistened with a big smile on his lips. 'And that,' he said with sympathy, 'that'susually a fertilizer problem…'

Chapter Forty-Two

Hedrove in the vague direction of the city centre. He needed to find amulti-storey car park. It wasn't so important where he put the car. The mainthing was that the place should be anonymous. A place where he would be given areceipt. It was at such moments, when there was no doubt about what had to bedone, that all the tiny events put together acquired new meaning – that tinyevents became a comprehensible whole. In a way he was back at square one;finally he was where he should have begun. Of course this was a weakness on hispart – not starting at the beginning. However, perhaps it is humanity'sgreatest weakness: a tendency to walk around the target until there is no wayback. It's always like that: it isn't until you stand by the quarry that youcan see the shortest route – it's only then you know where you should havestarted.

Hegrinned. He knew where he should have started. After so much trouble he nowknew. Because of the most common weakness in existence: not facing up to thereal truth. You shrink from seeing small signs and signals of the illness untilthese same symptoms have grown so large that the illness keeping the symptomsalive can no longer be denied.

Inall these years there had only been one real threat. He had accepted thethreat. Not because he was stupid, not because he was weak, but because he hadallowed himself to be duped by the symptoms when the malignant tumour began to stir.

Butwas it in vain?

Nothingis in vain. He turned the car radio up louder. It was the wrong question.That's why nothing is in vain. The car radio began to hiss as he drove down thehills in Fjellinjen. Cars whizzed by on both sides, young people racing bywithout knowing what it was they were racing after. Urban traffic is a study inimpatience. He slowed down and turned off before he was through the tunnel andreappeared in daylight just before Filipstad. He turned right and drove slowlyinto the entrance of the multi-storey car park. The crackling in the speakersdisturbed his thinking. He had to switch off the radio. The bends led himgently downwards. Nothing is in vain. It is the endeavour and the exertion thatafford insight, that reveal the truth. The others did not die in vain.

Theyhad helped him to point out the real tumour. When the tumour can no longer beconcealed there is only one solution: you get rid of it. He left the spiralramp and drove into the parking area. Out of the darkness; into the darkness.

Thesun was baking the policeman's back as he closed the wrought-iron gate behindhim and slowly made his way up the garden path alongside a beautiful row ofweigela plants whose bell-like flowers were coming to an end now. He stoppedand took a spray of fragile, wax-like bells that were still in blossom. Hecould sense his dread. While he was standing there he heard the rustle of anewspaper from somewhere behind the hedge. So someone was at home. He movedaway and walked the last few metres to the broad front door and rang the bell.Not a sound could be heard from inside. Either the bell didn't work or theydidn't hear, he thought, and he raised his hand to ring again. At that momentthe door opened a crack.

'Gunnarstranda?'Sigrid Haugom said in surprise. 'What brings you here this time?'

Theinspector put both hands in his jacket pockets and tried to formulate an answerin his head. 'A sucker,' he said after a pause.

SigridHaugom opened the door wide and led the way. She was wearing a flowery dress.It looked as though she had just put it on. As if to underline the correctnessof his assumption she stopped in front of a mirror and smoothed a few kinksover her bosom. 'Is that what you think?' she asked.

'Aboutwhat?'

Sheglanced over her shoulder. 'That Katrine was a sucker?'

'Iwas thinking of a different kind of sucker,' the policeman said without furtherexplanation, glancing to the left as he passed a veranda door. There was a sunlounger on the terrace, an open newspaper on the lounger, a pile of newspapersacross the floor and a half-eaten apple on a plate beside the newspapers.

Shesat down where she had done the previous time, by the oval table with her legstucked underneath her on the sofa. Gunnarstranda walked over to the window andlooked out at the sun bed. 'Have I disturbed you?' he asked, taking hold of thepot with the bonsai tree on the window sill.

'I'moff sick,' she said.

'Anythingserious?'

'Justexhaustion.'

'Hasit anything to do with the murder – Katrine?'

'It'sa contributory factor.'

'Youwere good… I mean… you were close, weren't you?'

'That'sputting it mildly, yes.'

Thepoliceman was still holding the pot as he turned to her. 'This tree's dying,'he stated.

'Ifyou've got green fingers,' Sigrid Haugom sighed, 'perhaps you can save it forme.'

'Abonsai tree,' Gunnarstranda said, lifting the pot. 'A Japanese work of art. Itcan't have been cheap.'

'Itwas a present,' the woman on the sofa said. 'I never ask what presents cost.'

'Iwould guess it's more than a hundred years old,' the policeman surmised. 'Treeslike this one can grow to be five hundred years old, I've heard. I've seen afew and this one seems to be very, very old.'

'Weall have to die some time,' Sigrid Haugom said in a soft voice, breathing indeep. 'I apologize, but I can't get Katrine out of my head. I try, but I can'tdo it.'

'Imagineif this tree was really old,' Gunnarstranda said, humbled. 'Imagine it was twohundred years old. If so, it would have been tended by six, seven, maybe eightgenerations of gardeners.'

'Fantastic,'Sigrid said, uninterested.

Thepoliceman shrank back. 'Seven generations of gardening knowledge,' he saidbitterly. 'Two hundred years of care, right from the French Revolution untiltoday, a plant which as a result of careful nursing has managed to outliveMontesquieu, Napoleon, George Washington, Wedel Jarlsberg, BjornstjerneBjornson, Mussolini and Chairman Mao.' He put the plant back with a bang andsaid with emphasis: 'Until you were given it as a present and let it dry out onthe window sill!'

SigridHaugom looked at him in silence with raised eyebrows.

'Isaw the tree last time I was here,' the policeman said, crossing the floor andtaking a seat opposite her on the sofa. 'It was the one thing in this housethat didn't fit. The only unexpected artefact in this museum of lamps, signedby Louis Comfort Tiffany in person I have no doubt, of antiques, of Swissbells, old tables and Italian designer sofas. The rug on the floor over there,from my knowledge of rugs, I would guess was woven by Kashmiri children. Inoticed the cups you served the coffee in were made of Meissner china.' Hepointed to the left. 'Even down to the charming hammer shaft you or yourhusband placed next to the stove as an adornment. But in this conglomerate massof undefined taste and aspiring snobbery neither you nor your husband is capableof keeping an eye on what is happening on the window sill.'

'Isuppose not,' Sigrid Haugom said gently, perplexed by the policeman's outburst.'But then by a happy chance you have an eye for this kind of thing.'

'Thesight of that poor tree in the dried-out pot told me all I needed to know aboutyour character.'

'Ohyes?' Sigrid's voice had assumed a sharp edge of patrician arrogance.

'Thesucker that has brought me here today grows in the garden of a nursing home. Asucker on an otherwise very attractive ornamental rose, a sucker that resemblesa pale green spear planted in the ground in the middle of the lawn. Am I makingmyself clear?'

'Loudand clear,' Sigrid said with a dry voice, 'but I have no idea what you aretalking about.'

Gunnarstrandasmiled and stretched out his legs. He said, 'Isn't it the Chinese who have anexpression for everything?'

'Boundto be.'

'TheChinese would, I assume, have said something like: Though your eyes may haverested on the rose sucker you were unable to see.'

'As Isaid, I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Imay not be that sure myself. The only thing I want is some answers to onequestion.'

'ThenI think you should ask it,' Sigrid said with a sigh.

'OnFriday, ten days or so ago, Katrine Bratterud called on a flat inUranienborgveien,' Gunnarstranda said. 'The flat is owned by a pensioner calledStamnes. In his time this man worked for child welfare. Once he had beenemployed by Nedre Eiker council where he handled casework including, amongstother things, the relocation of children. The reason Katrine visited him wasthat Stamnes knew details about her own adoption case more than twenty yearsago. Does that ring a bell, fru Haugom?'

'Hardly,'she said in a chilly tone.

'ThisStamnes still felt constrained by professional vows of client confidentiality,but in the end yielded to Katrine's questioning. The likelihood that he wouldbe able to help her was minimal. There were far too many relocations for that. However,he did remember her case. The reason he remembered hers in particular was thatit was connected with the very tragic circumstances that necessitated adoption.The child's mother had been strangled by an unknown assailant and the child'sfather was an absent sailor who was neither married to the child's mother norconsidered himself in a position to take care of the child. The little girl Wastherefore referred and given up for adoption. Stamnes told Katrine this. Hecouldn't remember the name of her father, just the name of her mother becauseit was all over the newspapers for ages at the time: Helene Lockert.'

Thepoliceman paused. In the silence that followed all that could be heard in theroom was the ticking of the antique clock.

'Katrinewas in a very special situation that night,' the policeman said in a low voice.'She was on the trail of her past, of where she belonged, where she came from.She was on the trail of understanding why she and the world were not inharmony. And what do you do in a situation like that? What is the logical thingto do or, perhaps better: What does it feel right to do? Would you tryto trace your father or your mother's family? I have no idea what Katrinewanted to do first, but I know she was doing something.

'Laterthat evening Katrine and Ole Eidesen met outside Saga cinema to see an actionfilm. This was to Ole's taste, but he told us Katrine was noticeably distantand unapproachable all evening. The day after, she went to work. Still shehadn't said anything to Ole about her big news. Why not? I wondered. I don'tknow the answer, but I think it was because Katrine had a lot to think about, aflood of thoughts swirling through her brain. One of the thoughts that botheredher was that she had bought information about Stamnes off an ex-boyfriend. Thisman, Raymond Skau, claims Katrine owed him ten thousand kroner in cash for theinformation. She didn't have the money. She still owed him ten thousand kronerand the money should have been paid the day before. I don't know what concernedher most: her biological mother's tragic fate or the sum of money she didn'thave. What we do know for certain is that at one o'clock Raymond Skau enteredher workplace to demand payment. She said, quite truthfully, that she couldn'tpay, which caused him to become violent and threaten her. He left the shopshortly afterwards. What we now know is that Katrine left at two o'clock andwent back to her flat where Ole Eidesen was waiting for her. He has since toldus she was still unapproachable and irritable. She wanted to be alone and spenthours in the bathroom. Until five or six in the afternoon. Then she rangaround. She made several calls, here too.'

'That'sno secret,' Sigrid said. 'I told you she rang, didn't I? She told me about thisman who attacked her.'

'Iremember,' Gunnarstranda said. 'But you didn't tell me about the wholeconversation, did you?

HeleneLockert had been about to get married,' he continued, 'but she never got thatfar. The man she was to marry is still alive. His name is Reidar Bueng and helives in the nursing home with the garden where a rose-sucker has shot out ofthe ground. I met him there and we had a chat.'

Gunnarstrandacoughed, once, and then again. He was hoping for a reaction to his longmonologue, but was disappointed. Sigrid Haugom watched him with large eyes, buta gaze that was turned inwards.

'I'vebecome acquainted with…' Gunnarstranda paused, searched for words and coughedagain. 'By chance I know the assistant matron at this place,' he continued.'What she told me on the phone today is my small question to you, fru Haugom.'

SigridHaugom sat on the sofa, silent and distant.

Gunnarstrandalooked straight into her eyes. 'I am wondering about the following: Why did youspend a total of one hour with Bueng at this home the day after KatrineBratterud was murdered?'

Chapter Forty-Three

Hepursed his mouth and whistled as he bounced across Egertorget. He avoided twoJapanese tourists; they were each holding a map and looking into the air…four little, three little, two little Indians. One little Indian boy.

Itwould be like visiting a sick patient. A quick, effective visit, the waydoctors did in the old days. One little Indian boy. The arm with the attachécase swung to and fro. He followed the stream of people down Karl Johans gate.A thin man with a harrowed face and long, black hair hobbled towards him with abent back. An angel in disguise, he thought, with a cold smile. Tointercede.

Helaughed aloud at the beggar's pestering for coins. What an angel! He ignoredthe remark the beggar shouted after him. He didn't hear the words. If there wasone thing in this world that was of no consequence it was the junkie, hethought. The ones I loathe most are the down-and-outs.

Onesmall fix! The kind of fix that makes down- and-outs like him spread theirheavenly angel wings when he shoots up an overdose in his stupid, hedonisticdesire for self-extinction.

Hecrossed Skippergata on red, and with his head held high walked straight acrossFred Olsens gate to the station square. He ignored the hooting from the taxithat roared up behind him, then veered left and raced into the taxi rank. Oneman among many. Anonymous in the summer heat.

'Youalready know the answer, I assume,' Sigrid said. 'Otherwise you wouldn't haveasked. In fact, I have thought about you a little, about the kind of person youare. You're the kind who tries to hide your real personality. You camouflageyourself and play the part of a fool with transparent vanity. The comb-over ofyours that you arrange with such care, I suppose so that others, and particularlywomen, will feel sorry for you – nothing is as pitiful as transparent vanity.But I can see through your facade. You're an ordinary man, do you know that?No, you're not even that. You're an underdeveloped little pleb, a man riddledwith complexes.

Youcome here and you already know the answer to your question. Yet you dragyourself up here just for the pleasure of asking the question, to enjoy thesound of the question in your own ears. You are a conceited little worm. Do youknow that?'

InspectorGunnarstranda did not say a word in the subsequent long silence. He looked deepinto the eyes of the woman on the other side of the table. There was a moistgleam in his eyes. However, Sigrid's cheeks burned red with anger.

Shewas the first to place her feet on the floor and break the silent battlebetween them. 'You remind me of a little boy with his chemistry set,' she said.'You're so damned pleased with yourself. The only thing that means anything toyou is to triumph, to show me that you know. But shall I tell you a secret? Thesecret is that you know nothing. You don't have a clue. You haven't theslightest concept of what is important, of what anything means.'

Thepoliceman, who had been sitting there the whole time, unmoved, didn't stir now,either. His moist eyes remained focused on hers until she looked away. 'Youdon't need to look at me like that. It's pathetic. You know nothing, nothing ofany significance. Nothing!'

'Didyou say that to Helene Lockert, too?' Gunnarstranda asked in a brittle voice.

SigridHaugom gave a contemptuous chuckle. 'I was waiting for that,' she said,twisting her mouth into an ugly sneer and mimicking him: Did you say that to…no, fancy that, I didn't.'

'Therewere no suitable words, I suppose?'

'Howthe hell can words help at such a time?'

'Soyou strangled her instead?'

'Saveyour breath, Gunnarstranda.'

'Youstrangled her,' the policeman repeated stubbornly.

'Yes,I did,' Sigrid admitted in a testy voice. 'Do you feel better now? Do you feela perverse potency when you hear such an admission?'

'Katrine,'Gunnarstranda said in a hoarse voice. 'Did she see her mother being strangled?'

Sigridfell silent. Her face, the part around her mouth, froze in a distorted, pensivegrimace. The silence in the room was numbing. All of a sudden she stood up. 'Ican't take this silence,' she said quickly and went over to the window whereshe clung on to the sill with one hand. She held the other to her temple. 'Ihave a headache. You'd better go. This headache will be the death of me.'

Gunnarstrandaturned in his chair and observed her. 'Did she see you doing it?' he repeatedin a low voice.

'Idon't know,' she said. 'I just do not know.'

'Whydid you never ask her?'

'Howcould I?' Sigrid put her other hand to her face. 'I mean it. I get headaches. Ican't have visitors here when I have a migraine,' she sighed.

'Youmean Katrine was killed before you managed to ask her what she knew?'

'Gunnarstranda.Will you, please, go now.'

Thepoliceman rose to his feet, breathed in and reluctantly crossed the parquetfloor. He stood behind her. The sun was roasting outside. The June sun thatbaked the intermittent rain into the ground, creating fertile conditions for growth.Everything green would grow skywards in June, become strong enough to masterflowering, seed setting and ripening through the summer and autumn. Beside thesun lounger, the newspapers and sunglasses on the terrace lay the remains of anold flower bed in which wheat grass and goutweed had taken over and colonizedthe whole area with fearsome energy and vitality. A few poor overwintering wildpansies hung their pale heads in the wilderness. The life-giving sun penetratedthe living-room window and cast a bright yellow rectangle across the woodenfloor and a small corner on the rug where she was standing. The same sunlightcreated a faint image on the window pane. It was an almost colourless image ofthe room they were in, the tables, the chairs, the clock on the wall and twofigures. Gunnarstranda concentrated on the contours of the woman in front ofhim in the glass. She was standing with her eyes shut tight. Her skin wasstretched taut across her forehead and the fingers holding her head were like thewhite veins of translucent leaves.

'Whywere you never questioned by the police regarding the murder of HeleneLockert?' he asked.

Sigridgave a start. 'Are you still here? Didn't I ask you to go?'

'Whyis your name not in the interview reports?' the policeman repeated afterclearing his throat.

Sigridstood on the same spot without moving.

'Thatmust have been a shock,' Gunnarstranda said, stepping closer to her back.'Meeting her daughter again after all these years. Perhaps it was fate. Haveyou wondered about that? Sometimes things do have a meaning.'

'Whatare you talking about?'

Gunnarstrandadrew in his breath and tried to see if there were any changes in the face whoseflat contrasts he could just make out in the reflection of the glass.

'Mywife died of cancer a number of years ago,' he said with a cough. 'All her lifeshe had had one single dream. I mean a real, a genuine dream.' He paused.

'Yes?'Sigrid said at length, either impatient or genuinely interested.

Gunnarstrandahad to clear his throat again. 'Before she died she was given the chance toexperience the dream. But she was not the one to make it happen. She couldn't,she was too ill. She didn't know the dream was reality until it happened.'

'I didn'tdream about meeting Helene's daughter again.'

'Butit happened,' the policeman said. 'Perhaps it was meant to happen.'

'Ifit was…' Sigrid spun round. 'Why should she be killed? Can you tell me that?Was that meant to be as well?'

'Idon't know,' the policeman said, looking into her eyes. 'I have no idea. Butthe important thing is that you met, that you had the chance to love her.'

Sigridlooked away. 'You may be right,' she said. 'But that will never be enough.' Shepaused. 'I thought that, too,' she continued at last. 'Katrine… when I firstsaw her in Vinterhagen after all these years… it was as though Helene wasstanding there. I knew she had to be Helenas daughter from the very firstmoment.' Sigrid raised a faint, dreamy smile. 'The same wonderful blonde hair,'she whispered. 'Helene's mouth, her body, her voice. I instantly knew who shewas, and I did wonder in fact if she and I were meant… But why should she bekilled?'

Sigrid'sfacial expression was genuinely questioning.

'Whywere you never interviewed for the murder of Helene?' the policeman repeatedwithout the slightest intention of capitulating.

'Idon't know,' she said, drained. 'Maybe Reidar never said anything about me.'

'ReidarBueng? He mentioned your name. There must have been some other reason Kriposcrossed you off their list.'

'Iwas in Scotland. In Edinburgh.'

'InScotland?'

'Officially.'

Gunnarstrandasmiled with curiosity. 'Tell me more,' he said.

'Atlast something you didn't know. I'm a qualified engineer, a chemical engineer.'

'Ithought you were a qualified social worker.'

'That,too. But I took chemistry at university in Edinburgh after my school-leavingexams. Engineering courses were the thing at that time.

UnfortunatelyI didn't go into a job straight afterwards. When I was about to do so, afterbeing a housewife for almost twenty years, my subject had changed and I hadn'tkept up. So I tried a different job. One that was about giving, repairing. Willyou promise to go if I tell you what happened'

Gunnarstrandasent her an old-fashioned look.

'Alwaystrue to yourself, eh. Upright. Promise nothing. The apostle for the ordinaryman.' Her •smile was bitter. 'I went home on a stand-by ticket. It was supposedto be a surprise. In fact it is quite a banal story. I went straight toReidar's place. I wanted to surprise him and thought there would be no one athome. But there was. In the bedroom. He was underneath her. My best friend. Doyou think that's stimulating? Men can find that kind of thing stimulating. Ithought it was loathsome. I could hear the noises arid stood there like anintruder watching while she… do you understand? With my boyfriend. There's notmuch more to say.'

'Didyou go into the room? To the two of them?'

'Areyou mad? No. I went to her place. I waited for her. I knew she wouldn't belong. After all, she'd left her child in the playpen while she…'

'Soyou just waited for her?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'BecauseI wanted her dead, of course.'

'Couldn'tthat have been avoided? Her dying?'

'Idon't know… maybe if I'd been different, with a different view on… on things.'

'Didyou talk?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Butwhy did you kill her?'

'Becauseshe was my best friend.'

'Yes…?'

'Mybest friend. Don't you understand?' Sigrid gave a tired smile. 'Of course youdon't understand. I don't have much of a defence. I know myself…'

'Whendid you leave the dead woman?'

'Whenshe was quite still. She didn't make a sound. She had screamed out all thesound she possessed with him. And that made me furious that she had no soundleft for me.'

'Andthen what did you do?'

'Wentback to Scotland. The same day. On stand-by.'

'Younever heard anything from the police?'

'Never.'

'Sono one knew you were in the country?'

'Noone.'

'DidKatrine know any of this?'

'No,'Sigrid said.

'Butshe rang you and told you she had found the name of her mother. That was whatshe actually told you in that call on the Saturday, wasn't it?'

Sigridgave a heavy nod.

'Wasit she who told you that Bueng was living at the nursing home?'

Sigridshook her head. 'No, Katrine knew nothing about Reidar Bueng. She knew nothingabout me. It was a shock. It was a terrible conversation. I thought I wouldhave a heart attack when she told me what she had discovered. I knew whereReidar was. I've known where he is every single day since the day it happened.'

'Whatdid you want from him? When you met him at the home the day after Katrinerang?'

'Iwanted to be sure Reidar didn't tell her about me, I mean the relationshipbetween Helene and me. I knew it was only a question of time before Katrinewould find him. If she found her way to Reidar, sooner or later my name wouldcrop up. It would be catastrophic for us both. I had to talk to Reidar first. Ihad to make sure he said nothing to Katrine about me.'

'Doyou think Bueng knew you killed Helene?'

'Ofcourse.'

'Buthe never gave you away?'

'Never.'

'Hedidn't say anything to me, either. Do you still love Reidar Bueng?'

Shelaughed the same chilling laugh and sneered again. 'Do you still love him,'she mimicked with a biting tone. 'You ridiculous starched hypocrite.' Sheclenched her fists. 'What are you actually asking? What the hell do you mean bythat question? Are you wondering whether I miss being with an old man who cannotwalk unaided? Whether I miss physical contact with this man?'

'I'mwondering whether you love him,' the policemen repeated as unshakable asbefore.

Theystood eyeing each other until she said: 'What does it matter? I've destroyed mylife. I've lived half my life with a person who regards love as a muscularactivity, like an exchange of body fluids.'

Shegazed at the ceiling and gave a deep sigh. 'You know, I have no idea whether Iloved Reidar or not. I haven't a clue. I have no illusions about love anylonger. But I think I used to believe in it, at that time. It felt like beingdown for the count… did you, in your younger days, drink too much or were youso ill that you wished you were dead just to escape? That's how it was. But ahangover 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 Icould stick pins or needles in myself and scream in an attempt to escape theplight that was mine… that was love. But now? I have no idea any more. I don'tknow what has any meaning. But if there is a worst part to all of this, it isnot being able to remember that side of myself I used to regard as my mostprecious.' Sigrid clenched her teeth and hissed with spittle in both corners ofher mouth. 'The only thing that never fades, the only truth left is that Ihated Helene!'

'Asmuch today as then?'

'Thereyou go again,' she sighed, exhaling with her eyes closed. 'Sometimes, yes. As arule, no.'

'It won'twork,' Gunnarstranda said out of the blue.

'Whatwon't work?'

'Youwon't be able to pass your resentment and bitterness on to dead Helene.'

'Whatdo you mean?'

'Ithink your hatred and bitterness are reserved for another person.'

Sigridshook her head slowly.

'You'vetold this story before, haven't you, Sigrid?'

Sigrideyed 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 ifanxious not to say too much.

'Iknow who killed Katrine,' the policeman said in a quiet voice. 'And so do you.'

Thesun 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.'

'Katrinerang you that Saturday,' Gunnarstranda said, taking a step closer. 'She toldyou about Stamnes. She told you about her mother's true identity and aboutRaymond Skau, who had turned up at her workplace demanding money. I appreciateit must have been a shock, but you should never have told anyone else. When youtold him you signed her death warrant. You knew that, didn't you.'

Sigridhad closed her eyes. 'I didn't know. I went to see Reidar on Sunday to preparehim for Katrine. It would never have occurred to me that she was dead.'

'Butyou must have known.'

'You'reevil,' she said, and then repeated, 'You are evil.'

'Youwent to see Bueng even though you knew she was dead.'

Sigridsaid nothing.

'Hemay have killed Katrine to protect you. I'm sure he thinks he acted out ofchivalry. Nevertheless, that's no bloody good. You know as well as I do he didit.'

'SupposeI did know,' she said with bitterness. 'So what? Can it be undone? Will regretmake any difference? As for these ridiculous claims that he wanted to protectme… ha!' Her laugh was harsh and she bore down on the policeman with narrowedeyes. 'Hasn't it occurred to you that he wanted to protect himself?'

Hestood looking at her for a few seconds. At last he took a deep breath and tooktwo steps forward. She turned her head and looked at him as though she wasactually 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 hadnot even dawned on you.'

'SigridHaugom,' said Police Inspector Gunnarstranda. 'I am arresting you for themurder of Helene Lockert. Would you please come with me of your own free will?'

Chapter Forty-Four

Thetram 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. Hewas 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 armwas curly and moist with sweat. He looked at her. She had painted anunattractive yellow stripe under her eyes. Her hair was dyed blonde withdarkened roots revealing the original colour. Every time the tram went around abend he looked down between her neck and her blouse, into a gap revealing twosmall breasts with long engorged nipples. The sight made him think of the othergirl and how the jerking of her body had become weaker and weaker, like a fishat the bottom of a boat. And then he was there again with one knee pressed intothe damp grass and his other foot slightly stretched as her young body heavedits last.

Anoise. 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 toprevent anyone remembering him.

Itwas as hot outside as inside. In fact it was hotter, but not so clammy; the airwasn't as bad. Standing on the pavement as the tram passed he felt the woman'sgaze through the window. It met his own. It was for these reasons you had toplan, by getting off the tram two stops too early, for example.

Theproblem 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 thesun is too strong. The first time he passed by he tried to gain someperspective of what was going on in the lobby. It seemed quite still. He passedone crossroads, then another, felt his breathing accelerate. There was a kindof restless, tingling sensation in his arms. He stopped and raised his handwith his fingers outstretched. Not a tremble. Being tense is one thing. It's agood sign to be tense. Composure was in the offing, half an hour away. This wasperhaps the simplest operation so far. But at the same time it was the mostdifficult. 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 theoutcome would be death.

Hetook a left at the next crossroads and walked to the next street. Here he wentleft again, on his way back to the nursing home.

SigridHaugom walked with quick steps through the door to the left. Gunnarstrandafollowed her. They crossed a kind of dining room, in traditional Norwegianstyle, with a buffet along the wall and in the middle of the floor a diningtable with a scoured surface surrounded by eight chairs. She stopped by thenext door and turned as if to ensure that she had heard correctly. 'Are youfollowing me?' Gunnarstranda nodded. 'I see,' she said, and continued down ashorter 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 hunga modern painting with striking blue and yellow colours, a sky. 'He definitelydid not do it for my sake,' she said, looking down at the policeman through thestaircase railing. 'He is only interested in himself and his own needs.'

'Doyou think he raped her?'

'Him?'She snorted. 'He would never do anything so banal. No. His actions are imbuedwith one single purpose: to avoid the scandal a potential court case against mecould produce.'

Gunnarstranda:'Scandal? What scandal? Your husband wouldn't be involved in any case againstyou, would he?'

Sheassumed a patronizing smile. 'You misunderstand, Mr Smart Guy. He's notfrightened of what I did to Helene. The only thing he's frightened of is theconsequences of his own actions. He's afraid of what I would say about him andhis abuse of me for half of my life.'

Shetossed her head in despair at the policeman's expression. 'Has it finally gotthrough to you? Erik is not the man people think he is. Erik is an animal.'

Gunnarstrandapulled a sceptical face at her choice of words. As she took a step down he tooka step up. She grabbed the handrail. 'Scoff at me,' she whispered. 'Laugh atme. Don't try to think what it's like to lie naked on a bed, bound hand andfoot, while your child is in the adjacent room, night after night. Don't try toimagine what it's like to serve a person night and day who finds hissatisfaction in your pain – and to dress up afterwards to be your tormentor'scompanion at a dinner in some snobbish club, forced to choose clothes thatconceal swellings and bruises, to smile and whisper sweet nothings in this sameman's ear not to attract attention, but to maintain his noble facade. Youcan't, can you? Your imagination doesn't stretch that far. Imagine what it'slike to have to grovel to a man like this just because once you were stupidenough to tell him about the greatest error in your life – that one act.'

'Whydidn't you move out?'

'Howcan you ask!'

Gunnarstrandaflung out his arms. 'Did he threaten to expose you? Did he threaten to go tothe police with what he knew about the murder of Helene Lockert?'

'You'regetting there, you clever little policeman.'

'Doyou mean to say he killed that poor girl to…' Gunnarstranda searched forwords.'… To keep the lid on the secret?'

'Hekilled Katrine so that no one would know who killed her mother. If everyoneknew who killed Helene, he wouldn't have had a hold over me any longer. Hecould not have stopped me talking about what he has done to me.'

'Helpme to catch him,' urged the police inspector.

Sheshook 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'strue,' the policeman agreed. 'I have no evidence. Unless you help me.'

Shelaughed. 'Heavens above! Why would I help you?'

Gunnarstrandapaused. Sigrid Haugom regarded him with a contemptuous glare.

'Becausethis cannot go on,' the detective replied at length.

Shelaughed again. A cold, harsh laugh. 'Can it not go on?' She mimicked him with apursed mouth: 'Cannot go on!' She took another step down the stairs. 'Haveyou considered,' she spat, 'that I've been living with blood on my hands formore than twenty years? Have you considered that what I have dreamt about fortwenty years has been realized? Finally I know something and I have a hold overhim! Finally, finally, finally, I am the one with the power!'

'Butis that really what you want?'

'There'snothing in this world I want more!' Sigrid shouted.

Thepoliceman observed her standing on the stairs, bent forwards, panting, her hairdishevelled, 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 someoneelse instead,' he pleaded. 'Do it for her sake* Look upon it as a chance tomake amends. That was what you dreamt about, wasn't it? Making amends toKatrine?'

Shetook a deep breath as though to restrain another outburst. She stood there withher eyes closed until she made up her mind and signalled her decision with ashake of the head.

'OK,no,' he said. 'But you'll have to come with me all the same.'

Whenshe did at last open her eyes they were shiny with tears. 'The case against meis time-sensitive,' she said, spinning round and continuing up the stairs withthe policeman in tow.

'We'llsee,' Gunnarstranda said to her back. 'Fortunately it is not my job todetermine whether the case against Helene Lockert's murderer is covered by thestatute of limitations or not.'

Shecame to a sudden halt.

Gunnarstrandacontinued speaking. 'I'm a policeman, not a judge. But I hope you won't resistarrest. 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 asthough wiping off something unpleasant. 'We are both adults.' She grabbed adoor handle. 'I must change my clothes. What was it you wanted me to do?'

'Justring him and tell him you were there, at the nursing home on Sunday.'

'Tellhim I was with Reidar, that I visited him?'

'Yes.'

'Nothingelse?'

Thepoliceman coughed when he peered up at her now smiling face. 'What is it?'

'I'vealready done it,' she said. 'Funny.'

'You'vetold him? When?' Gunnarstranda's lean figure jerked. He ran over to her. Hissensitive lips were trembling. 'No more bluffing. When did you tell him?'

'Earlythis morning.'

'You'relying.'

Sheshook her head. 'I've been lying to myself too much to do it any more.'

'Butwhy today of all days?'

'Becausetoday I…' She breathed in and closed her eyes again.'… Today… when I woke up…'She paused.

'Whatabout today?' Gunnarstranda was staring at her. 'What do you mean?'

Witha distant smile, she said: 'What makes you think you would understand me if Iwere to answer that question honestly?'

Thepoliceman had his mobile out. He watched her with a concerned frown on hisforehead, then turned away from her with the phone against his ear. 'Don't goanywhere,' 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 insanething to do it was to tell him you'd visited Bueng?'

'Idon't understand anything any more.'

'Ihope it's not too late,' Gunnarstranda said and swore. 'Where do you keep yourtoothbrush and toiletries? In the bathroom? Well, go and get them.'

Hefollowed her down the corridor with the mobile to his ear. He trailed her everystep. Something told him this woman should not be left alone for a singlesecond.

Chapter Forty-Five

Ayoung man with an oversized head, big hair and a strangely frail body squeezedinto 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?' Frølichasked, annoyed. He had been sitting and waiting for an audience for threequarters of an hour. The young man had protruding eyes and a swollen red pimpleon his cheek.

'He'sin a meeting,' came the answer. The young man didn't move.

'Didyou tell him I was waiting?'

Theyoung man nodded. He was wearing a dark blue shirt, which was the same colouras the wall-to- wall carpet on the floor. Around his neck he wore a brown silktie. The knot was much too loose. Young men with an irritating appearanceshould not be employed, thought Frølich, and, impatient, shifted hisweight from one foot to the other.

'Themeeting's going to last a long time,' the young man said with a grin.

Frølichthought: Men like you should be in the fields and woods. He said: 'Soyour boss thinks he can psyche me out, does he?' He went back to the chair andsat down.

Theyoung man stood there with his arms hanging down by his sides. What was itEva-Britt always said? I think men in dinner jackets can be quite sexy, butJames Bond should understand once and for all that he should not run around inthat kind of clothing. Frølich leaned forwards and eyed the youngman. Young men in suits shouldn't stand so erect with their arms down bytheir sides, he thought. It makes them look like standard lamps. 'Letthere be light,' he said with a smile.

Atthat moment his mobile telephone rang.

Chapter Forty-Six

Theeasy part was that the man was a patient. He looked down at his legs. Soft,light brown shoes and loose trousers. His legs were quite normal, his striderelaxed. The important thing is how it looks from the outside, not how it feelson the inside. The feeling of heaviness is sheer imagination.

Heturned left again and at an accelerated pace headed for the nursing home. Thelobby was deserted and quite still. A taxi was parked in front of the entrance.The taxi driver was waiting, so he was collecting, not delivering. He walkedpast the taxi and took the last few steps to the front entrance. As soon as heopened the door, the familiar smell hit him: the smell of old people, a pungentodour consisting of elements such as urine, dirt, dust, stale air and rottenorganic material. It smelled like an open grave. The irony of this image madehim smile. A young woman in a garish yellow sweater was sitting behind a lowglass partition arid speaking on the telephone. He went to the door and knockedpolitely against the door frame.

'ReidarBueng?' he asked, leaning against the wall.

Sheput down the receiver with a startled expression. 'I'm on placement here, so Idon't know my way around so well…'

'Astudent?' he smiled. 'Isn't there a list you can consult?'

'Yes,there is.' She put the receiver on the desk and searched through the paperwork.She was nervous she wouldn't find what she was looking for. Finally she lookedup. 'Room 104.'

'Thankyou,' he said and continued at a composed tempo down the corridor. He passedroom 104 without stopping, just a brief glance to see where he was in thecorridor. Through the windows he could see white clover flowers in the lawn. Anold man with a beret, white legs in enormous shorts and a spanner in his handwas standing over a dismantled lawnmower.

Hewent on and found a toilet further down the corridor. He entered, locked thedoor behind him and laid the briefcase on the toilet lid. At the bottom of thebriefcase, each in their own compartment, were plastic gloves, a hypodermicneedle and the serum. He put on the gloves and quickly assembled the syringe.Then he pressed down the plunger and sucked up one phial, then a second. Hereleased two drops into the toilet. Ready for use. Goodness me, hethought. Someone has been given the wrong medication today. He hid theweapon in his jacket pocket. Then he inspected the pocket in the mirror. Itlooked as it should. He put his sunglasses back on and breathed in beforeopening the toilet door and walking slowly down the corridor.

Not asoul around, neither to the left nor the right. Think about her. Feel herfury. Think how she would crush you! He proceeded without hurrying to room104. His breathing was regular: out, in, out, in; he knocked twice. Not a soundfrom inside. Time to complete the job, he thought, grasping the door handle.

'You'reworried about me,' Sigrid Haugom confirmed after they had got into the car.'You think I'm psychotic. Maybe you think I might harm myself?'

'I'monly doing my job,' Gunnarstranda said, donning his jacket, starting the engineand driving off.

'Isit part of your job to watch women sitting on the loo and having a pee?'

'Ididn't watch you. It's my job to stay on the heels of arrestees. You are not thefirst in that regard.'

'You'rea bad liar, Gunnarstranda.'

Helooked across at her and said with a wry smile on his thin lips, 'You have toremember I've listened to lots of liars, all too many.'

'Strange,'she sighed.

'What'sstrange?'

'Thismoment.'

Shewent on: 'All the times I've tried to imagine what it would be like to bearrested. Thousands.' She glanced out of the car when he braked for a carcoming from the right. 'Talk about an anti-climax.'

'I'mbeginning to get used to it, too,' Gunnarstranda said drily.

Theyfell silent.

'Ithink…,' he began after a while.

'Areyou frightened I'll throw myself out of the car?' she interrupted.

'Ithink Henning Kramer discovered something,' Gunnarstranda persevered.

Shesighed. 'God, now you're being tiresome.'

'Ithink he discovered something your husband had missed, something which madeKramer dangerous in his eyes. I want you to think. What could Kramer havediscovered?'

Sheangled her head. 'I think that's pretty obvious, don't you?'

Gunnarstrandasent her an uneasy glance.

Shewas looking ahead with a scornful smile on her lips. 'It's staring you in theface. My God, if the rest of the police force is as stupid as you it's notsurprising I got away that time in '77. Can't you see it? How could it neverhave occurred to you!'

Gunnarstrandakept his eyes on the road and stopped to let a car through from the right.

Allof a sudden she became serious. 'It's my fault, too,' she said. 'I wanted tohelp Katrine that night at the party when she fell ill. So I rang Erik. Ithought he could drive us home. I wanted to escape and I needed to talk toKatrine face to face. Erik didn't turn up. Henning came to collect Katrine, butErik didn't turn up.'

Gunnarstrandanodded to himself. The picture was beginning to take shape.

'Iwaited for Erik at the party. When I saw Katrine leaving…'

'Yousaw her leaving?'

'Yes,I was on the veranda and saw her go out through the door, close it and walk tothe garden gate. I saw her in the light from the street lamp outside the gate.I saw her walking down the road. I thought about shouting to her, but didn't.Instead I went inside and tried to ring Erik to tell him not to pick me upafter all. He didn't answer the phone.'

'Hewas already on the way?'

Sigridignored the question. She said: 'That Monday you came to the rehab centreHenning was walking around in a trance. We talked about what had happened, allof us, about the party and about Katrine. Henning kept hassling us. We had totell him again and again what had happened that night. All the time I couldfeel Henning's eyes on me. There is only one explanation for that. Henning sawErik that night. He drove past Erik on his way up to Annabeth's at aroundmidnight. He had Erik on his tail when he drove to collect Katrine. Buteveryone knew I wasn't picked up until four in the morning. It was repeatedagain and again at the meetings on Monday morning.'

Shepaused. The policeman said nothing.

Shesmiled at him. 'I'm beginning to like you, Gunnarstranda. You know how to bequiet in the right places.' She coughed. 'Henning called us the evening afterthe funeral. He demanded to speak to Erik.'

'Whatdid they talk about?'

'Ithink Henning threatened to go to you with his suspicions and his sightings ofErik that night.' 'And your husband asked him not to,' Gunnarstranda completed.

Shelaughed a hollow laugh. 'It would never occur to him to ask anyone foranything.'

Shelooked out of the car window. 'No,' she said. 'Erik agreed to meet him so thatthey could talk it out, man to man.'

Chapter Forty-Seven

ElvisPresley's low, metallic voice blared out from the radio's loudspeaker on thebedside table. But the room was empty.

Hecouldn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Once more he went into the bathroom,into the kitchen and into the small alcove. Not a soul anywhere. He looked downat himself. A man wearing yellow gloves. They would have to come off. He peeledoff the gloves and put them in his pocket. No, that wouldn't do. He took thegloves from his pocket and deposited them in the briefcase instead. Where toget rid of them? He sat in the armchair by the window and slowly ran his eyesacross the room. He peered through the open door to the bathroom – at a dirtylaundry basket. That was where. He slipped into the bathroom and dropped thebriefcase into the half-full laundry basket.

'MaybeI didn't treat you quite as good as I should have….' Elvis sang.

Heswitched off the radio and stood listening. Not a sound to be heard. Nomumbling, no rushing sounds in the pipes. For what must have been the hundredthtime he checked the bulge in his jacket pocket. He was ready. More than readyand no one was at home.

Itwas very strange. He hastened back to the window and looked outside. The samelawnmower he had seen through a corridor window on the lawn, abandoned. Why hadit been abandoned? Why was it so quiet?

Hewas getting hot and ran to the door. Stopped. He didn't want to go, not yet,not so close to the conclusion. There's something wrong. Best to get outnow! He grabbed the door handle. Changed his mind yet again. Locked thedoor from the inside. Reached the window in two quick strides. He took thelatch and pushed open the window. It had hinges on both sides, a window itshould be possible to tilt open. A safety catch had been added. It wasn'tpossible to open the window wide. He tried again. The window wouldn't move. Ameagre twenty centimetres of air was all the window was capable of supplying.

Theblood froze in his veins as someone was pressing the door handle behind him. Itcould not be Bueng. It was someone else. Thank God the door was locked. Helooked at the brown door – and turned back to the window. He thought: Smash thewindow. Now!

Theperson on the outside tried again. Jerked the handle downwards. Knocked.

Howthe hell were you supposed to open this window? He pushed at the frame. It gaveway on the left-hand side. There. A little bolt you had to flick up. Twoseconds later his left foot sank into a tangle of thorns. That didn't help. Therose bush snagged his leg. He was out. He closed the window behind him.Struggled out. The thorns tore at his clothes. He was sweating. But didn't stopto look around. He strode towards the gravel path dividing the lawn into tworectangles. The area was completely deserted. You should have known. Youshould have known something was wrong when it was so quiet!

Well,what had happened? A young woman in reception. That was all. And what had sheseen? A man with sunglasses asking after a patient. That was all.

Hestopped on the corner and cautiously looked around the house. A police patrolcar was parked in the drive. It was empty.

Now!he thought. Now! The car's empty. So there's only one or two of them. Acouple of second-raters answering a call. They're investigating a call someonehas made. No one is after you! Skedaddle!

Heset off towards the police car and walked past it and out. He turned left andkept walking, straight ahead. Every single muscle in his back was knotted.Every second he expected to hear a shout behind him. But nothing happened. Hewas twenty-five metres away now, forty. Five metres to the first crossroads. Heforced himself not to walk fast. One metre to go. He turned left withoutlooking behind him. He kept going, hidden now by a large block of flats. Fivemetres, ten metres. He breathed out. All was well. No one had seen anything.

Thethought of the empty police car bothered him. Why had the car appeared? Had itbeen called because of him? That was very unlikely. If the police knew anythingat all they would not have sent a single patrol car. It must have been calledout for some other reason. But why had someone yanked at the door? He tried toconsider the matter. He hadn't heard any shouting. That was a good sign. Apoliceman would have shouted if he was standing outside a locked door trying tocontact someone inside. It couldn't have been a policeman trying to get in. Sowhy had he panicked? Something must have gone wrong. But what? It wasimpossible to know. But if something had gone wrong whatproof did they have against him? Nothing. The police were tapping in thedark. The question was: Had it been a blunder to go there, to the nursinghome? No! It hadn't been a blunder. Reidar Bueng was the only connectionwith Sigrid's case. The only person who knew anything at all. The only link ofany significance.

Hestopped. He was crossing Bentse Bridge.

Justa feeling…

Heturned round. No. No one stopped, no one following. He looked down into theriver and pretended to go through his pockets, and turned round again. Nothing.Nevertheless, he was aware of a prickling sensation. On he walked, taking histime, up Bentsebruagata to Vogts gate and the tram stop. He stopped here andturned round again. Nothing to be seen, just some youth shuffling along thepavement, a young woman locking her car and an elderly lady pulling a shoppingtrolley. The tram rounded the hill to the left by Sandaker. When it finallyslid to a halt in front of him he went through one of the double doors in themiddle. He was the only person to board. He smiled, began to work his wayforward and approached the driver to pay. The tram came to a sudden standstilland he looked out, but there were no cars or pedestrians in the way. And then adoor slammed behind him. His blood froze to ice. Turn round. See who it isbefore the tram sets off!

Heslowly twisted his head to the right. Nothing. No uniforms, just peoplesitting, leaning against the steel poles, chewing gum, talking to each other inlow voices. Nothing. Searching for coins in his pocket, he noddedabsentmindedly to a bearded Sikh who had adorned his head with a dark redturban.

Hefound an unoccupied seat on the left. And went over the great fiasco in hismind. Either something had gone disastrously wrong or no damage had been done.But he had to find out which. A boy with long, black hair and a spotty face wastalking about the relationship between language and understanding. 'If you'retaking the piss, I want you to say you're taking the piss,' he said to hiscompanion, a plump girl with a lot of sub-cutaneous fat on her thighs.

Hecraned his neck round and looked back. Nothing. Nevertheless a tinglingsensation in his back. Between his shoulder blades he could feel an itch thatwas not of a physiological nature. Someone was there. There had to be. He wassweating. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Damp. He fought to stop himselfturning round.

Amobile telephone rang. The man who answered spoke very good English. AVietnamese-looking boy was playing some kind of game on his mobile telephone.It was hard to concentrate in these surroundings. The hardest thing of all,though, was not letting yourself turn around.

Well,what could have happened? Nothing. He glanced up. A woman was staring at him.What was she staring at? He couldn't stand it any longer. He had to turn. Hegave a start. For a few fleeting moments he thought it was her. But itwas not. Even though the woman sitting in the seat right behind him was verysimilar. The blonde passenger lowered and averted her gaze.

Hefaced the front again. He must not behave like this. He had to be calm. Undercontrol. Better go home, meditate and work out when to strike again. Healighted from the tram in Aker Brygge. Lots of passengers got off there. Lotsof casually dressed people without a care, laughing. A few boys were doing BMXtricks on a ramp. A large crane had been positioned in front of the entrance toAker Brygge. Three fit young men were offering bungee jumps.

Heslowed down, trying to be the last in the group. He soon saw how hopeless thatwas. The whole of the City Hall square was teeming with people. He stopped bythe large crane as an elderly lady was being strapped into position. She hung,dangled, over the tarmac like a cross between a slaughtered animal and AstridLindgren's Karlsson-on-the-Roof. She was really enjoying herself as she washoisted upwards.

Hetore himself away. A little boy shading his eyes as he squinted into the skyshouted: 'Grandma! Grandma!'

Heproceeded along the wharf promenade with quickened steps. The itching in hisback was still there. There was someone behind him. Someone.

Heveered to the right towards the square, stopped and looked behind him. People.Throngs of people.

Hewalked close by the fountain and went into the multi-storey car park. He wasalone in the lift. The doors closed. He leaned against the glass wall andregistered a movement to his left.

FrankFrølich and Erik Haugom looked each other in the eye for what seemedlike an eternity. Haugom had positioned himself at the back of the glass lift.They held eye contact as the lift moved downwards. Frank, on the staircase, wasin no hurry. He ambled down with his legs akimbo. On the bends they exchangedglances. Every time Frank rounded the corner Haugom turned his head; it waslower at every bend. When Haugom's head was on a level with the policeman'sknee, Frank brought his foot back and kicked the glass with all his might.Haugom's body jerked backwards. But his eyes gave nothing away. His face wasclosed, two vacant eyes above a tightly clenched mouth. Frank noticed that thedoctor had birthmarks on his scalp. There were still a couple of bends leftwhen he heard the metal door leading to the parked cars bang. Frank reached thedoor ten seconds later. Inside there was the sound of running feet. He stoodstill and smelt the heavy, exhaust-infested air. He tried to see the closedface from the glass lift, the expression on the man's face as he ran throwinghasty glances over his shoulder. But he could not. Still he stood withoutmoving, trying to hear where the sound of running feet was coming from. But itseemed to be impossible. The parking area resounded with a slight echo from allparts at once – it came in waves across rows and rows of empty, darkened carinteriors – an illuminated sign on the ceiling, yellow stripes over theconcrete floor. Frølich lumbered along the central aisle, the broad drivinglanes, with cars on both sides. On hearing the sound of an engine starting, hestopped. It sounded more like a scream than an engine starting. Haugom wasbecoming nervous. Frank gave a smile of satisfaction and wondered how stupidthis man really was. Soon after there was a squeal of braking tyres. The manmust be living on his nerves. The engine screamed again. Frank concentrated. Heran his eyes along the walls. Not a movement anywhere. Again the howl of anengine. The sound was coming closer. He just managed to throw himself to theside at the last moment. The coke-grey Mercedes raced past only one millimetreaway from his foot. He caught a glimpse of an elderly man bent over thesteering wheel. That was probably the most pathetic thing about this person,Frank thought, struggling on to his knees – the ill-placed single-mindednessand pugnacity this sad guy could mobilize. When it comes down to it, allvillains are just as bad as each other, but there's no doubt some villains lookbetter on film, as Eva-Britt always said.

Frankremained on his knees brushing down his trousers and watching Haugom's Mercedesbrake into the bend and turn into the ramp leading upwards. The idiot had evenmanaged to drive the wrong way.

Hesighed and got to his feet, then strolled in the direction the car had justtaken. This was a subterranean car park and it differed from all of the othersin Oslo. This one you had to drive down to exit.

Frankjogged around the narrow bend Haugom had driven. On the floor above there wasthe shriek of brakes again. Screaming tyres. Now it was a case of getting tothe top before the guy slalomed down at a hundred. He was beginning to pant. Hewas sprinting. His legs were leaden. The screech of brakes again above him.Frank could see the next level approaching. The opening was ten metres away.The tyres on the car above him were spinning. The engine was roaring. Insidehis head, Frank imagined a coke-grey Mercedes hitting him at full speed. He sawhis body – spine broken and hips crushed – landing on the car bonnet, rollingout of control towards the front windscreen and on to the roof from which itsmacked down on to the floor with the dead weight of all his kilos, banging hisskull and smashing it on the concrete.

Fivemetres to go. Frank had the taste of blood in his mouth. The sudden sound of aloud crash.

Acollision.

AsFrank reached the top a car door slammed. He stopped and his lungs gasped forair. His pounding heart sounded like thunder in his ears. He tried to regulatehis breathing, but could not. The first thing he noticed was a woman standingby the lift. She was holding the hands of two small boys in short trousers. Oneof them was picking his nose. Sixty metres in front of him he saw Haugom'scoke-grey Mercedes. The bonnet had almost carved a parked, small VW Golf intotwo. A man was staggering along the central aisle. It was Haugom. But there wassomething wrong. Haugom stood with his knees bent and a surprised expression onhis face. He was holding his thigh.

Frølichset off. 'Stop,' he shouted to Haugom. 'Stand still!'

Hewas running. From the corner of his eye he could see the woman with the twochildren shooing them into the stair well. Haugom's knees gave way. Frankslowed down against his will.

ErikHaugom was rocking on his knees. 'Stop.' Frølich repeated, gentler thistime, and continued walking towards the man who now had a distant, almostdreamy expression on his face. The bent figure fighting to remain uprightresembled a spaced- out needle addict. Frølich ground to a halt as theman fell to his knees.

Therewere five metres between them as the man let go of his thigh. He was a strangesight. His jacket seemed to be glued to his right thigh.

'Helpme,' whispered Erik Haugom, rolling gently down on to the concrete floor.

'What'sup?' Frølich asked, bending over him. 'Have you been hurt?'

Haugom'sbreathing was a strained wheeze. He was fighting for air. His mouth moved.Frank stooped over him. 'In my jacket pocket,' Haugom whispered with a gurgle.

'Whathave you got in your jacket?'

'Ahypodermic needle. Take it out.'

'You'vegot a syringe in your pocket?'

Haugomdidn't answer. He fell on to his back and tried to straighten up. His face wasscarlet; his breathing a barely audible rasp.

'Well,well, doctor,' Frølich mumbled to the figure on the floor. 'I think youneed a medic.' He stood thinking, and alternated between looking at his mobiletelephone and Haugom, who was now lying on his side, his fingers shudderingwith spasms. 'Where are the medics when you need them?' Frølich askedhimself in a low voice.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Theywere sitting in Cafe Justisen. They had taken seats at a table in the cornerunder a photograph of Oslo-born artist Hermansen. Gunnarstranda had just eatena meatball and fried egg smorgasbord. Now he was washing it down with a cup ofblack coffee. Fristad and Frølich each had a draught beer.

'Sonow at last we can do what we should have done a long time ago,' Fristad saidwith a tiny smile followed by a broad grin. 'We shelve the case for lack ofevidence. What did he have in the syringe by the way?'

Gunnarstrandaglanced up from his coffee. 'A Norwegian killer nurse special. He had left hisbriefcase in a dirty laundry basket in Bueng's room. The original packaging wasin it. Big dose.'

'Curacit?'Fristad gave a nod of acknowledgement. 'That's what I call suicide with style.'

'Badluck I would call it.' Gunnarstranda turned to the other two. 'He didn't have asnowball's hope in hell. The dose of curacit would have paralysed hisrespiratory organs pretty quickly. The idea had been to kill Bueng. When youturned up at the home I suppose he had the syringe primed and ready in hispocket. It lay there then like an undetonated bomb until the collision in themulti-storey car park. He must have got the whole syringe in his thigh when hesmashed into the car. The pathologist had to cut the needle out it was stuck inso far.'

'Typical,'Frølich said. 'Bloody typical.'

'Whatwas?'

'Thathe was out to paralyse Bueng's respiratory organs. Haugom must have been hookedon asphyxiation. Even the medication he used ended in asphyxiation.'

Fristaddrank his beer and smacked his lips. 'I gather his wife has confessed to themurder of Helene Lockert. Why would the husband set out on this trail ofmurders?'

PoliceInspector Gunnarstranda took his time. 'It seems he never believed she wouldconfess,' he said at length. 'The truth about the Lockert woman's death hadbound them together for good or ill for years. He had a hold over her. Sheclaims he abused her, but she didn't dare to report him because he threatenedhe would tell all he knew about her killing of Helene

Lockert.That Saturday… Sigrid Haugom had barely finished listening to what Katrine hadtold her before she told her husband about the phone conversation. Neither ofthem knew what to do. Not until Katrine fell ill at the party. Haugom's motivefor killing Katrine was to prevent the Lockert case from being solved.'

Gunnarstrandachewed, swallowed and went on: 'As soon as Katrine knew who her biologicalmother was, it was just a question of time before she would start digging upthe past. Sigrid's name would have popped up sooner or later. According toSigrid, her husband feared her reprisals and was concerned about his ownstatus. Sigrid's defence in a court case would have been to go for mitigatingcircumstances, in other words, to embroider on what a psychopathic animal of ahusband she had tolerated. With her inside, he would have lost the hold he hadover her. She would have reported him for abuse and nothing would have stoppedher. In this way she would have had her revenge for all the humiliations towhich he had subjected her over the years.

'Sigrid'srole in Katrine's murder boils down to her call to her husband when Katrinefell ill at the party. He drove over and saw her walking in the middle of the road.He saw her jump into Henning Kramer's car. We will never know what his thoughtswere at that time – whether he had already decided to throttle her, I mean. Inany case, he followed them. He had claimed to his wife that he had followedthem to talk to Katrine. Whether she believed that, I don't know.'

'Buthe must have been spying on them for several hours,' Fristad said. 'He can'thave been intending to talk if he had stalked them for such a long, long time.'

'Atany rate he can't have been intending to talk when he struck,' Frølichsaid. 'His upper body is covered in scratch marks. So he must have taken hisclothes off before he attacked her. And so the murder must have beenpremeditated. He approached her naked so as not to leave clues on her body.'

'Didhe go straight up and strangle her?'

'Yes,he did,' Frølich said.

'Howcome he didn't get any scratches on his face?'

'Wefound a mask in the car boot,' Frølich said. 'A kind of SM leatherthing, with a zip in front of the mouth and so on. He must have looked aterrible sight – no clothes and a face like Hannibal the Cannibal.'

'Poorgirl,' Fristad gasped.

'Girls,'Gunnarstranda amended. 'Poor girls. The mask was not unknown to his wife,either.' They sat staring into middle distance. Gunnarstranda unwrapped a sugarlump and put it in his mouth. He sipped coffee and sucked the sugar lump.'Sigrid said she felt Henning Kramer was watching her,' he continued. 'But shedidn't know why. She didn't know that Henning had seen Haugom inVoksenkollveien. Henning couldn't figure out why Sigrid had been picked up atfour in the morning by her husband, but he had seen the man in his car when hewent to collect Katrine.'

'Shemight be an accessory,' Fristad concluded. 'She ought to be charged.'

Gunnarstrandashrugged and drank more coffee. 'I don't think so. Sigrid maintains she didn'ttell her husband any of this. She visited Bueng on Sunday, of course, beforeshe knew that Katrine was dead. She visited Bueng because she feared Katrinewould discover his existence and thereby find out the truth about the murder ofher mother. Haugom, for his part, posted Katrine's jewellery to Skau in anattempt to pin the blame on him. What happened afterwards was that Henningphoned their house and asked to meet Haugom. On Wednesday. After the funeral,after Frølich had questioned Haugom in the office.'

'Haugomdid meet Henning,' Frølich said laconically. 'The guy is the dutifultype.'

'Wedon't know if Haugom drugged Henning, but it's very likely, anyway. Then hehanged him from the ceiling.'

'Helluvaguy,' Fristad said with a brief nod to two solicitors on their way out.

'Yes,it was clever. The so-called suicide almost made us decide to shelve the case.'

'Us?'Fristad laughed aloud. 'You, Gunnarstranda, you almost shelved the case. UnlessI am much mistaken, I urged you to keep going.'

Gunnarstrandaput another sugar lump on his tongue and sipped coffee in silence.

Fristadwas still grinning and grimacing.

Gunnarstrandawatched him from beneath heavy eyelids until the man's convulsions were over.Then he said: 'Sigrid had suspected her husband for a long time, but onlyunderstood the precise circumstances when Henning died. That led to someterrible fights between them. Which led to her taking sick leave and in the endtelling her husband that she had visited Bueng at the nursing home.'

Theysat looking into the air again. Frølich raised his arm and signalled thewaitress with two fingers. She immediately brought two more beers on a tray.

'SoBueng was the final threat,' Fristad said in an earnest voice. 'The motive forkilling the girl was to prevent the Lockert case from being solved. Henning waskilled to cover up the first crime. The same motive triggered the attempt onBueng's life.'

Gunnarstrandanodded. He turned to Frølich. 'At some point you could…' He bent downfor a brown leather briefcase and put it on the table. He undid two zips andopened the briefcase to take out a green notebook. '… take this to KatrineBratterud's mother,' he said, passing it to Frølich. 'I'm sure she wouldbe happy to have it.'

'Whatis it?' Frølich asked, examining the notebook with interest.

'Herdaughter,' Gunnarstranda said with a weary smile. 'The daughter she lost whenher husband died.'