Death Sentence (19 page)

She took out two tiny home-made envelopes and passed one to me along with a white beaker as she wriggled out of her puffer jacket. Her arms were scarily thin and I wondered how such a small body could cope with her line of business. Having removed her jacket, she took back her drugs and prepared them with practised motions. Her withdrawal symptoms had gone, exorcised at the mere prospect of a fix.

‘Who hired you?’ I asked while she worked away.

‘I’ve never seen him before,’ Marie replied, never taking her eyes off the beaker. ‘It might sound like a big fat lie, but he wore a hat and sunglasses and he had a beard.’

Sunglasses. In a flash, I remembered the man from the book signing, but I couldn’t remember whether he had a beard. All I could remember was the sunglasses and the smile he had given me, but I was fairly certain he hadn’t been wearing a hat and he didn’t have a beard.

‘Could it have been false beard?’

‘What do I know? His money was real enough.’

‘What did you have to do?’

‘And he was speaking in a weird way, spooky.’

‘You mean he changed his voice?’ I asked.

‘I think so,’ Marie replied.

‘What did he say?’

‘He showed me a photo of the bastard, Paedo, I mean, and told me to wait for him outside the hotel. When he
came
out, I was to make him come up with me to room 102, that was all, the easiest money I’ve ever made.’ She snorted. ‘Though he was creepy … intense, like. I’m good with numbers, but he insisted I repeated it ten times at least. 102, 102, 102 … psycho.’

The heroin was ready and Marie sucked the fluid into a syringe and handed it to me.

‘Wouldn’t it be better if you did that yourself?’ I asked.

‘Nope,’ Marie replied. ‘Almost all my veins are messed up so it’s got to go in the neck. I’m not bloody doing that myself.’ She tilted her head and bared her throat. Her artery stood proud on her fragile neck, like a crease in a white tablecloth. There were already a couple of needle scars.

I swallowed even though my mouth felt dry. I took the syringe. ‘Are you sure?’ I said.

She nodded. ‘Quite sure.’

I grabbed hold of her neck with one hand and tried to work out where to insert the needle. ‘And what happened then?’ I asked.

‘After some time Paedo came out of the hotel, just like he had said. The bastard even grinned when he saw me, said he was just in the mood for meeting me. Wanker. He was so horny he didn’t even seem surprised when I told him I had a room ready where we could find out how much in the mood he really was.’

I held her neck with one hand and aimed the syringe with the other. The artery eluded my attempts at piercing it and Marie started to twitch.

‘Come on, man.’

The needle found its destination and Marie smiled.

‘What happened in the room, Lulu?’

‘Well, he was … you called me Lulu again,’ she protested.

‘Sorry, go on.’

‘Paedo was dead impatient and snatched the key from me to unlock the door. The lamp on the bedside table was lit, but apart from that it was dark. He pulled me inside and I closed the door like he told me to. I was scared shitless, man. Where the hell was the guy? I thought all I had to do was deliver Paedo and then get out of here. I hadn’t reckoned on being screwed by that disgusting pig.’

I pressed the fluid into the artery and pulled out the syringe. Marie responded with a sigh. A drop of blood trickled from her neck and I wiped it away with my thumb.

‘Carry on.’

‘Right, when Paedo passed the door to the toilet, he finally came forward, the guy. He looked exactly like he did the first time I met him, dressed in a coat, a hat, sunglasses and everything. And he had a gun.’ Marie giggled. ‘You should have seen Paedo. Got the shock of his life. Almost made it worth it. He started stuttering and sweating and his face went all red.’ Her voice had started to soften.

‘In his scary voice, the guy told Paedo to sit down on the bed. He did, nearly pissing himself. He was shaking all over and held up his hands as if he could stop a bullet with them.’ Marie laughed again. ‘I got my money. The guy stuck his hand into his coat pocket without taking his eyes off Paedo and pulled out an envelope and gave it to me. A big fat one. It was my payment plus a bit extra, he
said
, so I would keep my mouth shut.’ Marie sent me an embarrassed look. ‘But a girl’s gotta live.’

She smiled and her eyes took on a floating expression so I raised my voice.

‘What happened then?’

‘I left like he told me to,’ she replied.

‘Was that everything?’ I asked. My voice sounded high-pitched and agitated inside the confined space.

Marie shook her head and smiled again. ‘Mmmm,’ she whispered.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Tell me!’

Her eyelids were half closed.

I shook her gently. ‘Marie! Did you notice anything about the guy?’

She opened her eyes again. ‘You can call me Lulu now,’ she said, and smiled, while her eyes swam away again.

‘Anything!’

I shook her a little more forcefully and she widened her eyes with a hurt expression.

‘Did you see anything else?’

‘There was …’

‘Yes?’

‘A key,’ she mumbled. ‘He dropped a swipecard … when he pulled out the envelope … number 87.’

‘A hotel keycard?’

Marie nodded at first, but then she shook her head.

‘Not for the Marieborg,’ she said. ‘For the BunkInn.’

‘Hotel BunkInn, are you sure?’

She nodded slowly and with every nod her eyelids lowered. I shook her again, but she didn’t react. A small
smile
formed around her lips and she sank into the seat as if she could pass through its molecules.

I pulled away from Marie and stared at her. Now what? Should I leave her or wait? She had given me something to go on, but perhaps she knew more? Could I be sure that her memory was accurate?

I switched off the light in the car.

It was now very dark, but I could still see the outline of her. It started to get cold so I leaned over to put her back in her jacket. Her thin arms were limp and only reluctantly agreed to being stuffed into the sleeves again. It reminded me of the last time I got someone dressed. My daughters, oblivious in sleep and completely floppy as if their bones had dissolved. In this state they were helpless, trusting, at the mercy of those around them.

Having fumbled with the zip, I pulled it all the way up to Marie’s neck. She muttered to herself and shifted in the seat until her head rested against the window. Part of me wanted to stay there, watch her sleep, but another part urged me to move on. I had got what I came for. I had no idea how long she would be out of it and I felt a growing sense of impatience.

Marie didn’t react when I started the engine and drove back to Istedgade. The windows kept steaming up and I had to wipe the windscreen several times until the car had warmed up again. I drove up and down Istedgade a couple of times before I found Monica. She was getting out of a car, a small red Seat, and stretched her long body as the car accelerated and disappeared.

I drove closer and rolled down the window. ‘Monica!’

‘Hey, take it easy,’ she said, trotting towards me. ‘There’s plenty to go around.’ It took a moment before she recognized Marie and then me. ‘What the hell, it’s you again?’

‘Hello, Monica.’

‘You found her, I see.’

‘Yes, thanks,’ I replied. ‘But she needs some help getting home.’

‘What the hell have you done to her?’ Monica’s voice hardened.

‘Nothing, she shot up in my car.’

Monica grunted and looked at Marie then back at me. ‘And why is that my problem?’

I tried to smile. ‘Because you’re a good person and I’ll give you five hundred kroner.’

‘You bet I’m a good person,’ she replied and held out her hand.

I gave her the money and Monica pulled Marie to standing as if it was a daily occurrence. As soon as they were out of the car, I shut the door and drove off. In my rear-view mirror, I could see the two girls clinging to each other as they staggered down the pavement.

It was almost half past three in the morning when I parked the car in front of the hotel. No one noticed me. The hotel was deserted and quiet. Exhausted, I walked through the lobby and straight to the lift. It started moving and I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was red and shiny with sweat running from my forehead. My eyes were bloodshot. It was a pathetic sight of a pathetic man. I had just helped a girl take heroin and then abandoned her to a life more horrifying than anything in my books.
The
ping of the bell snapped me out of my trance and I stumbled out on my floor.

Back in my room I drank tap water until I couldn’t swallow any more. Then I dumped my clothes in a heap and collapsed on the bed. I realized how tired I was, but in a sudden flash of panic I got up and went over to the coffee table. There I found a pen and wrote ‘Marie – 87’ on a scrap of paper. I stared at it for a long time before going back to my bed and burrowing under the duvets with the note in my hand.

How old was she? Twenty? Eighteen? Younger? When had it started? When she was Ironika’s age?

THE DAYS AFTER
Line had left me were terrible. As I couldn’t get to talk to her by telephone or by turning up at her father’s house, I wrote to her instead. I was taken back to my school days when we’d conquered girls’ hearts with our poetry, and though I never spoke to her directly, I sensed my letters had some effect. I had never written anything so straight from the heart; never before had I bared my soul the way I did in the missives I sent to her every day.

I told her how much I missed my little family, why I had said the things I had, and what was going on in my mind and in my now very empty life.

At the same time I worked on getting my apology through via Bjarne and Anne. They spoke to Line several times and I pleaded with them to pass on my feelings to her. Even though they too thought I had messed up, they soon started feeling sorry for me. I think they made it their mission to reunite us.

My life was still turned upside down because of the book. There were interviews and events I had to attend,
but
I hardly touched alcohol or drugs in that period, and I made sure I was at home as much as possible in case Line called. I passed the time doing all the little jobs I had put off in the last couple of years. DIY jobs around the flat, clearing out the basement lock-up, sorting out paperwork.

The breakthrough came after ten days of silence from Line. I was invited to dinner at Bjarne and Anne’s and Line would be there too. ‘We’ll be able to enjoy the girls’ cooking, just like the old days,’ Bjarne declared. I was overcome by enormous relief, which was almost instantly replaced by anxiety. How would I make her take me back? I had been thrown a lifeline and if I didn’t make the most of it, I would never forgive myself.

In the two days before the dinner, everything revolved around preparing for seeing Line. I had my hair cut, I bought new clothes, a blazer and a blinding white shirt, and I memorized questions to ask her, neutral questions that weren’t about me, my books or what had happened, but questions about her and Ironika. I even took up running, which was rather silly as I only managed one run and nearly injured myself in the process. But it felt good. My aching body after my first run in seven years was proof of my commitment to this enterprise.

On the day itself all I did was get ready. I ironed my shirt, styled my hair and doused my body with scent. I left home in plenty of time, bought flowers on the way and tried to cycle at a sedate pace to avoid sweating. But it wasn’t the bike ride that made me sweat, it was my nerves. I took off my jacket and stood outside the stairwell for a couple of minutes to cool down.

‘Someone’s had a makeover,’ Bjarne exclaimed,
grinning
. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his usual uniform, and I suddenly felt like an idiot. In my shirt and blazer I looked like a cake decoration. I quickly took off my jacket and rolled up the shirtsleeves, while Bjarne enthused about tonight’s menu.

‘The girls are in the kitchen,’ he said eventually, glancing at my bouquet.

I thanked him and walked through the living room and out into the kitchen with a dry sensation in my throat. I was met by loud laughter, and the sight of Line made me stop in the doorway. She was standing sideways, leaning against the kitchen table with a glass of wine in one hand. Her teeth showed as she laughed heartily and a small tear trickled from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. The girls carried on laughing until Anne noticed me.

‘Hallo, Frank,’ she exclaimed and raised her glass to me.

Line turned to face me. She seemed to be studying my shirt briefly, but then she smiled.

‘Oh, are they for me?’ Anne asked, reaching for the flowers.

I cleared my throat. ‘Actually, they’re for my wife,’ I stammered.

‘Really,’ Anne huffed, pretending to be offended.

Line set down her glass and came over to me. She looked at the flowers and then me.

Hallo, Frank,’ she greeted me quietly, snuggled up to me and hugged me. I held her tight and felt my eyes well up.

Anne coughed and reluctantly we let go of each other.

‘These are for you,’ I said, offering the flowers to Line.
She
smiled and held them while Anne found a vase. An awkward silence descended on the kitchen.

‘It’s a little hot in here, isn’t it?’ I said and we all laughed.

‘I think what you need is a glass of cold white wine,’ Bjarne said and poured me a glass that disappeared far too quickly.

The dinner was almost like old times, we told stories and silly jokes. Bjarne and I baited each other and the girls teased Bjarne. I spoke less than usual, but I could barely take my eyes off Line. She seemed even more beautiful than I remembered her only twelve days ago and my infatuated glances were reciprocated when she didn’t look away, blushing.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Bjarne said when we sat in the armchairs, each with a whisky while the girls washed up.

‘I don’t remember ever feeling so nervous,’ I confessed, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.