The Last Fix (10 page)

    'Yes,
she did. A bit of a strange choice. I'm sure you know the type. Looks like a
car salesman or a football player. Goes to a tanning salon and watches karate
films.'

    'What's
his name?'

    'Ole.
His surname's Eidesen.'

    'What
sort of person is he?'

    'Run
of the mill… a young… man.' She shrugged.

    'But
what's the link between them? Why did they become a couple?'

    'I
think he must have been a tennis coach or something like that,' she said with a
resigned grin. 'No, I was joking. He was a driving instructor or a language
teacher. I haven't a clue really, but it was something as banal.'

    'What
impression did you have of Ole?'

    'He
was an ordinary sort of chap, superficial… in my opinion, and hence boring… and
very jealous.'

    The
two detectives looked at her.

    'Although
he wasn't brutal. Just jealous. I don't think he ever did anything…'

    'Just
a boring, jealous man?'

    'Yes.'

    'How
did the jealousy manifest itself?'

    'Dear
me, this is just what I've heard. I don't actually have any impression of him.'

    'What
do you think Katrine saw in a man like Ole?'

    'Status.'
'What do you mean by that?'

    'I
mean what I say. This chap looks like one of those models in a deodorant
commercial - you know, shaved head and trendy clothes. For Katrine he was a
status symbol she could show off to other women. Meat.'

    'Meat?'

    'Yes,
that's what our young people are good at, pairing up, and I assume this chap
was well-suited for that.'

    'She
had a large tattoo around her navel. Anything symbolic in that?' Frølich
asked.

    'No
idea,' Annabeth answered, adding, 'I would guess not. It's part of the tawdry
art that characterizes our patients. Something erotic, I would guess, a sex
thing.'

    'Do
you know if she had a past in prostitution?'

    'They
all do.'

    Frølich
raised both eyebrows.

    'Most
anyway.'

    'But
Katrine? Did she?'

    'She
had also experienced that segment of reality, yes.'

    Gunnarstranda
coughed. 'When did you last see Katrine?'

    Annabeth
looked perplexed. 'On Saturday.' She cleared her throat and took the plunge.
'At a party at our place. She became ill and then just left.'

    'In
other words, you were one of the last people to see her alive.'

    Annabeth
stared into the policeman's eyes for a few seconds and lowered her gaze. 'Yes…
I was, with several other people.'

    'You
said she became ill.'

    'She
had a bit of a turn and was sick. I was very shaken because I thought she was
drunk and it would not have looked good if our patients were seen to be
drinking and spewing up at my house.'

    'But
she wasn't drunk?'

    'No,
she hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all evening. And it can't have been the
food either because no one else was ill.'

    'So
it was a turn,' Gunnarstranda said. 'And she left the party with her
boyfriend?'

    'No,
she must have taken a taxi on her own.'

    'Must
have taken? You don't know if she did?'

    'No,
to be honest, I don't know how she got home.'

    'She
never did arrive home.'

    Annabeth
closed her eyes. 'Don't make this worse for me than it already is,
Gunnarstranda. I don't know how she went off. All I know is that someone was
taking care of her. I know she left the party and I assume they put her safely
into a taxi.'

    'But
do you know when?'

    'I
would guess at around midnight.'

    Gunnarstranda
nodded. 'Fru Ås,' he said, 'we have now reached a point in the
conversation where I have to explain that the parameters have changed
somewhat.'

    'Oh?'

    Gunnarstranda
did not reply at once.

    'Changed?
Surely you don't think…? Oh, my goodness, what…?'

    'We
don't think anything,' the policeman said gen- dy. 'The change is that you are
no longer required to protect client confidentiality. If you are not already
aware, I can release you from any professional oaths with immediate effect, if
necessary, with authority from the highest…'

    'That
won't be necessary,' Annabeth assured him. 'Should there be any problems we can
discuss them as they occur.'

    'Very
well,' said Gunnarstranda. 'Earlier today a post-mortem was carried out on
Katrine Bratterud.' He tossed his head to indicate where it had taken place.

    'Yes,'
said Annabeth.

    'Frølich
and I were present.'

    'Yes.'

    'It
is very important for us to have this vomiting business clear,' the detective
said. 'Are you positive she was sick?'

    'I
didn't stand watching, if that's what you mean.'

    'What
food did you serve at the party?'

    'Why
is that?'

    'I
would like to compare it with what we found in her stomach.'

    A
shudder went through Annabeth. She said: 'Filled mussel shells as a starter.
After that it was a buffet: salads, cured meats and tapas - you know, marinated
olives, artichokes, that sort of thing, because it's easy, then a bit of cheese
at the end… red wine… beer… and mineral water for those who wanted it… coffee
with cognac.'

    Gunnarstranda
nodded. 'We found fragments of skin under her nails,' he continued. 'This and a
number of other details suggest she defended herself.'

    'You
mean she scratched?'

    The
policeman nodded.

    'Poor
Katrine,' Annabeth muttered to herself, and as neither of the policemen said
anything, she added: 'Well, I haven't run into anyone with a scratched face, if
that's what you're wondering.' 'Why do you think Katrine's parents didn't
report her missing?'

    'They're
not in a state to miss her.'

    'And
what do you mean by that?'

    'It
means that fru Bratterud, who lives like a gypsy, either at home in her hovel -
excuse the expression; some might call it a house - or sharing a bed with any
one of a variety of men, is an alcoholic and hardly knows how old Katrine is. I
don't think her mother remembered a single birthday while she was with us.'

    'And
the father?'

    'He
died when she was ten or eleven. Originally she came from a foster home and was
adopted.'

    'A
foster home,' Frølich said. 'So Katrine was adopted by a drunk?'

    'I
presume the mother was not a drunk when she adopted Katrine.'

    'Nevertheless.'

    'Mistakes
are made by all public authorities, Frølich. For all I know, there may
be people doing twenty years in prison because of your mistakes.'

    The
younger detective was about to contradict her, but she swept him aside: 'At the
centre we have a girl of fourteen who lost four teeth as a result of police
brutality.'

    'Fourteen?
Rubbish.'

    'The
people who beat her up were more concerned with the fact that she was taking
part in an anti-racist demonstration than her age. The point is that mistakes
are made everywhere, Frølich. And I have dedicated half of my life to
trying to correct such mistakes. Care for drug addicts is a continual process
of repair. One shot of heroin for a thousand kroner in the street can be the
start of a slow suicide or several years of fighting against addiction, costing
society ten million kroner. Even if Katrine does end up as a statistic at some
point, you don't need to rush to put her on the list. It would be better to
find out who killed her.'

    'Where
did she grow up?' Gunnarstranda intervened.

    'In
fact, I'm not sure, but I think it was Krokstadelva or Mjondalen, Stenberg,
somewhere around there, in one or other of the innumerable clumps of houses
between Drammen and Kongsberg.'

    'And
Katrine's biological parents?'

    'Katrine
knew that her real mother died when she was very young and that was all. I
didn't talk with her about that much.'

    'What
did you talk about?'

    'A
lot about her father. She really loved him. The father who died when she was
ten or eleven. That may be a possible explanation for her syndrome, feeling
drawn to a father figure, but all that is just speculation.'

    Gunnarstranda
nodded slowly. He said: 'There's one thing we need to know. You said something
about sexual abuse in childhood years. Does that apply to Katrine, too?'

    'I
don't know.'

    'What
do you mean by that?'

    'Katrine
was inscrutable in this respect. I have my suspicions, but I don't know for
sure.'

    'What
do you base your suspicions on?'

    'I
have my own ideas. There are often such stories behind a great many cases like
hers, as I said. These symptoms of hers - prostitution, withdrawal, drug
addiction - they can be explained by a variety of factors. But picture a girl
with a strong attachment to a father, then the father dies, the mother turns to
drink and strange men wander in and out of the house… I don't know. As I said,
she was inscrutable.'

    'Is
there anyone who could help us clear up this point? Someone who was
particularly close to her?'

    'There's
Ole, of course. They were together for quite a while, even though it was
sporadic.'

    'Sporadic?'

    'Yes,
he wanted a closer relationship than she did. You have to understand… Katrine
didn't like people getting too close… then there's Henning, the conscientious
objector you met at our place. He spent a lot of time with Katrine. There's
Sigrid, a social worker with us. Sigrid Haugom. Katrine often confided in her, but
I doubt Sigrid knows any more than we do. It is not our practice to keep
secrets about our patients - amongst ourselves, I mean.'

    Gunnarstranda
reacted. 'But isn't that what all confidentiality is based on? Do you mean that
the patients at Vinterhagen cannot rely on the employees' ability to keep
secrets?'

    Annabeth
stared at him in bewilderment.

    'You
were very quick to hide behind client confidentiality,' the inspector
continued.

    'Successful
treatment depends on openness, Gunnarstranda.'

    The
policeman glared at her.

    'In
fact, that is part of our ideological platform. Complete openness,' she
explained in a gentle voice.

    Gunnarstranda
dropped the subject. He said: 'As far as her male circle of acquaintances was
concerned… was there any competition? Did Katrine's boyfriend have rivals?'

    'To
be honest, I have no idea,' Annabeth said. 'Don't take too much notice of me. I
may have imagined this jealousy of Ole's. I know very little about these
things.'

    Gunnarstranda
was making motions to return to the car.

    'You
don't need to drive me back,' Annabeth said. 'I need some fresh air and it's
late. I'll stretch my legs.'

    'Before
that I need the names of everyone at the party on Saturday.'

    Annabeth
s reflected. 'Is that really necessary?' 'I'm afraid so, fru Ås.'

    She
took a deep breath and met Frank Frølich’s eyes. 'Come on then,' she
said. 'Take notes.'

    They
sat watching her. She could have graced an illustration in a Norwegian fairy
tale. The long skirt, flat shoes and a small square rucksack on her back.
Kjerringa
med staven.
The Woman with the Walking Stick. Except that this woman had no
walking stick. 'Do you know why all women teachers walk around with a rucksack
like that on their backs?' Frølich asked with a thoughtful air.