The Last Fix (17 page)

    Elise
Hermansen was obviously flustered when she came in. She stood in the doorway
peering around. 'I've never been inside a police station before,' she
apologized in an anxious voice, stroking her newly coiffured hair.

    'You'll
be fine,' Gunnarstranda said. He took her elbow and guided her towards the
table in the middle of the floor. 'Please take a seat. Is there anything you
would like? Coffee, for example?'

    'No,
thanks,' she said, sitting down. 'Do I really have to go through this?'

    Gunnarstranda
considered the question. 'You don't have to, but it would be nice if you would
take the trouble.' He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a
pile of photographs. He stood by the desk in silence for a few seconds, but
when she showed no intention of answering, he continued: 'From your description
the man who entered your agency was about forty years old, five-foot-eleven,
wore an earring and was well-built, not fat.'

    Elise
Hermansen nodded.

    'Well-built,
but not fat,' Gunnarstranda repeated, looking her in the eye. 'Like the
policeman you spoke to first - Frank Frølich?' Gunnarstranda gestured
towards Frølich, who had just entered and was closing the door behind
him.

    Elise
Hermansen blushed, gave a nervous smile and fluttered her eyelids.

    Frølich
grinned. 'Do you think I'm fat… rather than well-built? Was he slimmer than
me?'

    Elise
Hermansen was reassured by Frølich’s smile. 'I like men to be more than
skin and bone,' she said with more relaxed intonation. 'Let's say he was
narrower round the waist than you.'

    'Great,'
Frølich said, winking at her. He turned to the other policeman: 'I'd
like to discuss a witness. I'll be outside.' He pointed to the other door and
made a move to leave.

    'Compared
with you, he was slim in fact,' Elise Hermansen said to Frølich as he
was leaving.

    Frølich
closed the door. The lady turned to Gunnarstranda. 'I didn't mean it like
that,' she said.

    'The
man was good-looking in a brutish sort of way,' Gunnarstranda read aloud.

    Elise
nodded again.

    'When
you were asked what you meant by the expression "good-looking in a brutish
sort of way" you answered that his face was a bit like an Italian actor's,
such as Marcello Mastroianni or Sylvester Stallone.' She looked up again.

    Elise
nodded.

    'Could
you expand on that?'

    'There
was something about the mouth and the chin. But to be specific…'

    Gunnarstranda
nodded.

    'A
bit ravaged… masculine.'

    'I
see. And when you were asked what colour his eyes were you answered that you
couldn't remember. Can you remember now?'

    Elise
shook her head in regret.

    'You
said he had salt and pepper hair, a pony tail and an ugly scar on his right
forearm.'

    Elise
nodded.

    'But
you can't remember his name? Did Katrine Bretterud mention the man's name?'

    'That's
what I'm not sure about.'

    'Mhm?'

    'I
think she may have mentioned a name.'

    'When
the two of you were talking?'

    'No,
when I was asking her questions afterwards she told me his Christian name, I
think, but I'm sorry, I can't bring it to mind.'

    'Never
mind,' Gunnarstranda said in a friendly voice. 'I've passed on your information
about this man to the archive ladies at Kripos, the Serious Crime Squad, and I
asked for photos of people born in 1955 through to 1964. That's an age range of
35 to 45. Some people look older than they are, and some look younger, don't
they. It depends on hair, clothes and so on…'

    'It was
a sort of thug's name,' Elise interrupted.

    Gunnarstranda
straightened his glasses. 'Thug's name?'

    'Yes,
the sort of name those brutes often have: Stig, Ronny

    Gunnarstranda
sat nodding. He mumbled. 'Bird maybe? Roger? Jim?'

    Elise
shook her head in despair. 'I might remember…'

    'In
the meantime,' the policeman said, 'I'd like you to take your time and have a
good look at the pictures. You don't have to be a hundred per cent certain. You
can tell me if you see a trait that rings a bell and Frank Frølich or I
will discuss it with you afterwards. And you don't have to be afraid you're
going to hurt anyone. If you recognize someone, what happens is that we talk to
the respective person to try to clear up whether he could have had any connection
with Katrine - or just eliminate him from our enquiries. All right?' Elise
nodded.

    Gunnarstranda
had to fight to suppress a coughing fit. He smiled in apology and went on: 'I
should point out that even if a person has a photo in the police archives it
does not necessarily mean he is a criminal. I say this so that you don't jump
to any conclusions if you see someone you know in this pile. Still all right?'
Elise Hermansen nodded.

    'Let's
roll,' Gunnarstranda said, placing the pile of photographs in front of her on
the desk.

    'Wonder
whether we'll be lucky,' Gunnarstranda said, closing the door behind him.
'There doesn't seem to be much wrong with the lady's memory. What did you want
to talk about?'

    'The
young man with the goatee. We may have to consider Henning Kramer a suspect,' Frølich
said, swinging round in his chair.

    'I
see,' said Gunnarstranda. He took Frølich’s report and began to read it
with interest.

    'He
says he picked up Katrine from Annabeth s's party, drove round with her and
ended up on the old Mossevei - in Oppegård, almost right over by
Tusenfryd amusement park - where he claims they made love. She was willing.'

    'I
see,' Gunnarstranda said, reading on. Frølich swung gently to and fro on
his chair while his partner read.

    At
length Gunnarstranda raised his head and said, 'What do you think about this?'

    'I
think I…' the younger policeman began, but paused because Gunnarstranda was
having one of his terrible coughing fits.

    'I
think…' Frølich held his breath as a series of new jerks ran through
Gunnarstranda's lean body. The man was trying to suppress a cough that would
not yield. That's no twitchy nose or the start of a cold, thought Frølich.
The boss's cough was hollow, asthmatic and bronchitic, a cough that rumbled and
hacked from a foothold deep and entrenched in the man's lungs. Like a
rockslide, thought Frølich, trying not to show that he had noticed the
stubborn muscular convulsions in Gunnarstranda's face. But it was not easy to
pretend when the man's eyes were bulging and his lips pressed together so tight
that his head went a deep burgundy colour as the air from his lungs pushed at
his cheeks and mouth from inside. The detective inspector was beginning to
resemble a frog. The rocks in his lungs were waiting to pile down the side of
the mountain; it was just waiting for the first one to come loose. 'You should
see a doctor,' Frølich said when he could stand it no longer.

    'Wh…
wh… hm… hm… why's that?'

    'It
could be emphysema. Heavy smokers get emphysema.'

    The
fit began to subside. The boss sent him a stiff glare until his breathing
became more regular and the rocks inside had settled. 'It's not emphysema,' he
answered with suppressed anger. He cleared his throat as if to confirm that the
fit was over. The detective inspector mopped his brow. 'It's a smoker's cough,'
he mumbled 'A bog-standard smoker's cough.'

    'Is
that what the doctor says?'

    'Yes.'

    'You've
got to give up smoking!'

    'Of
course. But I've got the cough under control now. I don't inhale so deep.'
Gunnarstranda was already fidgeting with another cigarette. 'Besides, smoking
is one of my pleasures.'

    'But

    'Shut
up about my smoking! Talk to me about Henning Kramer. Is he a rotten apple?'

    Frølich
flinched at the other man's outburst. Then he hurriedly continued: 'Maybe.
There's a flaw in his story. He seemed quite credible until the bonk in the
car, but then he began all this weird stuff about driving her to the roundabout
just by the crime scene.'

    'Is
he lying?'

    'I
don't know. It might have been nerves. Just suppose he was telling the truth in
the first part; in other words, he drove her out there to have a love-in, but
then… '

    '…
then she didn't want to, you mean?' Gunnarstranda nodded and went on, 'Suppose
he tried it on, was rejected - after all she had a boyfriend. He raped her,
left loads of sperm on her clothes. She resisted, tore his hair, scratched him.
That would be a logical train of thought.' He nodded.

    Frølich
sat in silence for a few seconds.

    Gunnarstranda
crushed the cigarette between his fingers.

    'I
wasn't happy about doing the interview on my own,' Frølich said.

    Gunnarstranda
grimaced. 'What's done is done.'

    'But
he could be the killer.'

    Gunnarstranda
took a deep breath. 'Now I'm intrigued,' he grinned, pointing the glow of the
cigarette in the air and watching it. 'Let's say Kramer raped and killed her.
Tell me what he did afterwards.'

    Frølich
leaned forward in his chair. 'You said it yourself,' he acknowledged. 'That's
the most logical conclusion. He removed her clothes; they were covered in his
hair and sperm and bits off his clothing. He knew that one stain, one single
hair was enough for DNA profiling to identify who had committed the rape. That
explains why his powers of persuasion failed when he was talking to me. After
all, he had to cobble together a plausible explanation for what he was doing.
He may well have dropped her off in Mastemyr. The difference is that she was
not alive. The truth may be that she was dead and that he pushed her over the
safety barrier and into the ditch.'

    Gunnarstranda
waited.

    'That
must have been how it happened,' Frølich concluded.

    'And
now?' Gunnarstranda asked.

    'What
do you mean?'

    'Should
he be arrested?'

    'That's
what I don't know,' Frølich sighed. 'That's why I would have liked to
have you along. Anyway, we're checking his car over now. So we'll have to wait
and see.'

    'You
don't think there's a chance the evidence may have been destroyed?'

    'Of
course there is. He could have hidden her clothes and…'

    'But
there is reasonable cause for suspicion?'

    Frølich
hesitated.

    'Well,
let me ask again. Should he be arrested?'

    Frølich
stood up, annoyed: 'If you want to bring him in, for Christ's sake go and do
it!'

    'But
would
you?'

    'What
do you mean
Would I?

    'Well,
should he be arrested or not?'

    'That's
your decision!'

    'But
I have only your report to go on,' Gunnarstranda fumed, waving the papers he
had just read.

    'Don't
you think it's good enough?'

    'I
didn't say that. But there are two factors which would hold me back from
arresting Kramer!' Gunnarstranda stood up as well. He barked: 'First of all, we
have to check out Kramer's story. Right now. We have to keep several options
open, particularly because of one thing Kramer said and which I am surprised
you didn't pick up on yourself!'

    'And
what's that?' Frølich asked.

    'The
fact that the man has already admitted sexual congress with the murder victim.'

    On
appreciating the full force of this piece of information, Frølich
slumped into the chair and realized what Gunnarstranda meant. 'OK,' he said. 'I
was too keen.'