The Last Fix (20 page)

    Frølich
nodded to himself. 'What's your impression of Ole Eidesen?' he asked.

    Gerhardsen
shrugged. 'Common sort of young man.'

    'Common?'

    'Yes,
usual.'

    'But
you used the word
common.'

    'Yes.'

    'Did
you mean anything derogatory by that?'

    'Not
at all. He seems like a decent sort. We were on the same wavelength, anyway.'

    Frølich
made a note. 'And afterwards? Did you see him again in Smuget?'

    'The
odd glimpse. We were spread out, the music was too loud and the room was too
cramped to enjoy any conversation. I guess he was dancing and enjoying
himself.'

    'When
did you leave the place?'

    'At
around three.'

    'And
what did you do then?'

    'There
were no taxis around, just long queues, so I strolled up to the garage in
Munkedamsveien and fetched the car and drove home.'

    'And
afterwards?'

    'Afterwards?
You mean after I arrived home? Well, I helped to empty ashtrays and dispose of
the bottles and then I went to bed.'

    'With
your wife?'

    Gerhardsen
nodded.

    'What
time would that have been?'

    'About
four maybe. Can't say when.'

    'And
then you slept?' 'I slept sweet, dreamless sleep until late in the morning.'

    'Can
anyone vouch for that, do you think?'

    'That
would have to be Annabeth, but I assume she was asleep, too.'

    'So
you don't have a witness?'

    Gerhardsen,
annoyed now: 'Ask Annabeth. I haven't asked her if she lay awake watching over
me that night. But let's stop beating about the bush. Why don't you ask me if I
killed her and get it over and done with?'

    'Did
you kill her?'

    'Of
course not.'

    Frølich
fell silent and looked across at his colleague, who after fiddling with his
comb-over took the chewing gum out of his mouth and glowered at it.

    'Was
it your idea or your wife's to invite her?' asked Gunnarstranda, continuing to
chew.

    'It
was Annabeth's idea.'

    'Can
you remember the first time you met Katrine?'

    Bjørn
Gerhardsen groaned with irritation and looked up at them. They said nothing.
Gerhardsen deliberated. In the end he made a decision.

    'I met
her first a few years ago in a brothel close to Filipstad, on the corner of
Parkveien and Munkedamsveien. I paid her fifteen hundred kroner for
intercourse. I had not seen her before. I didn't know who she was until she
came in to massage me. She was a screw, if I can put it like that. I am sure I
would have forgotten her had it not been for…'

    He
closed his eyes as though searching for the right words. And pulled a face. The
two policemen watched him in silence. Gunnarstranda blew a bubble which burst.
Gerhardsen took it as a signal to go on.

    'When
she was offered treatment at Vinterhagen, Annabeth brought her home. I didn't recognize
her, but I think it is highly probable that she recognized me. She absconded
from the centre soon after meeting me that afternoon, you see. When Annabeth
brought her home and I greeted her, she was a skinny little drug addict, a
fragile wreck who had been helping Annabeth with the shopping. That same
evening she ran away from the block she was in. They didn't find her…'

    'And
you interpreted this disappearance as a reaction to her recognizing you?'

    'Yes.'

    'When
did you come to this conclusion?'

    'Later,
but I'll come to that.'

    'Go
on.'

    'I
was the one who found her. I was in town for a meeting and went down to
Bankplass to find a prostitute. That was about three weeks later. I didn't know
it was her until she got into the car. We had agreed a price through the
window…'

    'So
you picked her up?'

    'Yes…
She sat next to me in the car without saying a word and I had no idea who she
was. I drove across Bispekaia to find somewhere to park where we wouldn't be
disturbed. At some point I glanced across and recognized her. She laughed out
loud and enjoyed the shock I had. She also reminded me of our encounter at the
massage parlour. There were a number of other things she said - I don't
remember what - but the essence was that I was a bad person. I countered that I
had never claimed to be any better than anyone else. I also said that I
wouldn't be buying any sexual services off her after all. And I asked her if I
should run her up to the rehab centre. Then she asked me if I had thought about
what I would say as an explanation of how I came to find her. I said it would
not be a problem; I would say I had bumped into her in town. She asked me if I
was wondering what her version would be… to Annabeth. I stopped there and then,
and said I had no'-more to say. She could leave and keep all the money she had
been given. I also gave her a bit more. Then she sat in the car staring at me
without saying anything.'

    Gerhardsen
paused again, as if he had reached a difficult point, then went on:

    'I
asked if I should drive her back to the city centre, but she said no and added
that she didn't want to owe me anything. She repeated that twice. Used exactly
the same words:
I don't want to owe you anything at all!
Then she
performed oral sex and got out of the car.'

    The
silence hung between the walls.

    Bjørn
Gerhardsen cleared his throat after a long pause. He said, 'I ought to add that
she turned up at the rehab centre a few days later and from that moment
followed the full course until she was declared clean, had caught up on her
schooling and was rehabilitated. From my knowledge of her over recent years she
was resourceful and excellent in all ways.'

    'Have
you had sexual intercourse with her since?'

    'Never.'

    'How

    Gunnarstranda
interrupted Frølich by bursting another bubble and said: 'There's one
thing I was wondering regarding the car ride.'

    Gerhardsen
raised his head.

    'I
visualize a number of shifts of mood here,' Gunnarstranda said. 'You drive
round in the red light area, you pick up a prostitute who takes your fancy and
then you have a shock when you recognize her. Following that there's a kind of
discussion between you… a discussion that has overtones of… shall we say…
morality. At that moment you become a representative of what we might call
Norwegian respectability. At least you play the role of a representative of
normality,
the model that your wife also represents when she meets her
patients Gunnarstranda formed inverted commas with his fingers.'…
The normal
world…
whether you like it or not. So you and your wife become the
model
that patients have to imitate!'

    'Of
course,' Gerhardsen interrupted. 'But you don't need to moralize to me in this
way!'

    'I'm
not moralizing,' Gunnarstranda stated. 'I was merely wondering what shifts of
mood there were in the car. I'm trying to imagine the signals that you sent
each other during the conversation you had. In other words, you were lustful,
you wanted a quickie and you went about this by driving up to someone you
regard as an anonymous whore in Bankplass. You agree a price through the open
car window, she gets into your car, but you have a shock when you recognize
her. You then have a sort of morally indignant discussion with her which ends
up with you buying yourself a pardon by letting her keep the money without
rendering any services. But in the end you experience the sexual climax you
were in fact after as she, to your surprise, supplies a sexual service. Have I
understood you correctly?'

    'They're
your words. It's not my version,' Gerhardsen answered in an aloof tone.

    'But
you agree that it can be described in that way?'

    'I
cannot refute it.'

    'And
two days afterwards she goes to your wife of her own accord and submits to
long-term treatment of a social and medical nature?'

    'Yes.'

    'What
was your experience of the relationship between you two in the car, from a
psychological point of view?'

    'What
do you mean now?'

    'Well,
what roles did you play? Were you the dominant male buying a quick blow-job off
a down-and-out junkie in need of money for a fix?'

    'I've
never thought about it like that.'

    Gunnarstranda:
'Are you sure? Which of you had the upper hand, in a psychological sense,
during the car ride?'

    Gerhardsen:
'I've never thought about it like that, but I would guess that she did. I, for
my part, was keen to get away.'

    As
the two policemen were silent, he continued. 'Or… maybe at the beginning… when
I didn't know her, she was expecting me to recognize her. She must have
recognized me when I stopped the car and rolled down the window. I assume she
felt she had…' He coughed. It was his turn to use his fingers to express
inverted commas: '…
the upper hand psychologically,
as you call it…
because she had recognized me, I suppose. I can tell you with absolute
assurance that I felt pretty small when I realized who she was…'

    'But
afterwards?'

    'I
don't understand what you mean.'

    'You
must do. She humiliates you by revealing that she knows who you are and thereby
exposes your misery. What has the psychological balance between you been like since
then?'

    Gerhardsen
closed his mouth and kept it closed.

    Gunnarstranda
beamed a white teeth smile. 'It's not dangerous to tell the truth, Gerhardsen.
You've been very good so far. It's very understandable, very normal to want to
take revenge for the little humiliation in the car.'

    Gerhardsen,
stiff: 'I have never taken revenge for anything.'

    'Fine,
but you did take your revenge,' the policeman smiled. 'You have made
approaches, haven't you? We know that you even tried it on during the party.'

    'I
didn't try anything on during the party.'

    'Our
witnesses tell us something different!' Gunnarstranda snapped. 'Don't start
lying to me. I know you made advances and suggestions to Katrine Bratterud
during the party!'

    'And
so what if I did?'

    'So
what?' Gunnarstranda's smile was white again. 'If it happened that night, it
could have happened before, couldn't it?'

    'But
it didn't happen before.'

    'How
can we know that? How can we know that she didn't feel she was being sexually
harassed by you the whole time?'

    'Talk
to her therapists.'

    'Your
wife?'

    'Yes,
do that. I don't keep any secrets from her.'

    'Do
you mean to say your wife knew you had bought sexual favours from one of her
patients?'

    'Yes.'

    'Excuse
me,' said Gunnarstranda, exasperated, 'but you're the chairman of the Vinterhagen
Rehabilitation Centre, aren't you?' He didn't wait for an answer, but ploughed
on. 'Have you never had the concept of ethics on the agenda?'

    Bjørn
Gerhardsen, eyes closed: 'I have a vague feeling this conversation should not
be about Vinterhagen's ethical foundations.'

    'No,
let's return to the night in question,' Gunnarstranda said in a calmer frame of
mind. 'Quite a number of professionals would, however, frown on key drug-rehab
staff inviting addicts to royal piss-ups.' He raised his voice as Gerhardsen
tried to interrupt. 'But we can leave that for the time being. My problem is
that I have to imagine what happened the night the girl was murdered. I have to
find out exactly what happened that night.'

    'Of
course,' Gerhardsen said with indulgence. 'That's why I am sacrificing my
valuable office time and trying to tell you what happened.'