The Last Fix [En liten gyllen ring no]

'That'swhat she was. She lied about everything and everyone, and nothing was goodenough. I wasn't good enough. When she dropped by a couple of years back Icooked for her. I remembered the food she had always loved as a child. But itwasn't good enough. No, you should have seen the woman with her, the fine ladywho wouldn't accept any of my things, walking round the sitting room with herarms crossed as though frightened she would be infected by some disease. Thesepeople drove expensive cars and ate more elegant food. I wasn't good enough.No, Katrine had a high opinion of herself. She thought she came from betterstock, her, the daughter of someone who couldn't take care of her ownchildren.'

'Youadopted her, didn't you?'

'Yes,we did.'

Frølichwaited for more. It didn't seem to be forthcoming. In the ensuing silence Frølichconsidered how to formulate his next question. But to his surprise she spoke upfirst: 'Katrine was fond of her father. My husband. They were inseparable. Andfor as long as he was alive she was all right. But then he died, of cancer.When she was eleven, I think. And she was a difficult teenager. We never reallygot along.'

Frølichcleared his throat.

Sheinterrupted, 'Now they'll be together, at last. I'll put her urn on his grave.'

Frølichtried to read what lay hidden behind the cheerless eyes, but gave up. When thesilence had lasted long enough he asked in a light tone: 'Why adoption?'

'Icouldn't have any children.'

'Imean… why Katrine?'

'Herreal mother was dead. That was all we knew. And then Fredrik died a few yearslater. Yes, and then it wasn't many more years before I had the task of chasingthe men away. That was Katrine's problem. She never got over losing herfather.'

'Whatdid she die of, Katrine's biological mother?'

'Noone knows. But that fed the girl's imagination of course. She fantasized abouteverything from here to Monaco.'

Frølichnodded and lowered his eyes. He didn't like to think about children withunattainable dreams.

'Youknow, she thought about plane crashes and car accidents, reckoned her realorigins were the Soria Maria palace.'

Frølichrecalled a job he had been on years ago, with two others as muscle for thechild welfare authorities – a case of gross neglect as a result of which thechild had been placed with the social services. The girl had been around seven.How old was she now? Eighteen? Nineteen?

'Butthe woman could have been a drug addict or could have died of cancer like myhusband for all I knew. We were told nothing and didn't want to ask. We didn'twant to know.'

'Doesthe name Raymond Skau mean anything to you?' Frølich asked.

Shepulled a bitter grimace.

'Soyou do know the name?'

Shenodded. 'He was the one who got her into the mess. Much older than her. He wasone of the worst good-for-nothings round here. Moved to Oslo as well. He's offthe scene now, but they were a couple. She moved in with him as soon as she wasold enough.'

'Howold was she then?'

'Fifteenmaybe… or sixteen? I went there, I did, and dragged her back. He even tried togo for me. Be careful, he shouted. I'm warning you. I've got a blackbelt in karate! Well, I mean to say. But I gave him a mouthful. Go homeand get it then and I'll whip your back with it! I said.'

Frølichproffered a courteous smile.

BeateBratterud smiled, too. 'Yes, it's easy to laugh now, after the event. But itwent wrong of course. For Katrine, I mean. It's a terrible thought. Even thoughit was good that she managed to get out of the mess. But it was a pity shecouldn't do it without bitterness. She needn't have been ashamed of me, or herhome. We gave her what she needed and we fought for her. We did. But you haveto say that she didn't have it easy.'

Frølichstood up. 'Excuse me for a couple of minutes,' he said, taking his mobile phonefrom his jacket pocket. He tapped in Gunnarstranda's number and sent a cheerysmile to the cheerless face on the other side of the table.

Itrang three times.

'Pleasebe brief.'

'It'sme,' Frank said.

'Spitit out.'

'Thanksfor everything last night,' Frølich said in a crabbed tone. Then he wenton: 'I'm at Katrine Bratterud's house, as we arranged. She says Raymond Skaucomes from here. She knows Skau, who it seems was Katrine's boyfriend duringher teens. I suppose he got her on to the streets.'

'Well,well,' Gunnarstranda said eagerly. 'Go on.'

'Thatwas all for the moment.'

'We'llhave to see what significance that has,' the voice on the telephone said. 'Someactivity in Skau's flat has been reported. If you jump into your car now youmay be able to catch them interviewing him.'

Frølichrang off and sat staring at the mobile in his hand. After a while he put it inhis pocket. 'You say Katrine fantasized about her origins,' he said, looking upat Beate Bratterud. 'What do you mean by that?'

'WhatI said.'

Frølichwaited.

'Sometimesher origins were all she had in her head. But she never did find out anything.'

'Inpractical terms, what did she do?'

'Well,now you're asking. Salvation Army maybe.

Socialservices couldn't help. I could have told her that. These women at socialservices can endure the job for about two years and then they're burnt out.Those that aren't just stand there going on about client confidentiality. Theonly people who could tell her anything about welfare cases twenty years agoare the welfare cases themselves. I told her, but I don't think she waslistening. I don't think she had much luck tracing her parents.' BeateBratterud sat up straight in her chair. 'In the years after my husband died allthis stuff took over full-time. They were very close. Katrine and Fredrik Butshe never liked me. I was never good enough.' The woman with the curly hairrose to her feet with difficulty, lumbered over to a worktable in the cornerand pulled out a drawer. She returned with a small box. In the box there werephotographs. 'Here,' she said taking out the photos, looking at some,discarding them or passing them to the policeman, who studied them with politeinterest. They were younger versions of Beate with long, curly hair. She wasslimmer and her face was less lined. In one photo she was smiling; her teethwere straight and pointed inwards, like fish teeth. Frølich examined thesmile and wondered whether it would be true to say that she had beengood-looking.

Beatepassed him the whole box and clumped off to another chest of drawers. Heflipped through the photos and found a folded, yellowing newspaper cutting. He gentlyunfolded it in his lap. It was a page from Verdens Gang. He read thedate in the top corner: 11 July 1965. The page was dominated by a girl in abikini posing on a diving block in a swimming pool. She had curls flowing downto her shoulders and was a bit podgy around the thighs and stomach. Today'sVG girl is Beate, the caption ran. Frank subjected the newspaper cutting tocloser scrutiny. Yes, that was a younger version of Beate Bratterud. He lookedup and met her doleful eyes.

'Theyears pass,' she said in a sullen tone, turned and began to rummage throughanother drawer. Frølich had no idea what to say, but felt it would bewrong not to compliment her. He cleared his throat. 'Wow.'

Sheturned.

Helifted up the cutting.

'Yes,I heard you,' she said.

Hecould feel the blush warming his cheeks and concentrated on the photos again.They were pictures of strangers in the Constitution Day procession on 17 May -young people wearing flared pants, a young woman with a pram and a groupphotograph in the park. In a few pictures there was a dark, thin man withbrushed back hair and elegant features. And there were a few of Katrine -blonde and very good-looking with a sensual, slightly puffed-up lip. She didn'tlook much like her foster parents.

'Therewas a photo I thought I would show you,' Beate mumbled and finally found whatshe was looking for. 'Look here…'

Thepicture was of the thin man arm in arm with Katrine – in front of a wooden gate- a woodland track lined with spruce trees in the background. The father's armwas round the daughter's shoulder while she squeezed his waist. Two people wholoved each other.