The Last Fix [En liten gyllen ring no]

'OK,'Gunnarstranda said, impatient. 'I have a list here, from the police report madeat the time. It says they questioned, among others, a woman by the name ofBirgit Stenmoe, one called Grete Running, Oda Beate Saugstad, ConnieSaksevold…' The policeman glanced up and sighed. 'Connie,' he grumbled.'Imagine calling a poor Norwegian child Connie…'

'Conniewas half-American,' Bueng said. 'She drank coffee with milk and sugar, and thenshe had psoriasis. Terrible complexes she had because of psoriasis… although itwas mainly in her scalp. Who cares whether a woman has dandruff in her hair?You should have seen Connie's legs. They were as smooth as polished aluminium.'

'Ihave been led to believe these women considered themselves to be in love withyou while you were engaged to Helene Lockert?'

'It'snot easy to say no all the time,' Bueng said in reflective mood. 'It's not easyto disappoint others.'

'No,it's not easy,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Butthings have a tendency to go wrong if you lie too much.'

'That'sright,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Twolovers at once, that's fine,' Bueng said. 'Three at once is too much. It'sdifficult to remember what you said to one and not to the other, and thenthere's the problem of time. Most women want at least two nights a week andwith three the week is too full… it's difficult to make things fit. You driveyourself mad with the lies.'

'Youhad five,' Gunnarstranda said.

'Yes,it had to come to a sorry end.'

'Right.'

'Buttwo lovers – that's fine. You don't get locked into specific patterns. Of courseyou know that women's tastes vary. Their kissing does, too.'

'Indeed,'said Gunnarstranda.

'Youcan tell a woman's nature from the way she kisses,' Bueng said.

'Youmust have been much older than her… than Helene I mean?'

'Iwas more than twenty years older, yes, but age is not important in love.' 'Didshe have a daughter?'

'Yes.She's dead now, you said.'

'HeleneLockert's daughter, did you see much of her?'

'Idon't remember her very well. It was the mother I was interested in.'

'Andshe was killed, of course.'

'Yes,that was a sad story. We didn't get married. And I never got married later,either. I had never imagined I would grow old alone.'

'Haveyou ever received a visit from Helene Lockert's daughter?'

Buengtwisted his upper body round. His head shook as he regarded the policeman.'What do you mean by a question like that?'

'Wehave reason to believe that she knew the identity of her biological mother…'

'Butmy dear man, who doesn't know the identity of their mother?'

'Thiscase is complicated, Bueng. Please answer the question. Have you ever receiveda visit from Helene Lockert's daughter?'

'Never.'Bueng stared into the distance again. A puff of wind brushed a lock of whitehair across his forehead. 'Never,' he repeated to himself.

'Itwill be my destiny to die alone…' Bueng continued in a louder voice. 'And Iwould never have imagined…'

'Soyou gave up the idea of marriage after Helene?' the policeman asked.

'Heleneknew it wasn't always easy.'

'Sheknew about her rivals?'

'Theywere not rivals in fact. There was only Helene.'

'However,one of the police's theories was that one of her rivals…'

'Ididn't agree with the police.'

'Didyou have any suspicions as to who might have killed her?'

'Ithink it must have been one of Helene's ex-lovers who killed her.'

'Butwitnesses – many witnesses – said they had seen a woman walking down the streetwhere she lived, a woman behaving in a strange manner, at roughly the timeHelene was killed.'

'Yesindeed, but the only man they checked was the girl's father and he had analibi. But Helene was a good-looking woman…'

'Butthe witnesses…'

'… sohe must have dressed up, I reckon. Men wearing women's clothing is nothingnew.'

'Theyears have drifted by now,' Gunnarstranda said with a sigh. 'You've thoughtabout this case for many years now. Are you sure that…?'

'Youmentioned Connie,' Bueng interrupted. 'And you mentioned Oda Beate…'

'GreteRonning,' the policeman read from his list, 'Birgit Stenmoe…'

'Yes?'Bueng said, waiting.

Gunnarstrandasaid nothing.

'Yes?'

Thepoliceman cleared his throat. 'There are no more names.'

Buengturned his head and they exchanged glances.

'Ihave to go now,' Bueng said and staggered to his feet. 'I'm tired.'

Gunnarstrandawatched him go. The figure tottered down the gravel into the building. Therewas no doubt that he did not look like a murderer. But appearances can deceive.He had discovered that before.

Thepoliceman took a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lit up and inhaled deep. Hecrossed his legs and wondered whether he ought to be annoyed. He had no idea. Amoment later something made him turn his head. The woman with the long skirtand the shawl was standing by the entrance. She made an embarrassed movementwith her arms when she realized she had been seen. Stuffing some papers underher arm, she advanced at a measured pace. She stopped by the bench.Gunnarstranda stood up and gave an involuntary smile upon realizing they werethe same height.

'Doyou know Bueng well?' she asked after they had sat down.

Hesighed and shook his head. 'I'm a policeman.'

Shewas quiet and waited for him to go on.

'It'sabout an old case.'

'Healmost never has visitors,' she said.

Gunnarstrandamanaged a faint smile. 'He didn't want a visit from me, either' He glanced overat her. Read her name on the badge fixed to her shawclass="underline" Tove Granaas. Sheassumed a serious face until it softened with her captivating, slanting smile.'He usually loves talking to people.'

'Butthen I suppose he doesn't talk about himself,' Gunnarstranda said.

'That'strue,' she grinned and fell silent.

Gunnarstrandawanted to extend the conversation. 'Lovely garden,' he said. 'Lovely begoniasemperflorens.'

'Yes,'she said, pointing to the ugly rose in the lawn in front of them. 'But we can'tdo much for that one.'

'Rosesare pruned from the rootstock,' Gunnarstranda said with a nod towards theprotruding, pale green, thorny spear. 'When that happens, it means the root hasdecided to grow on its own.'

'Youdon't say?' She seemed impressed. 'Fancy me meeting someone who knew what theproblem was. A policeman who knows about flowers.'

'It'sjust an interest, a hobby.'

'Soyou must have a beautiful garden, I suppose.'

'No.'He added, 'I have a mountain cabin,' when he saw her tilt her head to showinterest. 'What does he like talking about?'

'Hm?'

'Bueng,what does he like talking about?'

'Wouldyou like to try again?' Tove asked.

'No,I'm not sure it's worth the effort.' He put the cigarette in the matchbox andclosed it with care. 'He's a witness from an old case, over twenty years ago. Idon't even know if he can remember that far back.'

'Wecall him Elvis,' she said.

'Why'sthat?'

'Hesings like Elvis. Perhaps he looks a bit like Elvis.' She chuckled. 'Althoughhe doesn't quite have the leg work.'

Gunnarstrandanodded. 'Parkinson's, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

Theysat staring ahead. She seemed to be thinking. 'You don't have any kind of ID, Isuppose?' she asked all of a sudden. Gunnarstranda was charmed by the lookaccompanying the question. The purpose. He took out his wallet with the policebadge and showed her. 'Nice name,' she said.

'Thereare not many of us,' Gunnarstranda replied.

'He'sa bit of a charmer,' she said. 'Elvis… Bueng.'

'Ican believe that.'

'Andthat means he never talks about himself.'

Thepoliceman nodded. 'Has he had any recent visitors?'

'Oh,he seldom has any visitors,' she sighed. 'That was why it was nice that youvisited him today. It was a bit of excitement.'

'Whendid he last have a visitor?'

'Noidea, but it must have been a long time ago.'

'Areyou absolutely sure he hasn't had a visitor in the last two weeks?'

'Idoubt it.'