EQMM, August 2007
Page 20
His shaking intensified, and sweat was beginning to appear on his forehead. This was without a doubt the worst thing he had ever experienced.
His dizziness was almost overpowering, but he managed to make his way back to the living room and strode towards the liquor cabinet, avoiding looking at the body at all costs. When he had slurped down a measure of cognac, he noticed that his hands were shaking less and that he was more or less thinking clearly. There's no use running from this, and I've no reason to run, he thought to himself, and noted that his mood lifted somewhat. No one would suspect him of this murder, after all; no one knew of his intense hatred of Steingrim Kragvik. He had, as a part of his plan, been careful only to speak well of Egalin's managing director when others were listening. He had even actually praised him at times.
Roger Skaare sat down by the phone, found the number for the police in the phone book, and dialed. A weary voice answered, and Roger Skaare noted satisfactorily that his own voice was firm, almost authoritative. “My name is Roger Skaare. There's been a murder. The victim is Managing Director Steingrim Kragvik of Langgaten 6, top floor. About an hour ago I received a call from a man who presented himself as Detective Oyra. He told me that Kragvik had been murdered and that I had to come over to help with inquiries. When I got here, the door was open and I went right in. I found Kragvik dead on the floor in the living room. When I tried to get out to find Oyra, the outer door had been locked from the outside."
"Really,” the policeman said with deliberation. “Detective Oyra, you said? We've never had anyone by that name in our department. Well, Skaare, we'll be there as soon as possible. Stay calm, and don't touch anything, neither the body nor the door handles or any other objects."
"Of course. I'll stay calm."
Roger Skaare hung up, let out a sigh of relief, and poured another measure of cognac. Now everything was in the hands of the police. He had always been a good taxpayer, and it was the duty of the police to get him out of this situation.
* * * *
Ten minutes later he heard the entrance door open. A stocky, balding man walked in, followed by a number of uniformed and plain-clothes police officers.
"Detective Myren here” said the stocky one, and nodded towards Skaare. “By the way, you had us fooled, Skaare."
"Fooled?” said Skaare uncomprehendingly.
"Why, yes. You said that the door was locked from the outside, so we brought along a locksmith to take care of it. But the door was open and the key is on the inside. Take a look for yourself.
Roger Skaare went into the hallway and stared at the door. The detective was right. A key he hadn't previously seen was in the lock.
"But ... but...” he said, and noticed that panic was taking hold again. “But I swear that..."
Myren didn't appear to be listening. He was back in the living room examining the body with the coroner.
"Strangled,” said Myren and turned his head. “Listen, Skaare, do you have any idea as to who might have done this?"
Better be careful, thought Skaare frantically. Careful now. Don't say anything rash.
"Well,” he said, as if thinking about it. “Well, no. Or well, Detective Oyra did say that it was his former wife, Nancy. That's why he asked me to come."
Detective Myren looked searchingly at Roger Skaare. “Need I remind you that there is no such person as Detective Oyra, Skaare?"
"No, well yes, but..."
Roger Skaare fell silent. To his despair he noticed that the alcohol had blunted both his brain and his voice.
"Kragvik was strangled by a man,” said the coroner. “I can tell by the bruising on his throat. No woman has hands that size."
Roger Skaare gazed bewilderedly at the coroner. If Nancy Kragvik hadn't done it, who the hell could have? The man who had passed himself off as Detective Oyra? But who was that? He was in a daze.
"You're not looking too good,” said Detective Myren, and studied Roger Skaare with his large brown eyes. “Have a seat while we look around the apartment."
Roger Skaare sat down and tried to get a grip on the chaos that was swirling around in his head. What if they didn't believe him? What if they thought all the stuff about Detective Oyra and the key was just a figment of his imagination? That would put him in a spot. But then, they'd have to find a motive. That would be impossible.
Detective Myren returned after a short while. It occurred to Roger Skaare that he had a different look on his face, as if his eyes had hardened. “Come here, Skaare,” he demanded. “I've got something to show you."
Roger Skaare got up and followed Myren unsteadily into the master bedroom.
"Do you know the woman lying in the bed over there?” asked Myren and pointed towards a large pile of bedcovers and pillows.
Roger Skaare took a step forward. Another wave of shock swept over him, so profound that he had to struggle to keep to his feet.
The detective's voice sounded distant, yet annoyingly close.
"Well? Surely you know her."
Roger Skaare couldn't utter a word. He just stared and stared at the woman's face, and at the charcoal black hair flowing over the pillow.
"Y-yes,” he finally managed to stutter. “It—it's Betty. My wife. But..."
He leaned heavily against the wall. His mind had given up on him. All he felt was a hopeless, frightening emptiness.
"Yes,” said Myren. “I already know that it's your wife. I had a look at the passport in her purse. My my, she's obviously a heavy sleeper. She probably has no idea of what has been going on here. I'm afraid we'll have to wake her now, however. And I'm afraid that she's in for some pretty shocking news."
* * * *
The stay in custody didn't help Roger Skaare's mental state, rather the opposite. Thoughts kept spinning round and round his mind, but he could see no solution to his predicament. He put his trust in his defence lawyer, but he in turn seemed unhappy with the meagre and unprovable information he was provided with.
"Skaare,” he said, frowning, “you're giving me very little to go on here. Try to think, or you may be convicted on the basis of circumstantial evidence."
But Roger Skaare had no more information to provide. He had chosen to say as little as possible, firm in the belief that anything he said would prove his initial intent. In one way or another, it was he who had indirectly been the cause of Steingrim Kragvik's death.
Loneliness dug away at him. Betty had turned her back on him, and not even his son Bernt visited him. One day, however, Wilfred Jæger turned up and they had a fifteen-minute conversation, monitored by a police officer. It occurred to Roger Skaare that Wilfred Jæger looked healthier and better than ever.
"Roger, my old friend,” he said in an emotional tone. “I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. And I'm pretty sure the judge will be lenient. You're looking at four to five years at the most."
Roger Skaare didn't have the energy to maintain his innocence. No one was going to believe him anyway, particularly not Wilfred Jæger, who had known how much Betty had meant to him.
"I always felt that Steingrim was a brutal and ruthless type,” Wilfred Jæger continued. “But it came as a shock to me that he turned out to be a common womanizer. The man was simply a beast. I hope that I'm capable of managing the company with more decency while you're locked up."
* * * *
Two months later Roger Skaare was convicted to seven years imprisonment for premeditated murder. And somehow he actually managed to resign himself to his fate. In one way he was actually proud, because a lot of people expressed their sympathy. There were quite a few who felt that a womanizer didn't deserve a better fate than the one that befell Steingrim Kragvik.
* * * *
A year later, when he was stitching together a pair of dungarees in the prison work camp, he was informed that there was a phone call for him.
It was Wilfred Jæger.
"Roger, my old friend. I have some news that may surprise you. I'm getting married."
; "Married?! You!” said Roger Skaare, sincerely surprised. “The bachelor incarnate. Who's the lucky woman?"
Wilfred Jæger laughed heartily.
"Yes, well, believe it or not, Nancy Kragvik and I are getting hitched. Two pieces of driftwood on the stormy sea of life have finally found a port. By the way, she's been given a position in the company. In advertising. Nancy has always had a good nose for great opportunities, you know. And I've made good use of her unique intuition previously. I think we'll make a hell of a match."
When Roger Skaare hung up he felt confused. Nancy? A good nose for great opportunities? Intuition? And there was something disturbingly familiar about Wilfred Jæger's voice. Something he couldn't quite pin down, but which manifested itself on the phone.
Roger Skaare picked up another couple of sheets of cloth and started to stitch them together. There were quite a few things he should give more thought. But the exhausting numbness of his mind just didn't allow it.
(c)2007 by Richard Macker
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