by Anne Holt
What? Well, there are so many things. I keep my wits about me, I can tell you that. Very much so. And then you pick up a few things. Could I have another cup of this delicious coffee of yours?
Interviewer:
Coffee? Yes, of course. Here you are. (Crackle, pause.) The police have received information that you have a great deal of medicine stored at home. Is there any particular reason for that?
Witness:
That’s the most impudent thing I’ve ever heard! Has someone told the police about my home? There’s never anybody in my home apart from me, so what you’ve heard is absolute twaddle! If you ask me, you’ll get an answer.
Interviewer:
We are in fact extremely interested in taking a closer look at your apartment, Mrs. Helmersen. Does that mean you agree to a search?
Witness:
Search? That’s a bit extreme, is it not? But you can just enter my home whenever you want, young lady. I’ll offer you some coffee and some Mother Monsen’s cake. I’ve plenty of that sort of thing in my freezer. You know, I keep up the old traditions and bake for Christmas, I—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Does that mean you have no objection to a search? (Rustling paper, brief pause.) Would you be so kind as to sign here?
Witness:
Yes, of course. That makes it almost like a written invitation. Doesn’t it? (Brief pause, laughter.)
Interviewer:
Thanks. But this about the medicine – is that true? Do you take a lot of pills?
Witness:
Yes, unfortunately. At my age—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Mrs. Helmersen, it’s helpful that you came so quickly. But it would be a great advantage if you’d keep your responses brief. Try to concentrate on what I’m asking you. Who is your doctor? Because I assume you get these medicines of yours from a doctor?
Witness:
My doctor? I can tell you it’s far from easy to find a competent doctor these days. So I go to a few different ones. You could say I’m on the lookout for the very best. Do you know what: the other day I had booked an appointment at Bentsebro medical center. The doctor was as black as coal! As if I would let myself be treated by a hula-hula medicine man like that! If it hadn’t been for—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Does that mean you get medicine prescribed by a number of doctors?
Witness:
Yes, but I already told you that. Young woman, perhaps you ought to pay better attention.
Interviewer:
I assure you I’m paying a great deal of attention. Iron Fist – does that mean something to you?
Witness:
Yes, of course. Such a splendid expression, don’t you think? Hard-hitting and yet refined, in a sense. In all modesty … (faint laughter) a bit like myself.
Interviewer:
A bit like yourself? Tell me, do you write letters that you sign Iron Fist?
Witness:
I’m a person who likes writing. I can tell you that. There’s so much in this society of ours that people need to be warned about. Of course I don’t know how well you have followed them, but these school reforms, not to mention the absurd idea of a National Police Directorate. Something like that will inevitably lead to—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Mrs. Helmersen! (Pause.) I’m a bit fed up with … Do you think you could try to answer the questions I’m asking you? This is a police interview. Do you understand that? Can you answer me why you sign yourself Iron Fist?
Witness:
Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. Not now, when we’ve been having such a pleasant … (Pause, lengthy rustling of paper.) Yes, of course. Iron Fist is my alias. I think you know that. I’ve written a lot for the newspapers – I could almost be considered a regular writer, in the Oslo newspapers. That’s why you’re asking of course, isn’t it? Because you recognize Iron Fist as a well-known commentator?
Interviewer:
I can assure you, Mrs. Helmersen, that the police don’t normally call in cultural personages for a chat. I would like to show you some letters. The question is whether they were written by you. Wait a minute … (Longish pause.) The interviewer is showing the witness evidence bags containing documents 17/10/3, 17/10/4, and 17/10/5. Do you recognize any of these? This one, for example, here where it says “The chef’s goose is cooked”.
Witness:
No, but my goodness, how exciting! Do you think somebody’s stolen my alias?
Interviewer:
I don’t think anything. I just want to know if it was you who produced this letter.
Witness:
It’s quite elegant. The wording, I mean. Don’t you agree? But do you know what – I write in the newspapers. That certainly wasn’t me. But it is a famous pseudonym, of course. Somebody may have stolen it. Do you think I should report it? (Laughter.) Theft of intellectual copyright, what do you say, Mrs. Policewoman?
Interviewer:
(Pronounced sigh, pause.) I say that you should answer … (sharp noise, striking the table?) my questions, Mrs. Helmersen. Did you know Brede Ziegler?
Witness:
A highly disagreeable person! But I didn’t really know him … People in the public eye do know one another to some degree, of course, you know.
Interviewer:
Now I’m going to ask you a very precise question, and I want a very precise answer. Have you met Brede Ziegler?
Witness:
I wouldn’t dream of going into his restaurant, I’ll have you know. This so-called nouvelle cuisine that doesn’t have the least respect for—
Interviewer (interrupts):
I’m warning you, Mrs. Helmersen. If you don’t give me a reasonable answer now, I’m going to draw a halt to this interview and apply for formal questioning in a court of law.
Witness:
Am I to go to court? I’d really like to do that. What do you say to judges these days? In my youth, when I actually worked as a lay judge on a number of occasions, people said Most Honorable—
Interviewer (interrupts):
(Loud voice.) Mrs. Helmersen! Have you met Brede Ziegler, or have you not?
Witness:
But my dear! No need to be so indignant. Everything will run much more smoothly if you pay attention. I have already told you that I haven’t met him.
Interviewer:
So you’ve never met Brede Ziegler?
Witness:
No. But not so many years ago I had the pleasure of spending a weekend with—
Interviewer (interrupts):
That’s been noted, Mrs. Helmersen. So I’d like to know where you were on the evening of Sunday December the fifth.
Witness:
December the fifth? (Pause.) That’s the evening Mr. Ziegler was murdered, isn’t it? Young lady, do you suspect me of something? Or do you just want to eliminate me from your inquiry? As you can probably hear, I know my police jargon.
Interviewer:
(Drumming noise, like fingers on a table? Pause.) Where were you on Sunday evening? Answer!
Witness:
Well, for heaven’s sake! I’m doing as best I can, Mrs. Policewoman! Sunday, Sunday … (Pause, light coughing.) Two weeks ago. Let me see … (Pause.) Yes, I can tell you in fact, young lady. I was doing something extremely unusual. I went for a long walk that evening. I was sitting writing an article about Muslims. You probably agree with me that the advance of Muslims in this country is a danger to our culture and established Christian values. I … Could I have some water, do you think? I’ve been talking so much now. Yes, thank you, thank you. (Pause, distinct sounds of drinking.) Then I found it necessary to have a closer look at the monstrosity. This building that so much was written about at one time, you know. So I took a stroll from my home – exercise is good for you, you know – all the way to Åkebergveien. But I took the bus back again. The weather was really nasty that evening. The cold wind made it necessary for me to have an ever-so-tiny drop of cogna
c when—
Interviewer (interrupts):
What monstrosity?
Witness:
The mosque, that ghastly mosque, you know.
Interviewer:
The mosque in Åkebergveien. I see. And what time was that then?
Witness:
Well, I can’t really say for certain. But it was late. Quite late, I’d expect. You understand, I have problems sleeping. So I thought an evening stroll to help me sleep would do me good. And then I could have a look at that eyesore at the same time.
Interviewer:
What do you mean by late? Was it after midnight?
Witness:
Well, now you’re asking a difficult question. It must have been somewhere between … (pause) ten o’clock and midnight. Something like that.
Interviewer:
And approximately how long were you at this mosque?
Witness:
That’s impossible to say.
Interviewer:
Try.
Witness:
I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice, young Mrs. Policewoman. It doesn’t become you, if I can allow myself to say so.
Interviewer:
Try to estimate how long you spent outside the mosque in Åkebergveien between twenty-two hours and midnight on December the fifth.
Witness:
Quarter of an hour, perhaps? That’s a pure guess. I can’t understand—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Did you see anyone there?
Witness:
See anyone? But my dear, we’re talking about the worst area in the east end! People loiter in those parts to such an extent that you’d think they had no home to go to.
Interviewer:
Did you see many (distinct raising of the voice at “many”) people there?
Witness:
(Mumbles indistinctly.) Not so sure (inaudible) … took a taxi home.
Interviewer:
You said bus.
Witness:
Bus or taxi, it’s all the same. The main thing is I got home safely.
Interviewer:
We need to take a little break, Mrs. Helmersen. The time is 13.35. (Scraping of chairs, the tape is switched off.)
Interviewer:
The time is now 13.55. The interview is resumed. What kind of knives do you have at home?
Witness:
Knives? That’s a strange question. Naturally, I have a number of different ones. A good knife can never be underestimated in a kitchen. Good food demands good ingredients, but also adequate equipment, as I say. For filleting I use one I inherited from my father, he was such a—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Do you know what a Masahiro is?
Witness:
Yes, you know what? That’s the very jewel in the crown, if I can put it that way. Unfortunately my pitifully small pension doesn’t stretch to the purchase of such a piece of equipment, but everyone who … By the way, it’s Japanese. Those Japanese folks! In truth, they’re people who know what they want. And then they stay at home, at least. They come here on holiday, but they go straight home. Like a civilized island in the midst of the barbarians, they have—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Sorry, we need to take another little break.
Witness:
It’s terrible how restless you are, Mrs. Policewoman! You ought to try St. John’s Wort and—
Interviewer (interrupts):
The time is 14.05. (The tape is switched off.)
Interviewer:
The time is now 14.23. Do you like cats, Mrs. Helmersen?
Witness:
Well, that’s a strange question. From knives to cats, and with constant breaks in between. But if you want my honest opinion, then you can have it. Cats are dreadful creatures. In apartment blocks it should be absolutely forbidden to keep pet animals, I have often—
Interviewer (interrupts):
Have you killed your neighbor’s cat? The Gråfjell Berntsen family’s cat?
Witness:
No, do you know what? Are you accusing me of murder? The Berntsen family, yes. I know what to expect from certain people. But killing … Now you need to take care, Mrs. Policewoman. I wouldn’t dream of killing a living soul. Not even a cat.
Interviewer:
Now I must make you aware that you are no longer being interviewed as a witness in the investigation of Brede Ziegler’s homicide. You have, in the course of this interview, given such specific information that the police find sufficient grounds to suspect you of having something to do with the actual murder. You are charged with homicide and/or attempted homicide, or having been an accessory to the crime. This is the provisional charge. It was drawn up at the last break we took.
To the report: the accused was shown—
Witness (interrupts):
Charged … Does that mean that I’m suspected? But we were talking about cats, and now all of a sudden you’re talking about Ziegler!
Interviewer:
I repeat, the accused is shown the charge. You do not have to give a statement. Do you still wish to give a statement, with the status of accused?
Witness:
But, my dear, I’m happy to give a statement – I’ve been talking for hours now!
Interviewer:
As the accused, you have the right to have a lawyer present during the interview. Do you wish to have a lawyer present, or shall we continue? I have a few supplementary questions.
Witness:
Of course I will give a statement, but I have most certainly not killed Brede Ziegler. It’s the cat you really want to know about, isn’t it? I did the whole block a favor, the day I took the poor creature’s life. It was the best thing for everybody.
Interviewer:
How did you kill the cat, then?
Witness:
Arsenic. I use it for the rats in the basement too. Extremely effective, if I may say so.
Interviewer:
Arsenic?! (Extremely loud voice.) Surely none of your doctors have given you arsenic?
Witness:
You wouldn’t believe you were a member of the police force. You don’t get arsenic from doctors – you get it from a vet. You just have to say you’re looking after a horse and that its coat’s a bit dull, and hey presto: you get some arsenic. The pharmacy at Ås is absolutely first-class.
Interviewer:
That’s a piece of unusually interesting information. We’ll come back to that later. But I’d like to go back to Brede Ziegler. Have you, or have you not, sent Brede Ziegler threatening letters, signed Iron Fist? I would remind you that this is a serious situation, Mrs. Helmersen.
Witness:
No, do you know what? I have admitted killing the cat – that’s all I have to say. Now I want to go home. I’m an old lady, you can’t go on tormenting me in this way!
Interviewer:
Does that mean you no longer wish to give a statement?
Witness:
Not another word will pass my lips! I want to go home. I’m getting treatment and I want to take my herbal tea.
Interviewer:
Unfortunately that’s not possible. You have the charge in front of you. As you see, it states on that sheet of paper that this is a decision to take you into custody. We are going to put you in the custody suite until we have searched your home. The police consider there to be a danger of contamination of evidence. When we have gone through your apartment, we will decide whether you can be released. I’m sorry, but I have to take you down to the custody suite now, Mrs. Helmersen. (Commotion, witness repeats several times, “Do you know what?”)
Interviewer’s note: The interview ended at 14.50. The witness was served coffee and water during the interview. The interview was interrupted several times in order to consult a lawyer. The accused was led down to the custody suite. The interviewer will ensure that the accused receives any necessary medical attention, as she has indicated that she requires medical treatment
. A patrol car has been sent to the accused’s residence in order to conduct the search.
52
It was as if a curse lay on Grandfather’s books. Daniel had spent the weekend sorting them into some kind of system. With each title he touched, he felt his grandfather’s eyes on his neck. Though the old man had gambled away all his possessions, the books had obviously been sacrosanct. It must have been very tempting for the old man to cash in some of his leather-bound assets. Especially when the debt began to creep up to the chimney of the house where his children had grown up, and where his wife had cultivated the garden into a delightful, successful botanical masterpiece. It had taken her more than thirty years. The buyer of the property was a developer who had reduced both house and garden to rubble in order to fire up a row of four detached houses.
Daniel had made up his mind.
He stood just inside the door of Ringstrøms’ antiquarian bookshop. The vinyl record department was on his right. Daniel could go to the Beatles section, pick out the White Album, buy the disc, and go home with Grandfather’s two books tucked under his arm. Once again he had made a choice.
A man with well-worn jeans appeared behind a curtain at the far end of the premises. The handwritten sign with ‘No Admittance for Customers’ was about to detach from the thick curtain. The man looked as though he had hardly been out of this place for his entire life. His complexion was sallow and he did not seem to mind that the ribbed cuffs of his sweater were unraveling.
The shop assistant glanced indifferently at Daniel before serving an old lady who was looking for Garborg’s Peasant Students. Daniel continued to stand, at a loss, watching them both. Once the woman had shuffled off with her book buried deep inside a capacious wheeled shopper, there were no other customers left in the shop.
“And you, sir,” the man said in a friendly tone. “How can I help you?”
“I’ve got a couple of books,” Daniel mumbled, aware he was blushing. “I just wondered if … I thought I might … The value. How much are they worth?”
“Let me see them, then.”
Daniel fished out the flat box propped against the back of his rucksack to avoid damage. He lifted the lid with care and unwrapped the top book from its plastic cover.
“Here,” he said softly.
“Aha, yes.”
The shop assistant drew his glasses from their perch on top of his head. His hands were long, with narrow, practiced fingers that trailed over the immaculate binding.
