by Anne Holt
I.F.:
This is … Can I have some water? (Clinking.) Thanks. It’s a scarf. My scarf.
H.W.:
Are you quite sure? How do you recognize it as your scarf?
I.F.:
The pattern. Indian pattern in green and mauve. I bought it in London a long time ago. But it was a while before I remembered I’d lost it. (Barely audible, whispering.) You found it there, didn’t you?
H.W.:
We’re not actually the ones answering the questions, Idun Franck. Where do you think the scarf was found?
I.F.:
Outside police headquarters, wasn’t it? (Quiet, lengthy pause.) But I don’t understand … (indistinct speech, scraping sounds) anything. Why didn’t you arrest me before, if you had the scarf? I’ve been waiting for you for ages. That time you and that other woman came to my home, I thought … They’ve been dreadful weeks. First I just wanted to go away. That Monday night after it had all happened, I sat awake and decided to go to the police. Hand myself in. But then … it was sort of so … unfair. I was to be punished for something that … So I went to work, and thought that this business of confidentiality might help me not to get entangled in too many lies. Since … (Voice disappears, pause.) But I understood yesterday.
H.W.:
What did you understand yesterday?
I.F.:
That I was going to be arrested. Thale phoned me. She told me that you had talked about Daniel and Brede. Sooner or later you would find out the whole story. I had expected that. Thale was strangely upset by your visit. She usually takes such things so … Well, she has hardly … She was so … detailed. Recounted the entire conversation. Word for word, was the impression I got. About eggs and hot chocolate and even that … And that you stared so long at that family photograph. From Father’s eightieth birthday, I mean. Then I knew that you would come. I suddenly remembered what I had been wearing that day. The gray silk dress. And the scarf.
H.W.:
Okay. Let’s go back to the beginning. Were you with Brede Ziegler on the evening of December the fifth this year?
I.F.:
Yes. We had arranged to meet outside the mosque in Åkebergveien at eleven o’clock.
H.W.:
Why was that? Outside? So late on a winter’s night?
I.F.:
From the outset it was an absolutely stupid arrangement. I tried to get out of it, but Brede insisted. He was most insistent that we should look at the new mosaic that’s been constructed at the mosque. It gave expression to his … “concept of beauty,” as he put it. I said it didn’t suit. I was going out that night. Church concert. (Burst of laughter.) A chance occurrence can crop up like a peculiar wild card, can’t it? It wasn’t true that I was at the cinema. A work colleague said he had seen me there. But he was wrong. Must have simply mistaken somebody else for me. When Billy T. asked me later where I had been that evening, I just plucked Samir Zeta’s comment out of … So I had my alibi all sorted. It crossed my mind, quite by chance. I had seen the film the previous week. I knew all about its plot, how long it was, that I was too late to visit my sister and … Anyway … (Pause, sound of water poured into a glass?) Brede did not accept that I was busy. He always wanted to make a whole performance out of the simplest thing. “The light at night time lends the building more character.” (Somewhat distorted voice.) That was how he put it. He had a long and fairly odd theory about the building’s location in relation to police headquarters and the prison, and made a song and dance out of the mosque actually being lit up by all the lights around the jail. And what’s more, he had a surprise for me, he said. Yes … so that’s how it came about. We were to meet in Åkebergveien at eleven o’clock, just opposite police headquarters.
H.W.:
What happened then?
I.F.:
I didn’t see him when I arrived. I was about to go home again when he shouted at me from down beside the police building. From the steps where he was found. He had stood there to shelter from the wind. Anyway, he had a strange theory that you should approach the mosaic wall from slightly below, so that … Well. I went down to him, and we talked for a bit about the mosaic. However, he seemed quite faint. Sick, almost. He made some strange faces from time to time, as if he was in pain. He didn’t come out with the ecstatic lecture I had expected. We had discussed the mosaic before, and we did not agree about it. He wanted to use it as a recurring theme in the book. A kind of symbol. That he was open to the world, the past, the future, and the spiritual. It sounds crazy, doesn’t it? That was what I tried to tell him, in fine turns of phrase. For some idiotic reason he thought I would be more convinced if he was able to show me the actual building. It is impressive, but …
H.W.:
There’s something here I don’t quite understand. We have … We have reason to believe that Brede Ziegler had … a good excuse, on health grounds, to call off the meeting. You say yourself that he seemed in a bad way. Why was it so important for him to meet you? At that particular time?
I.F.:
I think … I don’t entirely know if you understand what kind of person Brede Ziegler really was. He had an absolutely extreme need to – how should I put it? – direct! Direct his own life, like in a film. If anyone had objections to his way of thinking, he wasn’t able to deal with that like the rest of us. Give in, that is. Maybe occasionally admit that others are right. It seemed as if it was some kind of sport … No, more than that. It was (noticeable raising of voice) imperative for the man to be right. We had come so far with the pictures for the book that it was actually too late to use the mosaic as a recurring theme anyway. He understood that. He wasn’t stupid, Brede Ziegler. He was just … He wanted to convince me, and he had to do it there and then. That Sunday. The following Monday we were to devise a strategy for the next stage of work that would make it impossible to make major changes. I think nothing could stop him.
H.W.:
Let’s go back to what happened. You said that he had a surprise for you?
I.F.:
A surprise? (Silence.) That turned out to be pretty fatal. It was the knife. The knife he was killed with. (Silence, lengthy pause, indistinct sounds, talking?) May I smoke?
H.W.:
The accused gets cigarettes. Billy T., can you fetch an ashtray? Okay, there’s one here. Then we can continue. The knife?
I.F.:
It was the knife that was the surprise. A present for me. He had it with him, wrapped up in gift paper and all that. I don’t know what he imagined. It was bordering on bribery. That I should go along with the ridiculous mosaic theme, if he paid court to me with presents. The whole … (Lengthy pause.)
H.W.:
The whole what?
I.F.:
It all stemmed from an incident a few days earlier. Suzanne Klavenæs had taken a photo of some raw ingredients on a flat stone on the seashore. Fish and fennel and … well. Raw ingredients. The picture was very successful, especially the light. We discussed the possibility of using it on the endpapers of the book. The ones pasted on the inside of … However that may be, Brede went into total reverse mode. At the far edge of the picture you could see the handle of a knife. It was apparently the wrong knife. It was hardly visible, but all the same he kicked up a terrible commotion and threatened to withdraw from the whole project if we didn’t reject the picture. I grew quite impatient, to put it mildly. I mean, associating with these authors is sometimes pretty demanding and … Anyway. He gave me chapter and verse on kitchen utensils.
B.T.:
But this was a few days earlier, you said. What happened on Sunday night?
I.F.:
He took out the parcel. Began to open it, while saying something about artists always requiring the best tools if the art is to be divine. It was absolutely insufferable to listen to – it was after all only a knife! He even made a comparison with how top-class violinists needed a Stradivarius to attain their goal. The worst of it was that I had heard it all before, of course. But I
said nothing. Thought it best to get it over and done with so that I could go home. He kept going with that nonsense as he unwrapped the paper. Underneath was a golden-colored box with black Japanese symbols on it. When he lifted the lid, he held the box out to me. So that I could take the knife. He said I should feel it. Feel how light it weighed. I did as he asked.
H.W.:
So you held the knife in your hand. Were you wearing gloves?
I.F.:
Yes, I was wearing gloves. I just wanted to leave, didn’t I? And I certainly didn’t want that knife. But Brede had taken off one of his gloves, to untie the ribbon, most likely. He had dropped it on the ground, or on the steps, to be more precise. I was about to bend down to pick it up, but then I took hold of the knife when he held it out to me.
Lawyer:
Think carefully, Idun, before you go any further. This is an important—
B.T.:
Defense Counsel, don’t interrupt the statement. You can—
I.F.:
(Interrupts, in a loud voice.) It’s not necessary. Don’t start with all that! I want to tell it as it was. I stabbed him with the knife, okay? Is that clear? I pushed the knife into him! My God, if it hadn’t been for that damned knife, I’d have contented myself with slapping his face! I … We were standing on the steps and I stabbed him, he made some gurgling noises, and then he buckled. It all happened so unbelievably fast. I must have hit a really vital organ. For some reason I wiped the handle with a paper hankie. Idiotic. After all, I was wearing gloves, and I … The peculiar thing was that there was so little blood. Coming out of him, I mean. When I got home, I found specks of blood on my gloves, no more than that. I threw away those gloves. Together with the box that I had taken with me, for some strange reason. When he collapsed … I shook him. But it was too late. He was dead. He died almost instantly. (Pause, clears throat, crying?) Then I ran. I ran home. That was it. (Quiet, sound of match striking.) That must have been when I lost my scarf. When I shook him. But I didn’t notice at the time.
B.T.:
But I don’t entirely understand … You say that you were standing talking to Brede Ziegler. You were slightly annoyed with him. He was going to give you a present. You take the knife in your hand and you stab him with it. But why? Why did you do it? Because you were annoyed that the man wanted to show you a mosque?
I.F.:
I can’t explain it. That’s just how things turned out.
B.T.:
You’ve almost certainly been with people who weren’t exactly your favorites a number of times in your life, without stabbing them for that reason. You haven’t as much as a speeding fine on your record.
I.F.:
No, but there probably weren’t so many people I’ve met in my life that I disliked as passionately as Brede. You’ve talked to Thale, haven’t you? You know what he did to our family.
B.T.:
Yes. We understand that you were angry with him. But you’ve left him in peace for more than twenty years, so why did you kill him at this particular time?
I.F.:
(Extremely loud voice.) That’s just how things turned out, I tell you! He stood there, in front of me … He had given me a knife, it was as if he was asking for it … (Crying.)
Lawyer:
I suggest we take a break. My client is completely exhausted. She must have a chance to compose herself.
H.W.:
That’s fine, we’ll have a break. Interview concluded – the time is … 12.47. (The tape is switched off.)
H.W.:
The time is now 13.43: the interview with the accused, Idun Franck, is resumed. The accused has been to the toilet. She has been offered food, but does not want to eat. Coffee has been served. Are you ready to continue?
I.F.:
Yes, I’m ready.
B.T.:
Let’s go back to how you knew Brede Ziegler. When did you meet him for the first time?
I.F.:
When did I meet him for the first time? (Laughter.) That depends who you mean. I met Freddy Johansen nearly twenty-four years ago. Once. That was enough. I met Brede Ziegler for the first time in August this year. At the publishing house. He didn’t recognize me. That was maybe not so strange. Twenty-four years leave their mark, and then I’ve got a different name now. I was married for a few years. I’ve already told you about the book. It was my idea that I should help him with the writing. The publishing firm thought it was a brilliant idea, but Brede was a bit skeptical. He had a preference for a bigger name. And someone familiar with Italy. He actually asked for Erik Fosnes Hansen. As if he’d have time for that sort of thing … Ghostwriter for a … Well. I asked a couple of people. Writers. In such a way that I knew they’d turn it down. So he had to make do with me. Brede had no idea that I was Thale’s sister, and I didn’t mention it.
B.T.:
But did you know that Brede was Daniel’s father?
I.F.:
I’ve always known that Freddy Johansen was Daniel’s father. But he disappeared off the scene, of course, and we’ve never missed him. When he was resurrected as Brede Ziegler, it was as if he didn’t have anything to do with us. Not until Daniel fell ill.
B.T.:
Ill, in what way?
I.F.:
When Daniel was fourteen, he became seriously ill. He needed a kidney transplant in order to survive. Thale was investigated, but she wasn’t suitable as a donor. (Pause, raised voice.) Thale’s already told you all this!
H.W.:
Tell us about it all the same.
I.F.:
We were desperate. I asked the hospital to send a request to Brede Ziegler. At the same time I allowed myself to be investigated, but the chances were slight, since Thale had not been suitable. But it was okay, after all. Daniel could receive my kidney. He was restored to health. But Brede … (Voice disappears, crying.) He couldn’t even be bothered to reply. He couldn’t be bothered to reply! I’ve never thought highly of either Brede Ziegler or Freddy Johansen, but that he was willing simply to let his son die … (Lengthy crying, mumbling, indistinct speech.) That’s something I can never forgive.
H.W.:
Tell us about Daniel.
I.F.:
I’m his aunt. He’s my nephew. I love him. You’ve talked to Thale, so you know that we’ve sort of shared him between us. Brought him up together, so to speak.
H.W.:
Yes, we know that. But tell us about him. Properly. Did you speak to Daniel yesterday?
I.F.:
How do you know that? That was the worst thing. Talking to Daniel … (Fierce crying.) I’m going to lose him, and he still needs me …
Lawyer:
Idun, does this mean that you didn’t sleep last night? I would like that noted in the interview transcript. That my client is suffering from severe lack of sleep. We can take another break if you need it.
I.F.:
No, I’d like to talk about it … (Wipes nose?) I’ve often been asked if I have any children. I answer no, because I don’t really. It doesn’t seem appropriate to be an aunt who’s totally devoted to her nephew. But I’ve often thought of it as Daniel having been born twice. Once to Thale, and then to me. When he got my kidney. When we were on the verge of losing him, it dawned on me that Daniel is the only person in my life that I’ve been really close to. Always. For as long as he’s lived. I’ve not actually wanted another child. (Quiet.) I need some more water, please. But it’s not just that … That he got my kidney, and that I looked after him so much when he was small. It’s … it’s like … People usually say that a child needs a mother and a father. Two parents, isn’t that so? Daniel doesn’t have a father. He has Thale, but she is – how shall I put it? – extremely level-headed. Daniel has needed me, because I don’t only see the world from a practical viewpoint. What soul Thale has, she puts into her roles on the stage. Apart from that, she’s quite hard-nosed. At home with me, Daniel has had a chance to express his feelings. His wonderment. He’s a sensitive boy a
nd … I’ve tried to show him that the world is a bit more than mere practical duties and the theater. (Burst of laughter, lengthy pause.) I’ll give you an example. Daniel knows that Brede is his father. He learned that from Thale on his eighteenth birthday. In a matter-of-fact way. She thought he had the right to know, but it was nothing to make a fuss about. Now, when Brede died, I’ve noticed that Daniel has been confused and unhappy. Naturally (burst of laughter, sob?) I haven’t wanted to talk to Daniel about his father’s death. But of course I’ve seen what it has done to him. He has seemed quite desperate, and he’s too young to carry it all by himself. Thale didn’t want to mention it until there was talk of an inheritance. (Slight laughter.) But I’ve been a bit too much of a mother hen as far as Daniel is concerned. What has tormented Daniel most of all lately is not his father’s death. He’s sorry about that, of course: Brede’s death robbed him of his last hope of ever having a father. But when I spoke to him last night I managed to drag out of him why he wanted to sell my father’s books. Immediately after my father’s funeral, Daniel invited me to come to Paris with him. He said that it was his turn to do something for me. I realized that it was important to him for me to accept, but I didn’t really think much about where he had obtained the money. He said that he had saved for a long time. It turns out that he had borrowed the money from a friend who had just had his student loan paid out, and Daniel had taken it, with no second thoughts. You see, he was so sure that his inheritance from his grandfather was right round the corner. (Pause.) Daniel cried a lot last night. He thought it was shameful that the first time he did anything grown-up and treated me, it had been on credit. He would never have asked me for money to pay for my own present, even though he was about to ruin his friend’s studies. But I sorted it out this morning. The money was transferred to Eskild before you arrived.
B.T.:
Does Daniel know that you killed his father?
I.F.:
No. I couldn’t cope with telling him. Daniel just has to live with the fact that he has parents who have made his life very difficult, and I only hope that he … (fierce crying) can move on.
