Calling Out For You

by Karin Fossum

  "I was busy swerving to avoid it," Linda said.

  "But what did you see then? What did they look like?"

  "I don't remember. A man and a woman."

  "But pale or dark, fat or thin. Things like that?"

  "Dunno," Linda said. They were silent for a moment. Einar was at work behind the bar.

  "But how about the car? If you think about it. Old or new. Big or small?"

  "Not very big. Paintwork was quite nice. Red anyway."

  "Is that all you can remember?"

  "Yes. But if I saw one like it, I'd recognise it. I think."

  "I think you should call," Karen said again. "Talk to your mum, she'll help you."

  Linda pulled a face at the idea. "Couldn't we ring together? What if I say something stupid? Do I have to give them my name?"

  "Dunno. You won't say something stupid. They'll just note down what you say and compare it with other stuff they know. If more people have seen a red car, they'll start looking for a red car. Something like that."

  Linda was still stricken by doubt. Caught between the desire actually to have seen something and the fear of deluding herself. All the same, it was tempting. "The police have a key witness in the Hvitemoen case. The witness spotted a car and we now have a partial description of two people seen in the area."

  What had they in fact looked like? She remembered something blue, dark blue perhaps, and something white. The man wore a white shirt. The woman was dressed in something dark. She wanted to go home and watch the news.

  "I have to think about it," she said.

  Karen nodded. "Before you call you need to write everything down so you know what you want to say. They'll probably ask you a lot of questions. Where you were coming from, where you were going, and what you saw. What time it was."

  "OK," Linda said. "I'll write it all down."

  They emptied their glasses and shouted "See ya" to Einar. His expression told them he was miles away.

  Gunder had let go of Marie's hand. He was sleeping soundly now, his chin resting on his chest. He was dreaming of Poona. Of her smile and the large white teeth. He dreamt of Marie as a little girl, considerably chubbier then. While he was sleeping, the door opened and two nurses rolled in a bed. Gunder woke up and blinked in confusion.

  "I think you should lie down," Ragnhild said, smiling. "Look. Some sandwiches for you. And there's coffee, if you'd like some."

  He jerked upright in the chair. Looked at the bed and the food. The dark-haired, sullen nurse did not look at him. They checked the drip-counter and cleaned the tube. Lie down? He ran his hand over his forehead and felt the tiredness like a lead weight on his head. What if Karsten turned up while he was sleeping? He had a tendency to snore sometimes. He imagined his brother-in-law, pale with worry after the long journey from Hamburg. He imagined himself snoring on the bed or with his mouth full of sandwich. He looked away from the food. There was pate and ham with cucumber and a glass of milk. But some coffee, perhaps?

  "I think you should lie down," Ragnhild said again.

  "No," said Gunder appalled. "I'll have to stay awake. In case anything happens."

  "It'll be a while before your brother-in-law gets here. We can wake you in an hour if you want us to. But you need some food at least."

  He stared at the newly made-up bed.

  "You won't help your sister by wearing yourself out," she said gently. The dark-haired nurse said nothing. She opened a window and closed the catch with a bang. Her movements were hard and determined. He considered the option of sleeping in the bed and being woken by this dark-haired witch.

  "You do what you like," Ragnhild said. "But we're here to help."

  "Yes," Gunder said.

  They left. He looked at the food. It was wholemeal bread. He fetched the tray and balanced it on his lap. Ate quietly. The food became him and it surprised him. Afterwards he felt sleepy. He drank two cups of coffee at high speed and felt it scald his throat. It was good coffee. The respirator was working. Marie's hands were yellowish against the white sheet. He put the tray on a table by the window. Sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. Perhaps Poona had arrived. Perhaps she was at home at Blindveien waiting for him. He remembered that the door was unlocked. To leave the house without locking the door was so unlike him. He rubbed his eyes hard. Pushed off his shoes. Turned and saw the white duvet with the sharp folds. Just a short nap, he thought. His body was stiff and aching after the long time spent in the chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

  He awoke with a start. Karsten was standing watching him. Gunder leapt up from the bed so quickly that he felt dizzy and collapsed back on the bed.

  "I didn't mean to alarm you." His brother-in-law looked tired. "I've been sitting here a while. They told me everything. You must be worn out."

  Gunder got up for the second time, this time gingerly.

  "No. I was at home last night. But I slept in a chair. I must have dozed off," he said, taken aback.

  "You've been asleep a long time." Karsten fumbled with his hands helplessly. "You can go home now, Gunder. I'll sit here. I'll stay tonight."

  They looked at one another. Karsten seemed older than usual as he sat on the chair by the bed. "I can't imagine how this is going to end," he mumbled. "What if her brain's been damaged? What's going to become of us?"

  "They don't know anything about that yet," Gunder said.

  "But what if she stays like this forever?" He buried his face in his hands.

  "They think she'll wake up," Gunder said.

  "They said so?"

  "Yes."

  Karsten watched his wife's brother, but he did not say anything. His suitcase and a briefcase were against a wall.

  "We were out sailing," he said. "I didn't take my mobile."

  "I understand," Gunder said. "Don't give yourself a hard time." Gunder felt better because his brother-in-law had arrived and because he had had a rest. The thought of Poona also returned along with the alertness. And the dead woman at Hvitemoen.

  "So you've been to India?" Karsten said. "Found yourself a wife and everything. She's here now, I suppose?" He sounded embarrassed.

  "Haven't you heard the news?" Gunder said, tense.

  His brother-in-law shook his head.

  "There's been a murder at Hvitemoen. A foreign woman. They don't know who she is."

  Karsten was bemused by Gunder's strange changing of the subject. And at that moment Gunder collapsed and buried his head in his hands.

  "Karsten. There's something I have to tell you."

  "Yes?" Karsten said.

  Just then the door opened and the sullen, dark-haired nurse swept into the room.

  "It can wait." Gunder got up abruptly and buttoned his jacket.

  "Go home now and get some rest," Karsten said.

  He pulled up outside his driveway. Sat at the wheel and stared through the window. Then, without being clear of his reasons for doing so, he drove on towards Hvitemoen. He wanted to drive slowly past, to have a look at this place everyone was talking about. He knew it well. Opposite the meadow a cart track led down to a lake. They called the lake Norevann. When he was a boy he used to go swimming there with Marie. Or rather she had swum. He had splashed about in the shallow water. He had never learned to swim. Poona doesn't know that, he thought, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. As he approached, he started looking left, so that he would not miss it. Coming around the bend he noticed two police cars. He stopped the car and sat there watching them. Two policemen were at the edge of the wood. He saw red and white striped tape everywhere and was so flustered that he reversed rapidly so that the car was hidden by the trees. He did not know that the red Volvo had already been spotted. He sat very still and tried to get a sense of what he was feeling. If what had happened out on the meadow involved Poona in any way then he would have felt it, wouldn't he? He put his hand in his inside pocket and got out the marriage certificate, which he carried close to his heart. Read the few lines and the names on the
paper over and over. Miss Poona Bai, born on June 1st, 1962, and Mr Gunder Jomann, born on October 10th, 1949. It was a pretty piece of paper. Champagne coloured with a border. The seal of the courthouse at the top. Actual proof. Now he didn't think anyone would believe him. He sighed deeply and crumpled a little. He was startled by a sudden loud noise and he jerked to one side. A policeman was tapping on his window. He folded the document.

  "Police," the officer said.

  Well, obviously, Gunder thought in a flash of irritation. The man was wearing a uniform, after all.

  "Everything all right?"

  Gunder gave him a mystified look. Nothing was all right. However, it occurred to him that it was no wonder he was being asked the question. His face felt grimy. His clothes were creased after the many hours spent in the bed at the hospital. He was worn out and needed a shave. He had pulled over on the roadside and was sitting there like some lost soul.

  "I just needed a rest. I live close by," he said hurriedly.

  "May I see your driving licence and vehicle registration documents?" the officer said.

  Gunder looked at him tentatively. Why? Perhaps he thought he had been driving while intoxicated? That's probably how it appeared. He could safely breathe into the device, he had not had a drink since he was in Mumbai. He found the vehicle registration documents in the glove compartment and pulled out his wallet. The officer kept watching him. Suddenly he was interrupted by the crackling of his walkie-talkie. He sniffed and muttered something which Gunder did not hear. Then he made some notes, put the walkie-talkie back on his belt and studied Gunder's driving licence.

  "Gunder Jomann, born 1949?"

  "Yes," Gunder said.

  "You live close by?"

  "Towards the village. A kilometre from here."

  "Where are you heading?"

  "I'm on my way home."

  "Then you're going the wrong way," the officer said, scrutinising him.

  "I know," Gunder stuttered. "I was curious, that's all . . . about what has happened."

  "What do you mean?" the officer said. Gunder felt like giving up. Why was he feigning ignorance?

  "The foreign woman. I heard the news."

  "The area has been cordoned off," the officer told him.

  "So I see. I'm going home now."

  He got his documents back and was about to drive off. The officer stuck his head inside the car as if he wanted to snoop around. Gunder froze.

  "I know I look tired," he said quickly. "But the thing is that my sister's in hospital. She's in a coma. I've been watching over her. It was a car accident."

  "I see," the policeman said. "You'd better get home and have a rest."

  Gunder stayed for a while until the man had disappeared. Then he drove another ten metres, turned the Volvo on the dirt track and headed home. The officer was all the time watching him. Speaking into his walkie-talkie.

  Behaved rather strangely. Seemed as if he was scared of something. I wrote down his details just in case.

  *

  No suitcase in the hall, no Poona in the living room. The house was empty. The rooms were dark, it had been daylight when he left and he had not left any lights on. He sat in his armchair for a long time, staring stiffly into space. The incident at Hvitemoen disturbed him. He had a feeling of having done something stupid. The policeman had behaved strangely. Surely it was no-one's business if he went driving and no-one's business where he stopped. Gunder felt dizzy. This business with Poona, everything that had happened in India, perhaps it was all a dream. Something he had made up sitting in Tandel's Tandoori. Who goes abroad and practically picks a wife, like others pick fruit in harvest time? It must be this book, People of All Nations, which had put ideas into my head. He could see the red spine on the shelf. Forced himself to switch on the light. Turn on the TV. There would be news in half an hour. At the same time he was petrified, he didn't want to know any more. But he had to know! They might come out with something which absolutely eliminated Poona. The victim might turn out to be from China. Or from North Africa. The victim, who is in her early twenties, the victim, who has yet to be identified, has a very unusual tattoo which covers her back. His imagination ran riot. Outside, all was quiet.

  Chapter 8

  As always, Konrad Sejer's lined face displayed the appropriate formal expression. Not many people had ever heard him laugh out loud, even fewer had seen him angry. But his expression betrayed tension; there was an alertness in the grey eyes which bore witness to solemnity, curiosity and passion. He kept his colleagues at a distance. Jacob Skarre was the exception. Sejer was twenty years his senior, nevertheless the pair was often spotted deep in conversation. Skarre was munching yet another jelly baby. Sejer was sucking a Fisherman's Friend. In addition Skarre was the only one in the department who had achieved the feat of persuading the inspector to go out for a beer after work. And on a weekday too. Some people thought Sejer was weird and arrogant. Skarre knew that he was shy. Sejer addressed him as Skarre when they were in company. He only ever called him Jacob when they were alone. Sejer had paused at one of the drinking fountains. He bent down over the jet and slurped up the cool water. He felt a certain dread. The man he was looking for might be a pleasant man. With the same hopes and dreams in life as he himself had had. He had been a child once; someone had loved him very much. He had ties, obligations and responsibilities, and a place in society he was about to lose. Sejer walked on. He never wasted much time thinking about his own affairs. However, deep inside this formal character was a huge appetite for people. Who they were, why they behaved as they did. Whenever he caught a guilty person and obtained a genuine confession he could close the case and file it. This time he was not so sure. Not only had the woman been killed, she had been beaten to a pulp. To kill was in itself extreme. To destroy a body afterwards was bestial. He held many and frequently contradicting views about the concept of crime; primarily he was concerned with all the things they had yet to discover.

  There was a woman in his life. Sara Struel, a psychiatrist. She had her own key to his house and came and went as she pleased. There was always a slight excitement in his body when he climbed the thirteen floors to his flat and reached the top. He could see from the narrow, dark crack between the door and the doorstep whether she was there or not. He also had a dog, Kollberg. It was his one personal extravagance. Sometimes at night the heavy animal sneaked up on to his bed. Then he would pretend to be asleep and not notice. But Kollberg weighed 70 kilos and the mattress sagged mightily when he settled at the foot of the bed.

  He came into the duty office and nodded briefly to Skarre and Soot, who were manning the hotline.

  "Do we know who she is?"

  "No."

  He looked at his watch. "Who are the calls coming from?"

  "Attention-seekers, mostly."

  "That's inevitable. Anything interesting at all?"

  "Car observations. Two callers have reported seeing a red car drive towards Hvitemoen. One has seen a black taxi going at a hell of a speed towards town. There's hardly any traffic along that stretch, apart from between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. Plus a number of complaints about journalists. Any other news?"

  "The reports from the door-to-door interviews are being typed up now. All forensic samples have been sent off," Sejer said. "They promised to make it top priority. We've got forty people working on this case. He won't get away."

  He studied the list of incoming telephone numbers. The numbers were preceded by the same four digits, which identified them as mostly people from Elvestad or the vicinity who were calling. As he was standing there, the phone went again. Skarre pressed the speaker button. A voice could be heard in the room.

  "Hello, I'm calling from Elvestad. My name is Kalle Moe. Is this the police?"

  "It is."

  "It's about the business at Hvitemoen."

  "I'm listening."

  "It's actually about a friend of mine. Or rather, an acquaintance. He's a really decent bloke, so I'm a bit worried that I might be ca
using problems for him."

  "But you're calling all the same. Can you help us?"

  Sejer took note of the man's voice: middle-aged and very nervous.

  "Perhaps. You see, it so happens that this acquaintance of mine, he lives alone and has done for years. A little while back he went on holiday. To India."

  The mention of India made Sejer pay attention.

  "Yes?"

  "And then he came back."

  Skarre waited. A silence followed. Soot shook his head dismissively.

  "Well, then, on the afternoon of August 20th, he called because he needed help."

  "He needed help?" Skarre said to nudge the long-winded story to a useful point.

  "His sister had fetched up in hospital following a car crash. Seriously injured."

  Another silence. Skarre rolled his eyes. Sejer put a finger to his mouth.

  "He had to go to the hospital immediately, of course, to be with her. It's a terrible business. But he called me because he was in fact supposed to have been at Gardermoen."

  "Gardermoen airport?" Skarre said.

  "He was expecting a visitor from abroad. And – would you believe it? – he told me that during his fortnight in India he had managed to get himself married!"

  Skarre smiled. The man's reaction to something so bizarre was expressed in an excited crescendo.

  "So this woman I was asked to collect, she was, in other words, his wife. His Indian wife."

  Sejer and Skarre exchanged glances.

  "Ah!" Skarre smiled, affected by the man's excitement.

  "But as it turned out, I never found her."

  The caller struggled with his complicated story. The three men listened intently. They recognised that this was important, the very first step on the way to a result.

  "She was supposed to land at six o'clock," the narrative continued. "But she never turned up."

  "Why hasn't he called himself?" Skarre said.

  "That's what's worrying me. I did call him later to know if she had arrived. Perhaps taken another taxi. You see, I'm a taxi driver in Elvestad. In fact, the only one," he said. "Or she might have gone to a hotel, something like that. But his reply was so vague. I don't think he dares to think about it. He's not quite himself and it's all become too much for him, with his sister and everything. That's why I'm calling."