by Karin Fossum
‘But they knew each other, do we agree on that?’
‘Knew and knew. They had some kind of relationship, yes.’ Sejer seated himself and put the ruler away in the drawer. ‘Well, we’ll have to begin at the beginning again. We must find out who wanted to buy that car. Use the list from October and begin at the top. It might be one of his workmates.’
‘The same people?’ Soot looked at him dubiously. ‘Are we going to ask the same questions all over again?’
‘What do you mean?’ Sejer raised an eyebrow.
‘I mean that we ought to be finding new people. The answers will be the same as last time. I mean, nothing’s really changed.’
‘Hasn’t it? Perhaps you’ve not been listening all that carefully, but we’ve actually found the victim now. Stuck like a pig. And you say nothing’s changed?’
He fought to hold back a note of arrogance. ‘I mean, we’re not going to get different answers because of that.’
‘That,’ said Sejer holding back an even larger one, ‘remains to be seen, doesn’t it?’
Karlsen closed the file with a little snap.
*
Sejer replaced Einarsson’s folder in the filing cabinet. He filed it next to the Durban case, and thought that now they could keep each other company. Maja Durban and Egil Einarsson. Both were dead, but no one knew why. Then he leant back in his chair and placed his long legs on the desk, patted his backside and fished out his wallet. Jammed in between his driving and skydiving licences he found the picture of his grandson, Matteus. He had just turned four, he could recognise most makes of car and had already had his first fight, which he’d lost grievously. It had been a bit of a surprise, that time he’d gone to Fornebu Airport to pick up his daughter Ingrid and son-in-law Erik, who’d been in Somalia for three years. She as a nurse, he as a Red Cross doctor. She’d been standing at the top of the aircraft steps, tanned golden all over and with her hair bleached by the sun. For one wild second it had been like seeing Elise, that first time they’d met. She carried the little boy on her arm. He was four months old at the time, chocolate brown, with crinkly hair and the darkest eyes he’d ever seen. The Somalis were a beautiful race, he thought. And he gazed at the photo for a while before replacing it. It was quiet in the Portakabins now, and in most of the large adjacent building. He pushed two fingers into his shirtsleeve and scratched his elbow. The skin flaked off. Underneath there was new, pink skin which also flaked off. He pulled his jacket off the chair back and locked up, then he paid a lightning visit to Mrs Brenningen on the reception desk. She put down her book immediately. In any case, she’d reached a promising love scene and wanted to save it for when she was under the bedclothes. They exchanged a few words, then he nodded briefly and headed for Rosenkrantzgate and Egil Einarsson’s widow.
Chapter 4
HE GLANCED QUICKLY in the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. Because it was short he didn’t alter its appearance at all. It was more an act of ritual than vanity.
Sejer took every opportunity to get out of the office. He drove rather slowly through the town centre; he always drove slowly, his car was old and sluggish, a large blue Peugeot 604 which he’d never had any reason to change. In snowy conditions it was like driving a sledge. Soon he was passing colourful houses, each home to four families. They were on his right, pink, yellow and green; the sun was shining on them now making them glow invitingly. They’d been built in the fifties and possessed a certain patina that newer houses didn’t have. The trees were well grown, the gardens fertile, or at least they would be when the spring arrived. But it was still cold, spring was late in coming. They’d had dry weather for a long time, and blobs of dirty snow lay like rubbish in the gutters. His eyes searched for number 16 and recognised the well-maintained green house the moment he saw it. The entrance was a chaos of trikes, lorries and plastic toys of all kinds, which the children had indiscriminately brought out from cellars and attics. Bare asphalt was always tempting after a long winter. He parked and rang the bell.
After a few moments she came to the door, with a thin little boy hanging on to her skirts.
‘Mrs Einarsson,’ he said, bowing slightly, ‘may I come in?’ Jorun Einarsson nodded vaguely and a touch unwillingly, but she hadn’t many people to talk to. He was standing quite close to her, and she caught the smell of him, a mixture of jacket leather and a discreet aftershave lotion.
‘I don’t know any more than I did last autumn,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Well, apart from the fact he’s dead. But I was expecting that, of course. I mean, the way the car looked …’ She put an arm around the boy as if to protect them both.
‘But now we’ve found him, Mrs Einarsson. So things are a bit different, aren’t they?’ He kept quiet and waited.
‘It must have been some nutcase who wanted money.’ She shook her head distractedly. ‘Well, his wallet had gone. You saw that his wallet had gone. Even though he had only a hundred kroner. But people kill just for loose change nowadays.’
‘I promise this won’t take long.’
She gave in and retreated down the corridor. Sejer stood in the doorway to the living room and looked about. He always felt a certain dismay when it struck him just how similar people were; he saw it in their living rooms, how they filled them. They were the same everywhere, arranged in the same symmetry, with the television and video as a kind of focal point for the rest of the furniture. This was where the family huddled together to get warm. Mrs Einarsson had a pink leather suite and a shaggy white carpet under the coffee table. It was a feminine room. She’d lived alone for six months, maybe she’d spent the time expunging any masculine influence, if there’d been any to begin with. Then, as now, he could see no trace of loss or love for the man they’d found in the black river water, grey and perforated like an old sponge. What anguish there had been was directed towards other things, practical things. What was she going to live on and how could she get out and find another man when she hadn’t got the money for a babysitter? Such thoughts depressed him. They caused him to examine the wedding photo above the sofa, a somewhat lavish portrait of the young Jorun with bleached hair. Standing next to her was Egil Einarsson, slender and smooth-cheeked like a confirmation candidate and sporting a thin moustache. They posed to the best of their ability before a mediocre photographer, very concerned with their appearance. Not with one another.
‘I’ve got some coffee in the pot,’ she said hesitantly.
He said yes. It would be good to have something to hold on to, even if it was only the handle of a cup. The boy trotted into the kitchen after his mother, but peeped at him stealthily from behind the door. He was thin, with a few freckles on his nose and hair that was too long and fell into his eyes all the time. In a few years he’d resemble the man in the wedding photo.
‘I’ve forgotten your name,’ Sejer said, smiling encouragingly.
The boy withheld his name for a moment, twisting the sole of his trainer into the lino and smiling shyly.
‘Jan Henry.’
Sejer nodded. ‘Ah, Jan Henry, of course. Can I ask you something, Jan Henry – do you collect pins?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve got twenty-four. On my cowboy hat.’
‘Bring it here,’ Sejer smiled, ‘and I’ll give you another one. One you certainly won’t have.’
The boy shot round the corner and made for his bedroom. He returned with the hat on his head, it was much too large. He removed it with respect.
‘They prick so much inside,’ he explained, ‘so I can’t wear it.’
‘Look here,’ said Sejer, ‘a police pin. I got this from Mrs Brenningen at the station. Not bad, eh?’
The boy nodded. He searched the hat for a place of honour for the small golden pin, resolutely demoted an older one, and stuck the police pin in the middle at the front. His mother entered and gave a smile.
‘Go to your room,’ she said briskly, ‘me and the man have got to talk.’
He put the hat on his head again and vanished.
‘We’re still looking for this purchaser, Mrs Einarsson, just as we were before. For some reason your husband suddenly wanted to sell the car, even though he’d never discussed it with you. He went off to show it to someone and never returned. Perhaps someone had expressed an interest in it, stopped him in the street or whatever. Perhaps someone wanted that precise model, and got in touch. Or maybe someone was out to get him, just him, not the car, but they used it to lure him out of the house. Tempted him to sell. Do you know if he was in financial straits?’
She shook her head and crunched one of the dissolving lumps of sugar.
‘You asked me that before. No, not financial straits. I mean, not that bad. But everyone needs money, don’t they, we weren’t well off. And now it’s even worse. And I can’t even get a playschool place. And I get migraines,’ she massaged her temples lightly as if to demonstrate that he had to treat her gently, or it might strike like lightning at any moment, ‘and it isn’t so easy to work with a handicap like that, alone with a kid and all.’
He nodded sympathetically. ‘But you’re not aware that he used money to gamble, or that he had a loan, perhaps a private loan, which he was having difficulty managing?’
‘He didn’t have one. He wasn’t a genius, but he wasn’t a fool either. We managed. He had a job and everything. And he only spent money on the car, and an occasional beer at the pub. He could mouth off sometimes, but he wasn’t tough enough to get involved in anything, I mean, anything illegal. At least I don’t think so. And we were married for eight years, so I think I know him fairly well. Knew him, I mean. And I can’t just sit here saying things about Egil either, even if he is dead.’ She drew breath at last.
‘You can’t remember if any of his mates ever expressed a wish to own the car?’
‘Well, yes, I’m sure they did. But he wouldn’t sell. Didn’t even like lending it.’
‘And you don’t remember phone calls in the days before he disappeared that might have been about the car?’
‘No.’
‘What was he like that evening when he left?’
‘I’ve told you already. Just like normal. He got home from work at three-thirty. He was on early shift. Then he had a pizza Mexicana, and coffee, and lay in the garage all evening.’
‘Lay?’
‘Under the car. And tinkered. He was fixated with that car. Afterwards he washed it. I was busy in the house and didn’t give it a thought until he came in right in the middle of Casino and said he was off out to show the car to someone.’
‘No name?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing about where they were going to meet?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t ask why he wanted to sell it?’
She touched her hair and shook her head. ‘I didn’t get involved with the car. I haven’t even got a driving licence. It didn’t matter to me what car we had, so long as we had one. And he didn’t say he was going to sell it, either, just that he was going to show it to someone. And that wasn’t necessarily the murderer. He could have met someone, or given someone a lift, or whatever, I don’t know. This town is full of loonies, it’s because of all this heroin, I don’t know why you lot can’t put a stop to it. Think of Jan Henry who’ll have to grow up here, he’s not exactly got a strong character, he’s like his dad for that.’
‘A strong character,’ said Sejer smiling, ‘is something one develops over time. Perhaps we should allow him a few more years yet. But we advertised for that prospective purchaser in the newspapers and on television,’ he reminded her, ‘and no one came forward. No one dared. Either your husband lied when he left home that evening, perhaps he was off to do something quite different – or that purchaser was the actual killer.’
‘Lied?’ She gave him an offended stare. ‘If you think he had dirty secrets, you’re wrong. He wasn’t that sort. And there was no one after him either, women didn’t find him that attractive, if you must know. If he said he was going to show the car to someone, that’s the truth.’
She said this in a forthright manner that convinced him. He thought a bit, saw the boy come sneaking in and seat himself gingerly on the floor behind his mother. He gave him a surreptitious wink.
‘If you think further back, was there anything that was out of the ordinary in any way? Let’s say from six months before he disappeared up to the time his car was found on the dump – can you recall an episode or a period when he wasn’t quite himself, or he was worried or something like that? I mean, anything at all? Telephone calls? Letters? Maybe days he got home later than normal from work, or didn’t sleep well?’
Jorun Einarsson munched the other sugar lump, and he saw how her thoughts were travelling back. She cocked her head slightly over some memory or other, discarded it and mused on. Einarsson junior breathed noiselessly, like most little pitchers he had big ears.
‘There was some trouble at the pub one evening. I suppose there is most of the time, and anyway it wasn’t anything serious, but someone had got completely legless, so the landlord rang the police to have him taken away. It was one of Egil’s mates, from the brewery. Egil followed them and pleaded with them to let him out. He promised to drive him home and get him to bed. And obviously that’s what they did. That night he didn’t get home till half past three in the morning and I remember that he overslept the following day.’
‘Yes? Did you learn what had happened?’
‘No. Only that he’d been completely pissed. Not Egil, but the other man. Egil had the car, he was on the early shift. Anyway, I didn’t ask, that sort of thing doesn’t interest me.’
‘Was he a man who cared about other people, d’you think? It was rather good of him. He could have turned his back and left him to it.’
‘He wasn’t especially caring,’ she said, ‘since you ask. He didn’t notice his surroundings much normally. So I admit I was a bit surprised that he really had taken that trouble. Saved a bloke from a drunk and disorderly charge. Yes, I was a bit taken aback perhaps, but they were mates, after all. Quite honestly, I hadn’t thought about it much. Not before now, I mean, when you asked about it.’
‘When roughly did this happen?’
‘Oh God, I can’t remember. Shortly before he went missing.’
‘Weeks? Months?’
‘No, a few days perhaps.’
‘A few days? Did you mention that episode when we spoke to you last autumn?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘And his drunken mate, Mrs Einarsson, do you know who he was?’
She shook her head, stole a quick glance over her shoulder and caught sight of the child.
‘Jan Henry! I thought I told you to go to your room!’
He got up and slunk out of the room like an unwelcome dog. She poured more coffee.
‘The name, Mrs Einarsson,’ he said quietly.
‘No, I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘There’s so many of them, a whole gang who hang out at that pub.’
‘But he overslept the next day, didn’t you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘And they’ve got a time-clock at the brewery, haven’t they?’
‘Mmm.’
He considered. ‘And when you got the car back from our technical people, you sold it?’
‘Yes, I needed the money. Besides I can’t afford to drive anyway, so I sold the car to my brother, along with some tools that were in the back. A socket set and a jack. And some clutter which I hadn’t got a clue what it was. Besides, there was something missing, something that wasn’t ther
e.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t remember now. My brother asked about it, and we searched but couldn’t find it. I can’t remember what it was.’
‘Try. It could be important.’
‘No, I don’t think it was important, but I can’t remember what it was. We searched in the garage too.’
‘Ring the station if you remember. Could you ask your brother?’
‘He’s off travelling. But he’ll be back sometime.’
‘Thanks for the coffee, Mrs Einarsson,’ he said getting up.
She leapt up from her chair, slightly flustered and blushing because he was off so suddenly, and followed him to the door. He bowed and went to the car park. Just as he put the key in the door, he caught sight of the boy, he was standing with both feet in a flower bed, turning the soil with terrific energy. His trainers were filthy. Sejer waved.
‘Hi. Haven’t you got anyone to play with?’
‘No,’ he smiled bashfully. ‘Why haven’t you got a police car when you’re at work?’
‘Good question. But you see, I’m actually on my way home. I live a bit further along the road, and this way I don’t have to go back to the station to change cars.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Have you ever been in a police car?’
‘No.’
‘Next time I come to see your mum I’ll come in a police car. You can come for a drive with me, if you’d like.’
The boy smiled from ear to ear, but there was a shadow of doubt, perhaps it came from bitter experience.
‘It’s a promise,’ Sejer assured him. ‘And you won’t have to wait long!’ He slid in behind the steering wheel and rolled off slowly down the street. In the mirror he saw the thin arm waving.
He was still thinking about the boy as he passed the trotting course on the left and the Church of the Latter-day Saints on his right. ‘God forgive you, Konrad,’ he said to himself, ‘if you forget that police car next time.’
