by Karin Fossum
Skarre was on duty. He sat reading a paperback with his feet on the table. The cover looked gory.
‘In the early hours of the second of October,’ Sejer announced tersely, ‘there was some trouble at the King’s Arms, and we nearly arrested a man for drunkenness.’
‘Nearly?’
‘Yes. Apparently he got off at the last moment. I want to have his name.’
‘If it was entered!’
‘He was saved by a mate. More precisely by Egil Einarsson. But that could be in the report. They call him Peddik. Try it!’
‘I remember him,’ Skarre said. He bent over the keyboard and began searching while Sejer waited. Now it was evening at last, his whisky was within reach and the darkness was falling outside the window, as if the courthouse was a great parrot cage and somebody had thrown a cover over it. Everything went quiet. Skarre clicked away, cast his eyes over break-ins and domestics and stolen bikes, he used all ten digits on the keyboard.
‘Have you been on a course?’ Sejer asked.
‘Ahron,’ he answered. ‘Peter Fredrik Ahron. Tollbugata number 4.’
Sejer took in the name, pulled the bottom desk drawer out with the toe of his boot and put his foot on it.
‘Of course. The one we had dealings with when Einarsson went missing. Peter Fredrik. You interviewed him, is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I spoke to several of them. One of them was called Arvesen, I think.’
‘Can you remember anything? About Ahron?’
‘Certainly. I remember that I didn’t like the bloke. And that he was pretty nervous. I remember I was taken aback slightly, he was supposed to have had a violent quarrel with Einarsson, I learnt that afterwards when I talked to Arvesen, but it didn’t stand up to further scrutiny. He spoke very nicely about Einarsson. Said he wouldn’t have harmed a fly, and if anything had happened to him it must have been a big mistake.’
‘Did you do a routine check on their records?’
‘I did. Arvesen had fines for speeding, Einarsson was clean and Ahron had a conviction for drink-driving.’
‘You’ve got a very retentive memory, Skarre.’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘What are you reading?’
‘A crime novel.’
Sejer raised his eyebrows.
‘Don’t you read crime, Konrad?’
‘Christ, no, at least not any longer. I used to sometimes. When I was younger.’
‘This one here,’ said Skarre, waving the book, ‘is just brilliant. In a different league, you can’t put it down.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘You ought to try it, you can borrow it when I’ve finished.’
‘No thanks, I’d rather not. But at home I’ve got a whole heap of really good crime novels, which you can borrow. If you like that sort of thing.’
‘Er, are they very old?’
‘About as old as you,’ he said smiling, and gave the drawer a gentle kick. It closed with a snap.
Chapter 11
SATURDAY DAWNED CALM and clear. As he turned into Jarlsberg Aerodrome he looked at the windsock. Nodding there against its post it resembled some huge discarded condom hurled down by one of the gods. He parked, locked up and lifted his parachute out of the boot. His suit was in a carrier bag. The weather was ideal, two jumps perhaps, he thought, and caught sight of part of the younger contingent busy over at the packing table. They looked as if they’d been poured into their mauve and red and turquoise jumpsuits, and once packed their parachutes looked like small daysacks.
‘Do you spray those things on?’ he said looking at the thin boyish bodies, where every muscle, or lack of it, was visible beneath the gossamer-thin fabric.
‘That’s right,’ said a fair-haired youth. ‘You can’t get any speed up in that six-man tent you’re carrying there, you know.’ He was referring to the boiler suit. ‘But maybe it’s hectic enough at work?’
‘You could say that. This’ll slow me down a bit.’
He dropped the suit and the parachute on the ground, and stared up at the sky, shading his eyes with a hand.
‘What are we flying in?’
‘The Cessna. Five at a time, and the older ones jump first. Hauger and Bjørneberg are coming down later, so you could make up a little three-man formation. You’re all about the same weight I should imagine. Otherwise you’ll lose those old skills, you know.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said dryly. ‘But I can hold hands on the ground. One of the things I like up there,’ he said nodding skywards, ‘is the loneliness. And up there it’s really immense. You’ll understand that kind of thing when you’re older.’
Formation jumping was about as popular with Sejer as synchronised swimming. He bought a Coke from the machine and sat near the packing table for a while. He drank slowly and watched the jumpers who’d begun to descend. First there was a drop of beginners. They looked like wounded crows as they came to earth in the strangest ways. The first ended up in the ploughed field, chin first, the second struck the wing of an aggressive model plane which was buzzing in the grass. They had to share their drop zone with the aeromodelling club, a cause of constant friction which sometimes almost boiled over into hostilities. Now there were the sounds of oaths and curses. There wasn’t a perfect landing roll to be seen. It seemed so easy when you did it from a kitchen chair, he thought, that was how they practised, jumping ten or fifteen times off a kitchen chair, rolling and springing up again as easy as winking. The reality was different. He’d broken his ankle the first time, and Elise had smiled as he limped into the flat with his foot in plaster, not unkindly, but she had warned him in advance. That apart, he’d got off lightly, almost too lightly. After 2,017 jumps he’d never had to use his reserve parachute, and that in itself was disturbing. Everyone did eventually, sooner or later it would be his turn. Perhaps it’ll be today, he thought, as he always did each time he put it on the packing table getting ready for his first jump. He must never forget that sooner or later he would pull the cord, glance up at the blue sky and realise that there was no parachute above him. The blue and green parachute which he’d had for fifteen years and which he’d never had any reason to replace.
He got up again and put the bottle in the car. He looked at the lazy landscape, which was dull and flat here on the ground, but became a lovely pastel-tinted panorama at ten thousand feet. The air was crystal clear, the sun flashed brightly in the car windows. He pulled on his blue boiler suit, buckled up his parachute and ambled towards the red and white plane that was slowly coming in to land. Two youths and a girl of about sixteen clambered in first. He was sitting by the door, they were all closely packed like sardines in a tin with their knees drawn up under their chins and their arms folded around their legs. He tightened his bootlaces and pulled his leather helmet over his head, nodded to the fifth man who scrambled in and squeezed down facing him. The pilot turned, gave a thumbs-up and started the engine. There wasn’t much noise, but there was a bit of bumping as they began to move. At such moments he always tried to empty his head of thoughts, he watched the parked cars flashing past and felt the wheels leave the ground. He followed the needle on the altimeter as they rose to check that it was working. They were approaching five thousand feet. He saw the fjord twinkling blue, and the traffic on the motorway. From this altitude the cars moved slowly, as if in slow motion, although they were doing ninety or a hundred kilometres per hour. A throat was cleared, the three youngsters went through their formation with their hands, they looked like little children in brightly coloured play-suits, in the middle of a singing game. He heard the engine revs drop and tightened his chinstrap, glanced yet again at his bootlaces and at the altimeter which was still going up, and smiled a little at the stickers on the aircraft door, white clouds containing various epithets: Blue sky forever. Chickens, turn back! And: Give my regards to Mum. Then they were up, and he nodded again to Trondsen opposite to signify that he’d jump first. He turned to face the inside of the pla
ne with his back to the door and stared right into the young faces which were so strangely smooth, they really did look like small kids, he couldn’t ever remember being so sleek himself, but it was a long time ago, more than thirty years, he thought, and Trondsen opened the door, so that the noise from outside and the pressure of the wind pushed him into the small plane and prevented him from falling out until he was ready. Your parachute may not work, Konrad, he said to himself. He always said this as he sat waiting, so that he wouldn’t forget it. He gave a thumbs-up, stared unsmilingly one last time at the young faces. They didn’t smile either. Then he tipped over backwards and fell.
Chapter 12
THE FOLLOWING DAY he put Kollberg into the car again and drove to the nursing home where his mother had lived for four years. He parked in the visitors’ car park, gave the dog a quick pep talk and walked to the main entrance. He always had to psych himself up before he went, needed that extra bit of energy. It was lacking now, but a fortnight had passed since his last visit. He straightened up and nodded to the caretaker who was just coming along with a stepladder on his shoulder, he had a relaxed swing to his walk and a contented smile on his face, the sort of man who loved his job, who lacked nothing in life and who perhaps never understood what everyone else was making such a fuss about. Extraordinary. There aren’t many expressions like that, Sejer thought, and suddenly caught sight of his own gloomy face in the glass door facing him. I’m not especially happy, he thought suddenly, but then I’ve never been very concerned about it either. He took the stairs to the first floor, nodded briefly to a couple of members of staff and walked straight to her door. She had a single room. He knocked loudly three times and went in. Inside, he stopped a moment, so that the sounds could register with her, it always took a little time. There, she was turning her head. He smiled and went to her bed, pulled up the chair and encompassed her thin hand in his.
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said. Her eyes had become paler and they were very shiny. ‘It’s only me. Come to see how you’re doing.’ He squeezed her hand, but she didn’t squeeze back.
‘I was in the vicinity,’ he lied.
He felt no sense of guilt. He had to talk about something, and it wasn’t always easy.
‘I hope you’ve got all you need here.’
He looked around, as if he were checking.
‘I hope they take the time to pop in and sit on your bed now and again – the staff here. They say they do. I hope they’re telling the truth.’
She didn’t reply. She stared at him with her light eyes as if waiting for something more.
‘I haven’t brought anything with me. It’s a bit difficult, they tell me flowers aren’t very good for you, and there’s not a lot else to choose from. So I’ve just brought myself. Kollberg’s in the car,’ he added.
Her eyes relinquished him and turned towards the window.
‘It’s overcast,’ he said quickly. ‘But nice and bright. Not too cold. Hope you’ll be able to lie out on the veranda when summer comes. You always did like to get out as soon as you had the chance, just like me.’
He took her other hand as well, they were lost in his own.
‘Your nails are too long,’ he said suddenly. ‘They should be clipped.’
He felt them with his finger, they were thick and yellow.
‘It would only take a couple of minutes, I could do it, but I’m a bit clumsy I’m afraid. Haven’t they got people here who take care of that kind of thing?’
She looked at him again, with her mouth half open. Her false teeth had been removed, they claimed that they only got in her way. It made her look older than she really was. But her hair was combed and she was clean, the sheets were clean, the room was clean. He gave a small sigh. He looked at her again searching hard for the least sign of recognition, but found none. She shifted her gaze once more. When at last he got up and went to the door, she was still staring out of the window, as if she’d already forgotten him. Out in the corridor he met one of the nurses. She smiled invitingly at the tall figure, he gave a quick smile back.
‘Her nails are too long,’ he said quietly. ‘Would it be possible to do something about that?’
Then he left to struggle with the depression which always came over him after his visits to his mother. These depressions lasted a couple of hours, and then lifted.
Later, he drove out to Engelstad, but first he made a couple of phone calls. A question had arisen in his mind, and the answers he received gave him something to think about. Even people’s tiniest movements create ripples, he thought, just as the fall of a minute pebble could be registered in a totally different place on a totally different shore, a place you hadn’t even dreamt of.
Eva Magnus opened the door, dressed in a voluminous shirt which was covered in black and white paint. A block of wood wrapped in sandpaper was in her hand. He could see from her face that he was expected, and that she’d already made up her mind what she was going to say. It infuriated him.
‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Magnus. It’s been some time.’
She gave a small nod.
‘The last time it was Maja Durban – and now it’s Egil Einarsson. Strange, isn’t it?’
His comment caused her to take a deep breath.
‘I’ve only got one small question.’ He spoke politely, but not diffidently. He was never diffident. He exuded authority and, if he wanted to, could make people a trifle nervous – as he was doing now.
‘Yes, I’ve already heard about it,’ she said, and retreated a little way into the hall. She shook her long hair back over her shoulder and closed the door behind him. ‘Jostein phoned. But I’ve got nothing to add. Just that I saw that poor man float in, and that I rang you. At around five in the afternoon. Emma was with me. I can’t remember who I spoke to, if that’s what you’re wondering, but if you’ve neglected to register a call, that isn’t my problem. I did my duty if you can call it that. I haven’t got anything more to say.’
She’d rattled off her speech. She’d clearly practised it several times.
‘Help me a little with the voice anyway, so I can deal with this neglect of duty. It’s really quite serious if this sort of thing occurs. All incoming calls should be logged. It’s something we really do have to crack down on, if you know what I mean.’
She was standing with her back to him at the door of the living room, and he glimpsed the large black and white paintings which had made such an impression on him the first time. He couldn’t see her face but, like a hedgehog, all her spines were up. She knew he was bluffing, but she couldn’t say so.
‘Well, goodness, he had a perfectly normal voice. I didn’t think anything about it.’
‘East Norwegian dialect?’
‘Er, yes, I mean no, I can’t remember if there was any special dialect, I don’t notice things like that. Anyway, I was a bit stressed, with Emma and everything. And he wasn’t exactly a pleasant sight.’
She went into the living room now, still with her back towards him. He followed.
‘Old or young?’
‘No idea.’
‘In fact, it was a female officer on the desk that afternoon,’ he lied.
Eva halted in the living room. ‘Oh? Then she must have gone to the loo or something,’ she said quickly. ‘I spoke to a man, I’m sure of that at least.’
‘With a southern dialect?’
‘For God’s sake, I don’t know. It was a man, I can’t remember any more. I did phone, and there’s nothing more to say.’
‘And – what did he say?’
‘Say? Well, not much, but he asked where I was phoning from.’
‘And after that?’
‘Nothing really.’
‘But he asked you to wait at the scene?’
‘No. I just explained where it was.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. And I said it was near the Labour Party headquarters. Where the statue of the log-driver is.’
‘And then you both left?’
‘Yes, w
e went and ate. Emma was hungry.’
‘My dear Mrs Magnus,’ he said slowly, ‘are you seriously telling me that you phoned and reported finding a body, and you weren’t even asked to wait there?’
‘But for God’s sake, I can’t be answerable for the mistakes your people make when they’re at work! He might have been young and inexperienced for all I know, but it wasn’t my fault!’
‘So you thought he sounded young?’
‘No, I don’t know, I don’t notice things like that.’
‘Artists always notice things like that,’ he said briskly. ‘They’re observant, they take in everything, every detail. Isn’t that right?’
She didn’t answer. Her mouth was pursed into a tight line.
‘I’m going to tell you something,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That’s your problem.’
‘Shall I tell you why?’ he asked.
‘I’m not interested.’
‘Because,’ he went on, lowering his voice even more, ‘yours was the call that they all dream of getting. On the long, dull afternoon shift. A corpse is discovered. Nothing gets an officer more excited, more involved, than a dead man in the river on a humdrum afternoon, in amongst the domestic disturbances and the car thefts and all the swearing from the drunks in the holding cells. You see?’
‘This one must have been an exception, then.’
‘I’ve seen quite a lot of things in the service,’ he confessed, and shuddered at the thought, ‘but never that.’
Now she’d dug right in, just stared at him defiantly.
‘Are you working on a picture?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Yes, of course. That’s how I earn my living, as you know.’
She still hadn’t sat down, and so he couldn’t sit down either.
‘It can’t be easy. To make a living from, I mean.’
‘No. Like I said before, it isn’t easy. But we manage.’
She was getting impatient, but she didn’t dare hurry him. Nobody did. She waited, tensing her slender shoulders, hoping he would go so that she could breathe freely once again, as freely as she could with all she knew.
