In the Darkness

by Karin Fossum

  ‘Correct.’

  He stopped and nodded. He stood with his arms folded feeling foolish. A lone woman was trespassing in a private area and he was following her about like a poodle. What kind of security man was he? Some of his self-assurance seeped away.

  ‘And what d’you want with a bloke you don’t know?’ He overtook her and propped himself against the bonnet of a car. His legs were long, they were blocking her way.

  ‘I’m thinking of throttling him,’ she said smiling sweetly.

  ‘Oh yeah, right.’ He chuckled, as if he suddenly understood. His beaver nylon boiler suit sat snugly on his toned body. Eva stared at the number plate between his open legs. BL 744. She turned to the car opposite, which was a silver Golf, walked right up to it and peered in through the window. He followed her. ‘That one’s in the canteen, can’t remember his name. A little squirt with wavy hair. Is that him?’

  She smiled patiently, straightened up and threw a quick glance at the white Opel behind him, now she could make out the full number. BL 74470. It was a Manta. She’d been right, it was just like Jostein’s old one, but this one was nicer-looking, newer and better looked after. The trim of the seats was red. She walked back, heading for the barrier, she’d seen enough. She’d found him just like that. A perfectly normal brewery worker with a murder on his conscience. And she, Eva, knew enough to put him inside for fifteen or twenty years. Inside a tiny cell. It’s unbelievable, she thought. Yesterday he killed Maja. Today he’s at work as if nothing had happened. So he’s clever. A cold fish. Perhaps he was talking about the murder over a sandwich in the canteen. She could imagine him smacking his lips and chewing with bits of mayonnaise on his upper lip. Terrible wasn’t it, boys, about that woman – must have been an excitable customer. Then he’d wash it down with some Coke, pick out the lemon and bits of parsley before taking another bite. I’ll bet he’s away over the Swedish border already.

  Maybe several of them had visited Maja, she thought suddenly. And perhaps he felt the way she did, that he could hardly believe it had happened and pushed it away like a nasty dream.

  ‘I remember his name now!’ the security man yelled after her. ‘The one with the Golf. His name’s Bendiksen. From Finnmark!’

  Eva waved without turning and walked on. Then she halted again. ‘Do they work shifts?’

  ‘Seven to three to eleven to seven.’

  She nodded again, glanced at her watch and walked out of the car park, back past the swimming baths and got into her own car. Her heart was beating fast now, she had a huge secret and wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. But she started the car and drove homewards. Three o’clock was a long way off. Then she could wait and follow him. Find out where he lived. If he had a wife and children. A terrific urge surfaced within her, he had to know that someone was on to him! No more than that. She couldn’t bear the thought that he felt safe, that he’d got up and gone to work as usual, after killing Maja for no reason at all. She couldn’t understand why he’d done it, where all the fury had come from. As if the knife on the side of the bed was the greatest insult he’d ever suffered. But murderers aren’t like other people, she mused, and swung out to pass a cyclist who was weaving about on her right. They must lack something. Or perhaps he’d quite simply been terrified by the sight of the knife. Had he really believed that Maja would stab him? She wondered for a moment if some crafty lawyer could save him by asserting that he’d acted in self-defence. In that case I’d have to come forward, Eva thought, but then dismissed the idea. To give evidence as a friend of the prostitute, no, she couldn’t do it. I’m not a coward, she thought, not really. But I have to think of Emma. She repeated it to herself again and again. But a great restlessness had taken charge of her body, a thousand little ants crawling through her veins. At the thought that nobody knew anything. That such a thing could happen to her friend, Maja – the very best of friends – and end up as just a tiny paragraph in the newspaper.

  Chapter 23

  THE PHONE RANG as she was closing the front door.

  She jumped. The line had been restored. For a moment she hesitated, made a rapid decision and lifted the receiver.

  ‘Eva my dear! Where on earth have you been? I’ve been ringing for days!’

  ‘My phone’s been cut off. But I’ve got it back now, I was just a bit late with a payment.’

  ‘I’ve told you you’re to let me know if you need anything,’ her father growled.

  ‘Not having a phone for a couple of days won’t kill me,’ she said easily, ‘and you’re not exactly flush with money yourself.’

  ‘It’s better for me to starve than you. Fetch Emma to the phone, I want to hear her unsullied little voice.’

  ‘She’s with Jostein for a few days, it’s the autumn break. So tell me, do I sound sullied, is that it?’

  ‘Your voice has a tainted undertone now and then. I always have the feeling you only tell me a fraction of what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It’s called being considerate. You’re not a spring chicken any more, you know.’

  ‘I think you should come over soon so that we can tease each other properly, over a glass of wine. I can’t do good ripostes on the phone.’ He was snuffling a bit as if he had a cold.

  ‘I’ll be along one of these days. You could always ring Jostein and get Emma there. Besides, she isn’t entirely unsullied, I think she takes after you basically.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Will he be embarrassed if I phone?’

  No, don’t be silly. He’s really fond of you. He’s always frightened you’re angry that he walked out, so if you phone he’ll be pleased.’

  ‘I’m extremely angry! You didn’t think otherwise, surely?’

  ‘Don’t say that to him.’

  ‘I’ll never understand why you’re so loyal to a man who ran off like that.’

  ‘I’ll tell you sometime, over a glass of wine.’

  ‘A father should know everything about his only child,’ he scolded crossly. ‘The life you lead is just one almighty secret.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘It certainly is, Dad. But you know, important truths will out. When the time is ripe.’

  ‘The time’s almost up,’ he answered. ‘I’m old.’

  ‘That’s what you always say when you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Get some wine, and I’ll come over. I’ll ring and tell you when. You are wearing your slippers, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s for me to know, and you to wonder. When you start dressing like a woman, I’ll start dressing like an old man.’

  ‘That’s a deal, Dad.’

  They said nothing for a while, but she could hear his breathing. Eva felt he was so close that she could almost sense his warm breath coming down the phone line and caressing her cheek. Her father was a sturdy root from which Eva derived all her strength. Somewhere at the back of her mind she would occasionally register that he would die soon and that all the intimacy she knew in life would be torn from her, stripped away, as if someone were tearing the hide and hair from her body.

  Her thoughts made her feel icy.

  ‘You’re not thinking pleasant thoughts, Eva.’

  ‘I’ll come soon. I don’t think life’s much fun really.’

  ‘Then we can console one another.’

  She put down the phone. It was so quiet after that, she went to the window and her thoughts ran wild even though she tried to control them. What way did we go, she thought, to get to the cabin that time, didn’t we go through Kongsberg first? It was so long ago. More than twenty-five years. Maja’s father had driven them in the van. And they’d got drunk, the heather round the hut had been dappled with little blotches of stew and fruit cocktail, and some of their clothes had to be left outside at night. Through Kongsberg, she thought, and across the bridge. Up towards Sigdal, wasn’t that the way? A red cabin with green window frames. Tiny, standing almost totally by itself. But it was a long way. Two hundred, maybe three hundred kilometres. Nearly two milli
on. How much room did a sum like that take up, she thought, if it was in various denominations it would hardly fit into a shoebox. And where in a small cabin could one hide such a sum? In the cellar? Up the chimney? Or maybe down that outside toilet. They’d had to throw in handfuls of earth and bark, each time they’d used it. Or was it hidden in empty food tins in the fridge? Maja was ingenious. It wouldn’t be easy if anyone decided to search for it, she thought. But who would search for it? Nobody knew about it, and so it would lie there for ever and crumble to dust, or had she told anyone else? If that were the case, perhaps others were thinking along the same lines as she was now, thinking about the two million and dreaming.

  She went back to the studio and began scraping at the black canvas again. October wasn’t exactly high season for mountain cabins at that sort of altitude, perhaps there wasn’t a soul up there, nobody to see her. If she parked a little way off and walked the final bit – if she could even remember the way. Turn left at a yellow shop, she recalled, then on, up and up, almost to the treeline. Millions of sheep. The tourist hostel and the large lake, she could park there, down by the water. She kept scraping at the canvas. Two million. Her own gallery. Just paint and paint and never worry about money, not for years. Take good care of her father and of Emma. Just reach into a bowl and pull the money out whenever she needed it. Or a safe-deposit box. Why on earth hadn’t Maja put the money in a safe-deposit box? Perhaps because a safe-deposit box had to be registered and could be traced. The money wasn’t legitimate. Eva scratched harder. If she wanted to get hold of the money she’d have to break into the cabin, and she couldn’t imagine herself daring to do that. Breaking open the door with a crowbar or smashing a pane of glass would certainly be audible a long way off. But if there wasn’t anyone up there … She could go in the evening and arrive during the night. Although it would be hard to search in the dark. A torch maybe. She threw away the piece of sandpaper and walked slowly down the stairs to the cellar. A drawer in the workbench contained a torch that Jostein had left. It gave a miserably poor light. She put her hand into the paint pot where she’d hidden Maja’s pocket money and pulled out a bundle of notes, mounted the stairs and put on her coat. She pushed away the small stabbings of her conscience, and the slight, almost inaudible note of caution sounding from her common sense. First, she’d pay all her bills and then there were a couple of things she needed as well. It was now midday. In three hours Elmer would have finished his shift, and would walk to his car. Eva put on her sunglasses. She stared at herself in the mirror: dark hair, dark glasses and coat. She was unrecognisable.

  There was an ironmonger’s in the square. She didn’t dare ask for a crowbar, but instead wandered along the shelves looking for something she could push into the crack round a door. She found a sturdy chisel, extra large and with a sharp edge, and a solid hammer. It had a grooved rubber handle. She had to enquire about the torch.

  ‘What are you going to use it for?’ asked the ironmonger.

  ‘For lighting,’ Eva said nonplussed. She stared at his stomach bulging beneath the nylon coat. Its buttons strained dangerously.

  ‘Aha, yes, I realise that. But they make torches for different purposes. I mean, are you going to use it for working, or for walking at night, or for signalling …?’

  ‘Working,’ she said quickly.

  He produced a water- and shock-resistant Maglite torch, it was long and neat with a narrow body and a beam that could be focused as required. ‘This is about the best you can get. Lifetime guarantee. The American cops use them. Four hundred and fifty kroner.’

  ‘Oh God! Yes, I’ll take it,’ she said quickly.

  ‘It’s also good for bashing people on the head with,’ he said earnestly. ‘Burglars and the like.’

  Eva frowned. She wasn’t sure if he was being serious.

  The tools cost a fortune, more than seven hundred kroner. She paid and carried them out in a grey paper bag. She felt like the archetypal housebreaker herself, all she needed were some sneakers and a balaclava. Then she realised she hadn’t eaten. She went to the first-floor café at Jensen Manufaktur where she bought two sandwiches, one smoked salmon and egg and one cheese, a glass of milk and a coffee. She saw no one she knew. She didn’t really know anyone anyway, was merely surrounded by nameless faces which demanded nothing of her, and she liked that. She had such a lot to think about now. When she’d finished she went to the bookshop and bought a road atlas. She sat on some steps in the pedestrian precinct, partly hidden by an ice-cream sign and began to search. She rediscovered the way fairly quickly, did a provisional measurement with her fingers and came to the conclusion that it was at least two hundred kilometres. At all events it would take two and a half hours to drive there. If she left at nine she’d be up there before midnight. Alone, in a cabin on the Hardanger Plateau with a hammer and chisel, did she dare?

  She glanced at the time again. She was waiting for Elmer who’d now been at work for six hours and who’d soon have got through his first working day as a murderer. From now on he would count the days, watch the calendar as time passed. Sigh with relief each evening he went to his bed as a free man. One day, somehow or other, she’d send him a little reminder. So that he’d lose his feeling of security and lie awake at night, waiting and waiting. Slowly, he’d go to pieces, perhaps start drinking, and finally skip work. And then he’d go straight to the dogs. Eva smiled an acid smile. She got up from her seat and went to G-Sport. There she bought a well waterproofed windcheater with a hood, dark green, a pair of Nike trainers and a small daysack. She’d never possessed such things in her life before. But if she were to trudge along mountain tracks in the middle of the night she should at least resemble a hut owner. In case anyone saw her. She paid almost fourteen hundred kroner for the stuff and rolled her eyes, but it didn’t make much of a dent in her wallet. How simple everything was when you didn’t have to count the kroner. Just pull them out and slap them down on the counter. She felt so light-headed and strange, almost like some other person, but it was she, Eva, who stood here strewing notes about her. It wasn’t that she yearned for luxury of any kind, she cared nothing for that at all. Simply an existence that was untroubled, so that she could paint in peace. She wanted no more. Lastly, she went to the bank and paid her bills. Electricity, phone, road tax, insurance and council tax. She stuffed all the receipts into her bag and walked out again with head held high. She crossed the square and down to the benches by the river, where she watched the dark water rushing past. The current was strong. A paper carton which once, perhaps, had contained fast food flew past like a miniature speed boat. Maybe Elmer was looking at the clock now, more often than he usually did. But no one had asked after him, no one had come through the production hall to lead him away to a waiting car. Nobody had seen anything. He thought he could get away with it. Perhaps, perhaps he could get away with it. Eva rose again and went back to her car. She drove to the swimming baths and parked at the front so that she could see the barrier. The Securitas guard was still patrolling the lines of cars. She lowered her head and began studying her road atlas. It was a quarter to three.

  At last they appeared, a group of three men together. He halted by the white car and ran a hand through his hair. It hung loose now, but she recognised his profile, and his beer belly. He chatted and gesticulated, and thumped the other two good-naturedly with his fist.

  As if nothing had happened!

  They were talking about the car. She saw that from their gestures, they examined the tyres, one of them bent down and pointed under the radiator, Elmer shook his head as if in disagreement. He placed a hand on the roof of the car, as if to demonstrate that it was his. A strutting type with macho body language. Eva put the car in gear and slid slowly out of the lot. Maybe he was a real hot-rodder and would pull away from her immediately. His car looked lively, hers was falling to bits. But the traffic was dense at this time of day, it should be all right. His engine roared angrily as he started up, as if there was something quite special beneath th
e bonnet. The other two leapt clear. He waved, and came slowly towards the barrier which was open. She was in luck. He was indicating right and would drive past her, if she were quick she could get in right behind him. He’d put on a pair of sunglasses. Just as she nipped out, he looked in his mirror. She had an unpleasant feeling, tried to keep a courteous distance and rolled slowly along behind him down the congested main street, and out of town. He drove past the hospital and the undertaker, and soon afterwards moved into the right-hand lane, he was driving well but fairly fast, past the video shop and the Data superstore. They were approaching Rosenkrantzgate now, he glanced in the mirror once and suddenly indicated right. She had to drive straight on, but in her mirror she managed to see that he’d drawn up at the first entrance of a green house. A small boy had just run out. Perhaps it was his son. Then they were gone.

  So he lived in that green house in Rosenkrantzgate. Possibly he had a son, of about five or six. Same age as Emma, she thought.

  Could he continue to be a father after all that had happened? Take the boy on his lap in the evenings and sing songs? Help him brush his teeth? With the same hands that had made him a murderer? She couldn’t turn until she got to the trotting course, but then she made a cheeky U-turn and drove back the way she’d come. Now she had the green house on her left. A woman stood outside with a wash basket in her hands. Bleached hair piled high. A typical bimbo, just the sort he would like, she thought. She had him now. And soon, quite soon, she’d have two million.

  Chapter 24

  IT WAS NINE in the evening when she set off in the car. Two and a half hours later she’d smoked ten cigarettes and the yellow shop was nowhere to be seen. Her legs had begun to feel stiff and her back ached. All at once, the project seemed more like some idiotic stunt. Outside it was as black as pitch, she’d passed Veggli, and the café with the big troll, she’d left the small towns behind and gradually the names began to awaken memories. This must be right. The shop should be on the left and it should be lit up, the way shops were, fully illuminated all night. But everything was dark, not a house to be seen, no traffic. The forest lined the road on each side like black walls, as if she were driving along the bottom of a ravine. There was music on the radio, but now she found it annoying. Bloody shop!