by Karin Fossum
‘We don’t need to concentrate on that,’ he said, ‘we’ll deal with that later. Today I’m more interested in the incentive for taking a life.’
‘Motive, d’you mean?’
‘Yes, certainly. Motive. Why would anyone wish to kill Nelly Friis?’
You could have heard a pin drop in my small living room. What had he just said?
Why would anyone wish to kill Nelly Friis.
I thought I’d misheard, but he really had said Nelly Friis. Nelly had been dead for a week and was shortly to be buried. And I had selected a new victim, Betzy Haugen. She was now receiving the same treatment. The thin skin behind the ear, the hair at the temple. I managed to keep my composure, but it took all the self-control I possessed. My hands lay motionless in my lap. I was dumbstruck, and it took a little while before I found my voice again.
‘She’s going to be buried on Friday,’ I managed to blurt out at last.
‘She’s not going anywhere until we’ve finished,’ Randers stated emphatically. ‘Her body has been taken to the Forensics Lab. She’ll be given a post-mortem.’
Nelly Friis. It couldn’t be true. It had to be a cruel joke, someone was poking fun at me. Randers was having a laugh at my expense, or was it merely a twist of fate? I hadn’t killed Nelly. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Reality seemed to be loosening its grip, everything was topsy-turvy in my addled brain. My thoughts ran on while I searched desperately for words. For some reason I sat staring up at an old ceiling rose, as if the answer to these extraordinary events might be found there.
‘There’s a lot you don’t understand,’ I stammered in awkward incredulity.
‘Of course,’ Randers replied. ‘And bringing the guilty party to book isn’t enough for me. I need to understand.’
‘Some people deserve to die,’ I said, quickly thinking of Arnfinn. ‘There are people like that, I’m sure you’ll agree.’
He shook his head.
‘I’m not getting into that. Right now we’re investigating the death of Nelly Friis. Aged eighty-seven, and totally dependent. Weighed about forty kilos. A thin wisp of a woman in other words. On your ward.’
‘But, she died a natural death,’ I countered. ‘Dr Fischer found her. She was very old and very frail, and only just clinging to life. And she was blind into the bargain.’
‘She didn’t die naturally,’ said Randers. ‘The undertakers raised the alarm, on medical advice.’
I tried to gather my wits. I thought of the game of cat and mouse, it was as if fate was playing a kind of game with me, an absurd game of life and death.
‘What on earth’s given you the idea that it was me?’ I asked. ‘There’s a big staff there. People come visiting. Relations and friends, former neighbours and people expecting to be left something. Lots of people were in and out of that room. Didn’t die naturally? People die in our care the whole time, they drop like flies. They’re all on the verge of death, don’t you realise that?’
I worked myself up a bit. Quite justifiably. I hadn’t killed Nelly Friis, what a ludicrous idea.
‘We’ve found some important clues,’ Randers said, ‘and they point in a definite direction.’ Once again, he bent forward to emphasise his own words. ‘And these clues indicate that we’re dealing with an unusual killer. The sort we spoke of just now. The sort we never forget.’
‘How did she die?’ I asked, struggling to stay calm.
Randers eyes narrowed.
‘I think you know the answer to that. I’m not here to supply you with details, that will come soon enough anyway. How are you feeling, Riktor?’ he concluded. ‘Don’t you feel the need to ease your conscience?’
Now it was my turn to screw up my eyes. There he was, playing his little game, well, I could play it, too.
‘I haven’t got a conscience,’ I said. ‘So there’s nothing to ease. I do my job and I know the routines, and that’s all there is to it. I don’t have to feel something for every single patient. I’m not like that. But you’re levelling serious accusations, I hardly know how to treat them. To tell you the truth I don’t know what’s brought you here, you’re on the wrong track completely.’
I gesticulated freely, my hands stressing each word.
‘You’ll be struggling with this case, Randers, I promise you. You’ll be struggling.’
‘We’ll see. I’ve got plenty of good helpers and I’m upholding the law. I have justice on my side.’
‘Your allegations have to be proved,’ I asserted. ‘Beyond reasonable doubt.’
‘In this instance I believe we can convict you on circumstantial evidence alone,’ Randers said confidently. ‘You don’t know how tenacious I am once I’ve made up my mind. I’m strong-willed and I like being right.’
He rose and walked to the door. He turned one last time.
‘Don’t go anywhere. You’re going to be charged. We’ll be coming for you.’
I stood at the window for a long while watching his green Volvo as it drove away. And I was thoroughly dazed. No sooner had the car disappeared, than I nipped out of the door and ran to the back of the house. I had to check Arnfinn’s grave. It still resembled a grave, but fortunately the earth had settled considerably. I decided to buy a rhododendron bush and plant it on the heap of earth, in fact, I decided to leave for the garden centre right away. I went round to the drive again, and stood there staring down the road. I stared until my eyes hurt, but couldn’t comprehend that all this had happened. One thing was very obvious. Someone was playing a game, and I’d been caught out.
I bought a fine, sturdy plant.
With a well-developed root system, strong leaves and stems. I paid through the nose for it, carted it home on the bus, which was straightforward enough; it was wrapped in netting and rested against my legs as I sat rocking to the hum of the warm and welcoming engine. Then I got out the spade and began digging. This time it was easy, the earth had been loosened already, and the rhododendron looked really nice once it was in place. Straight away the small hummock appeared less noticeable, even if it did seem a bit of an odd place to plant an ornamental shrub, but I’d made up my mind. Although there weren’t many callers at the house, I knew that Randers would be back. I finished off by watering the plant with the garden hose, I watered it thoroughly. If only Arnfinn had known that this was all for his benefit. That even a common thief could have a beautiful bush over his final resting place. It felt good. There was a sense of finality about it. I phoned the ward and said I was ill. I couldn’t face looking them in the eyes. If this were a plot, I needed time to work out a strategy. Dr Fischer took the call. He didn’t say much, and he certainly wasn’t sympathetic. I’ll soon be at work again, I declared, because I was quite certain of it, the things that were happening were totally absurd. I asked him to pass on my respects to Sister Anna. Remember, she’s lost her brother, I exhorted, she needs support.
Dr Fischer was abnormally reticent. Not that he’d ever been particularly forthcoming, but I noticed that he’d been affected by what had occurred. I chose to feign ignorance, but I was still feeling giddy from the strange turn my life had taken.
Then I sat down and brooded. I tried to marshal my thoughts, to form a strategy, but I was confused. That night the lorry made a tremendous racket, and simultaneously I developed an almost migraine-like headache. All next day I wandered about ruminating. I stood at the window for long periods and stared out at the road, the road I knew would bring them. I attempted to get some rest, ate some plain food, trudged about the garden, gazed at the lovely plant on the edge of the forest and tried to work out what was actually happening. But no matter how much I pondered, I couldn’t fathom this new chain of events. Someone was making a fool of me. And from deep within I felt a great resentment growing, against the person or persons who’d caught me in a trap.
Chapter 22
A TRAP.
A rotten pit into which I’d fallen headlong. The green Volvo arrived a couple of days later.
Once agai
n, I was well prepared, because they’d announced that they were coming, but it was surreal all the same. The two men stood at the top of the steps, their legs and shoulders wide. In case I should make any attempt at resistance, but I wouldn’t have even toyed with the idea, I’m no fool. And besides, I was innocent, and someone who’s innocent is strong, yes, almost indecently strong, chock-full of self-assurance and right on top of the situation. I really was, right on top of the situation. Randers stated his official errand firmly and concisely, his younger colleague tramped boldly past me and went into the house. Peered about everywhere, rummaged through my things. He checked the view from the windows, cast his eye over the contents of the rooms, the furniture, the desk and computer, brushed his hand across shelves and tables as if searching for dust. And dust is all he found. He smiled as he caught sight of my Advent Star in the window, just as Arnfinn had done. What’s wrong with having a star in the window in summertime? Then he put his hands on his hips and pretended to be important. I concentrated on what Randers was saying, even though it was inexplicable. That I was suspected of aggravated murder. I held my hands out to him, palms upwards, a symbolic act to show that I was innocent of the crime. It made no impression. Now at last I understood about all the suspicion at the nursing home. The evasive looks, the personal questions, about how I was doing, and if I was sleeping at night; and no, I wasn’t sleeping at night, I wasn’t sleeping a wink. I lay tossing in torment and misery.
Then we went to the car. Randers and his young henchman sat in the front, I sat behind them. I took nothing with me, after all I’d soon be back, of that much I was sure. There’d never been such a miscarriage of justice as this. I mean, the murder of Nelly Friis. The car rolled down the road. The police radio crackled a bit. After a few moments, Randers broke the silence.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked, and squinted at me over his shoulder. His voice was friendly now, quite bereft of derision or triumph.
‘What am I thinking about?’ I gazed at the scene outside the window. ‘I’m thinking about the park near Lake Mester. I often go there. Have you ever been to it?’
He nodded.
‘Yup, I’ve been there,’ he said. ‘A long time ago. Pretty little park.’
‘Then you must have seen the statue at the entrance to the park,’ I said. ‘Right by the paved pathway. The one that’s called Woman Weeping.’
‘I have seen it,’ Randers replied. ‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ He nodded in agreement.
‘But there’s another statue,’ I explained. ‘Which stands at the other end of the park. Near the exit, on the path that leads down to the lake. That one’s called Woman Laughing. And it’s her I’m thinking about now.’
Randers chuckled from the front seat.
‘So you think she’s laughing at you?’ he enquired.
‘No,’ I countered. ‘She’s laughing at this entire situation. Because the whole thing’s so ridiculous, you can’t even begin to imagine how ridiculous!’
He made no answer to this. We travelled on in silence. I stared out of the car window, at the landscape, summery greens and yellows, and the ditches grey with exhaust fumes.
‘What are the remand cells like?’ I wanted to know. ‘Are they different from the more permanent cells?’
Randers replied over his shoulder. ‘A cell is a cell,’ he said. ‘You’ll soon find that out.’
‘What about clothes? Do I wear one of those orange-coloured penitentiary suits they have in America?’
‘It’s good you’ve got a sense of humour,’ Randers said. ‘You’ll need it.’
‘I’m pretty sure old Nelly died a natural death,’ I said. ‘Dr Fischer found her in her bed. We saw nothing unusual. So I can’t understand what happened. You may not like being wrong, Randers, but this time you are. My God, how wrong you are!’
‘I’m never wrong,’ Randers replied.
The young officer chimed in. ‘Randers is never wrong,’ he said.
‘Where d’you get all this self-confidence of yours?’
‘It’s been acquired over many years. I know I’m cocky. Experience has made me unbearably arrogant. You’d better believe how really comfortable I am with being me,’ he smiled, ‘and with my job.’
The whippersnapper at his side nodded. ‘Really comfortable!’ he chorused.
‘You’ve been allocated counsel,’ Randers continued. ‘A proper show-off. Whether you’ll like him remains to be seen, but he knows his stuff. He’ll give you many good bits of advice. And we in the force know most of them. But we think a few of them aren’t so great. So when his professional advice is that you can refuse to say anything, don’t listen to him, for God’s sake. Just play ball. Otherwise the entire case will be delayed, and it’ll never be over. We all benefit from your co-operation.’
‘What’s his name, this lawyer of mine?’
‘His name’s de Reuter. Philip de Reuter. You two will make quite a pair.’
‘Will I meet him today?’
‘He’s already been apprised of the case,’ said Randers. ‘So he’ll likely turn up. In the meantime, you can frolic in your eight square metres of cell. There’s enough room in there to change your mind, regarding your guilt. And enough for a victory dance if you’re found not guilty.’
The court complex, the police station and the county jail were housed in one gigantic building. We took the lift from the reception to the fifth floor. Then there were long, lino-laid corridors, smelling strongly of carbolic, after which I was escorted through some double doors. Into isolation, segregation and solitude.
Before me lay another corridor. The light here was brighter and more garish, and there was an almost cave-like silence. Narrow windows high up in the wall.
I took in the length of the corridor with only one thought in my head. That I was innocent. I hadn’t killed Nelly Friis, I hadn’t terminated her life in any way whatsoever, I hadn’t silenced her. I’d done much, but give the devil his due, of these things I was innocent. I was led down the corridor, walking with a heavy tread, my body feeling feeble and apathetic, and my head teeming. On both sides were rows of green metal doors. On a couple, notes had been stuck: ‘CVC.’ Correspondence and visitor check.
‘Will you put one of those on my door?’
Randers didn’t answer, but kept walking.
‘No one will be visiting me,’ I said. ‘There’ll be no one to check. And I’m guaranteed not to get any letters. So, save yourselves the trouble.’
I took in my surroundings and was struck by how clean it was in the prison, as if someone went around with a mop the whole time and kept the dirt at bay. The walls of the corridor were a creamy yellow, there were lots of plants and a small sofa suite with comfortable cushions. On the way we passed a noticeboard, and I managed to glimpse the words ‘Holy Communion’ and ‘Library open’. A man came walking along the corridor to meet us. A sturdy-looking man with an impressive girth, like a barrel on two slender legs, and a great, heavy head on a short neck. He reminded me of a fat duck. He wore a light blue shirt and had powerful hands, and keys and other equipment hung from his belt. His shoes were tough and black and very shiny. His head sprouted a shock of grey hair, which bristled in all directions.
‘De Reuter will be here in an hour’s time,’ he said. ‘But when he says an hour, it usually means two or three hours, he’s a busy man.’
We moved to one of the green doors. There was a jangling from the large bunch of keys hanging from his belt.
‘To survive in here you must learn to be patient. It’s better to realise that from the word go. Most of your time in here is spent waiting. My name is Janson,’ he added. ‘And I’ll be on duty all this week.’
I entered the cramped cell, and stood in the middle of it feeling bewildered, staring at the two men in the open doorway.
‘What do I do if something happens?’ I asked. My voice was weak, and I hated my own pathetic question. I hated them noticing my desperation, because I’m proud by nature.
‘Nothing much can happen in here,’ Janson replied, nodding at the bare, spartan room. ‘But we’ll look after you. Just relax.’
‘I didn’t kill Nelly Friis,’ I said, sinking down on to the modest bed. I held out my hands, they’d begun to tremble.
‘You talk to de Reuter about that,’ Janson said. ‘He’s used to hearing that sort of thing.’
They left, and the green door slammed shut with a hard thud and the lock turned. I went straight to the window and peered out. Perhaps I was hoping that a seagull or a flock of migrating birds would fly past and lift my heart. But the misty sky was empty.
Chapter 23
TOTALLY AND UTTERLY alone.
Deserted and misunderstood, my rights trampled on. Subject of a terrible mistake. Victim of a dreadful plot. Exhausted and in despair.
I’d never felt so despondent, so completely helpless. For three hours I waited for Philip de Reuter.
In the meantime, I went over my cell inch by inch. The bed was made of grey metal. I lifted it and found that it was as heavy as lead. The wardrobe was metal, too, a cold greyish blue. There was a desk in front of the window, made of a pale, unrecognisable wood, like the chair. A shelf on the wall, supported by two strong brackets. It was empty, of course. The curtains were thick and had green and blue stripes. The floor covering was grey and full of rips and blotches. There was a tiny enclosed space with a basin and toilet of brushed steel as well. It smelt of urine and lavatory cleaner. I lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head, and waited for the sound of a key in the door, waited for this de Reuter to appear and get me out. Out of this ridiculous mix-up. Preferably this very evening, because the whole thing was impossible, and I was still confused. People spent years in these cells, I mused, as I lay there trying to rest. How did they manage to survive it? Maybe they screamed all night long, thumped on the walls and banged their beds about. I wasn’t sure what to expect. At the moment it was still completely quiet. Nothing could be heard except my own nervous breathing in the room. Personally, I wasn’t planning any noisy demonstrations. I have a modicum of self-respect. Occasionally I dozed off, but only lightly. After a while I began to hear a few, muffled sounds. So there are people here after all, I thought, and that must be Janson doing his rounds. Perhaps he’d already taken a look at me through the window in the door. The notion that someone could observe me without my knowledge was exceedingly unpleasant.
