In the Darkness (9 page)

It was his partner who answered. He studied her with curiosity, trying to form an opinion about this woman who had supplanted Eva Magnus. She was a buxom, feminine type with a figure that burgeoned out everywhere; Sejer hardly knew where to look. Eva Marie, with all her lean, dark earnestness, wouldn’t have stood a chance against this curly cherub.

‘Sejer,’ he said mildly, ‘police.’

She flung open the door immediately. Because he was smiling as broadly as he could she didn’t ask if anything was wrong, the way people often did if he wore a different expression, the serious mask, as he did sometimes. But she had a questioning look. ‘I’ve only come to have a chat,’ he went on, ‘with Mr Magnus.’

‘Oh yes! He’s inside.’

He followed her in. A red-haired giant got up from the sofa. On the table in front of him, on top of a newspaper, lay a tube of glue and a dinosaur made of wood. It had lost one of its legs.

They shook hands, the giant hadn’t learnt to control his strength, but anyway, he probably considered it unnecessary to hold back with Sejer. Even so, the policeman was slight by comparison and his hand got some rough treatment.

‘Please sit down,’ he said. ‘Have we got anything to drink, Sofie?’

‘This is just an informal visit,’ he commenced, ‘I’m just
being
inquisitive.’ He settled comfortably in his seat and continued. ‘I’ve come simply and solely because you were married to Eva Magnus and must, I’m sure, recall the murder of Maja Durban.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Yes, I remember that of course. It was a grisly business. Haven’t you caught anyone yet? It’s a long time ago. Well, I didn’t keep up with it in the papers, and Eva never spoke about it any more, you see – but I thought this was about something else, I’d almost forgotten that stuff about Durban. But you ask away. If I know the answer, I’ll tell you.’ He opened his arms wide. A sympathetic man, warm and generous.

‘What did you think I came about?’ Sejer asked enquiringly.

‘Er – could we talk about that later?’

‘OK.’

He was handed a glass of fizzy orange and expressed his thanks.

‘Did you know Maja Durban?’

‘No, not at all. But I’d heard about her. Eva and Maja went their separate ways when they were girls. But they’d obviously been pretty close friends while it lasted. You know what girls are, it’s like life and death to them. She read about Maja’s killing quite by chance in the newspaper. They hadn’t seen each other since ’69. Or maybe it was ’70?’

‘Exactly. Apart from the day she was killed, that is.’

‘The day before she was killed.’

‘That was when they met each other in town. The following day she visited Durban in her flat.’

Magnus glanced up.

‘Didn’t you know that?’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘She – well, fine. I suppose I wasn’t meant to know it.’

Sejer was slightly taken aback. ‘Do you happen to know the name Egil Einarsson?’ He drank his orange and felt easy and relaxed, this was a house of innocence after all and that was quite liberating.

‘No, I don’t think so. Unless that’s the name of the man who was found floating in the river here some weeks ago.’

‘It is.’

‘Ah? Ah, I see. Yes, I’ve heard the whole story.’

He pulled out a mahogany-coloured pipe from his shirt pocket and searched for matches on the table.

The buxom Sofie had been bustling about, now she stood with a bag of peanuts in one hand while she rooted in a cupboard for something to put them in. Sejer couldn’t abide peanuts.

‘But I haven’t a clue who he was. There was a picture in the paper’ – he struck a match, puffed hard a couple of times and exhaled – ‘but even though we live in a small town, I didn’t know him. Nor did Eva.’

‘Eva?’

‘She saw him close up, in a manner of speaking. Even though he wasn’t particularly recognisable just then, well, I thought that was why you’d come. Because she found the corpse, she and Emma. It was rather scary, but we’ve talked it over. My daughter and I,’ he added. ‘She’s here every other weekend. I believe she’s finally forgotten it now. But you never know with youngsters. Sometimes they hold things in out of consideration for us grown-ups.’

He’d got his pipe alight at last. Sejer stared into his effervescing drink and for once was at a loss for words.

‘Your ex-wife – found Einarsson’s body?’

‘Yes. I thought you knew that. After all, it was she who
rang
and notified you. Isn’t that why you’re here?’ he said in surprise.

‘No,’ said Sejer. ‘It was an elderly lady who phoned us. Her name was Markestad, I think. Erna Markestad.’

‘Oh? Then there were probably several people who phoned, in the confusion. But it
was
definitely Eva and Emma who found him first. They phoned the police from a phone box, Emma told me the whole story. They were out walking, on the path by the river. They often go there, Emma loves it.’

‘Emma told you about it – but did Eva?’

‘Er, no. She didn’t actually mention it straight away. But we’ve talked about it since.’

‘Isn’t that a bit strange? Of course, I don’t know how much you talk, but …’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘I suppose it was strange. That she didn’t mention it herself. We talk quite a lot. Emma told me about it in the car coming here. That they’d gone on a walk by the river, just as that poor man came drifting into the bank. So they rushed off and rang from a phone box. Afterwards they had a meal at McDonald’s. That, by the way, is Emma’s idea of paradise on earth,’ he chuckled.

‘Didn’t they wait for the police?’

‘No, seems not. But …’ There was silence for a moment round the table, and for the first time Jostein Magnus looked as if he was doubtful. ‘But it’s not right of me to sit here giving things away about Eva. And talking about what she says and doesn’t say. She’ll certainly have her reasons. Perhaps you had several phone calls, and only one was recorded. Or something.’

Sejer nodded. He’d managed to think things through a bit now, and his face had resumed its normal expression.
‘Yes
, he
was
drifting in the middle of town. There must have been several people who saw him. And it can be pretty hectic at the station now and again, especially just before the weekend. I must admit it can become a bit confused.’

He lied as plausibly as he could and wondered about the strange coincidence. Or was it a coincidence?

He carried on a polite conversation with Magnus for as long as he thought necessary. He took small sips of his drink, but didn’t touch the peanuts.

‘So now you’ve got two unsolved murders?’ He squeezed out a drop of glue, and stood by with a knee-joint of thin plywood.

‘Yes, that’s right. Sometimes it happens that no one has seen or heard a thing. Or they don’t think it’s important. People are either so keen on publicity that they bombard us with every kind of suspicious circumstance, or they’re so frightened of making a fool of themselves that they decide to keep quiet. The serious informants in between are really quite few. Unfortunately.’

‘This is an Anatosaurus,’ he said suddenly and with a smile, lifting the dinosaur. ‘Twelve metres long. Two thousand teeth, and a brain the size of an orange. It could swim, too. What a thing to meet in the forest!’

Sejer smiled.

‘You know,’ Magnus continued, ‘these prehistoric monsters have invaded our society to such an extent, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them suddenly bit off our chimney.’

‘I know what you mean. I’ve got a grandson of four.’

‘Well,’ Magnus concluded, ‘I imagine Eva has given all the help she could. They were close friends after all. They would have killed for each other.’

Maybe they would, Sejer thought. Maybe they just would.

By the time he got into his car and Kollberg had finished his extravagant greeting – as if he’d been to the South Pole and back since last they’d met – he knew that Magnus would have already dialled his ex-wife. This was a nuisance, he thought. He would rather arrive unexpectedly. Even so, she wouldn’t have much time, it would take him fifteen minutes to drive from Frydenlund to Engelstad. He ought really to have checked with the desk sergeant first, to see if she actually had phoned but for some reason it hadn’t been logged. But he didn’t think such an error could have occurred. Every police officer worth his salt knew that it wasn’t uncommon for the culprit themselves to telephone, so they always asked for a name and address. If it was withheld, the conversation was entered into the duty register as anonymous, with the date, time and sex. He drove on relentlessly and didn’t even momentarily succumb to the temptation to ease down a bit. Perhaps even now he could reach her in the middle of her conversation with Jostein Magnus, while she was still floundering, trying to work out a serviceable explanation. After all, he thought, who finds a corpse in the river, shrugs their shoulders and goes to McDonald’s for a meal?

For interest’s sake, he picked up his mobile and dialled the number of the household he’d just left. He got the engaged tone.

As he turned into the street he saw the darkened house and the empty drive. The car wasn’t there. He sat at the wheel for a while swallowing his disappointment. Well, he registered with relief, the curtains were still up, so she hadn’t moved at any rate. He put the car in gear and
drove
out on to the main road again, glanced at the time and decided on a lightning trip to the cemetery. He often liked to stroll there, see how the patches of snow were shrinking, and begin to plan what he would plant in the spring. Maybe alpine primulas, he thought, they’d go well with the violet crocuses which were just about to come out, if only they could get the tiniest bit of warmth.

The church was large, ostentatious and brick red, confidently lording it over its surroundings on a hill above the town. He’d never liked it particularly, it was a bit too strutting for his taste, but there was nowhere else to bury her. The headstone was of red thulite, and the only inscription was her name, Elise. In somewhat large letters. Dates had been omitted. That would have made her one of many, he felt, and she wasn’t. By pushing gently into the earth with one finger, he caught sight of the first yellowish-green shoots, and that cheered him. He stood for a moment and peered down the slope; at least she had company. The most lonely thing in the whole world, he thought suddenly, was a churchyard with only one stone.

‘What do you think it’s like lying here, Kollberg? D’you think it’s cold?’

The dog stared at him with black eyes and pricked up his ears.

‘There are cemeteries for dogs now, too. I used to laugh at them, but all things considered I’ve gradually changed my mind. Because now you’re all I have.’

He stroked the dog’s great head and sighed heavily.

He walked back to the car. On the way he passed Maja Durban’s grave, which was completely bare, apart from a bunch of dry, brown heather. It should have been removed. He bent down quickly, gathered the dried remains in his hands and scratched the ground before the
headstone
so that dark, damp earth was visible. He threw the heather in the compost bin near the water pump. Then he drove off again, and on a sudden impulse he headed towards the station.

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.